Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On the horizon, dark smoke billowed in the wind, carrying with it the cloying taste of iron, rain, and electricity. The once beautiful scenery of Hyrule was now tainted with monster encampments and torched villages. A verdant field of grass had turned to scorched earth, dark scars mar the ground where beams of energy tore through the landscape. Above, the sky churned with ominous storm clouds as if foretelling the destruction that has swept across the land. Flashes of lightning briefly illuminate the carnage before the rain resumes its relentless fall—like tears from the goddess herself, mourning the devastation that had befallen the land.

Creeping across the earth, the spider-like forms of the Guardians skittered methodically across the ruined landscape. Their mechanical limbs tore through the earth as they searched for something—or someone. Trees in their paths were toppled while dirt and mud clicked up with every clawed step. Just a few hours ago, their eyes had glowed a brilliant blue, a sign of their divine purpose. Now, they shone a malevolent crimson, corrupted by the Malice that seeped in between its gears and joints, twisting them into instruments of destruction. The once revered and praised Guardians turned to omens of death.

Ducking from the view of one of those monstrous machines, two figures dart their way through the mud and rain. They both seem to move with near-silent precision despite one of them carrying a third figure—one who seems to be gravely injured. The two figures are dressed in a navy-blue tunics, their faces partially obscured by masks with cloth wrappings that protect their arms and legs. Both figures had white hair gathered up into a once tidy bun on the top of their heads. Their movements were practiced and precise, with no need for verbal communication. Their red eyes were able to convey information with just a glance as the elder warrior led the way, clearing their path, while the younger darted between trees, the unconscious figure slung across his back.

They were Sheikah warriors, and they carried the last hope of Hyrule. Ahead of them, the Great Plateau loomed—a sheer rise of land said to have formed during the First Calamity 10,000 years ago. In times of great peril, the Great Plateau served as a fortified stronghold or a last refuge to the people of Hyrule, and now, it holds their final hope.

Upon reaching the entrance to the Great Plateau, they found their path blocked—a rockslide had sealed the doorway into the cliffside walls. The heaving rainfall and intermittent earthquakes had collapsed the passage and cut off their planned route inside.

With no other choice but to climb, the young warrior swiftly fashioned a harness from the ropes they carried, securing the wounded man to his back. As he tightened the knots, the older warrior Hollis stood guard, his eyes scanning the storm-lashed surroundings.

“Quickly Rowan—we don’t have much time,” Hollis urged, glancing at the pale, still form of the one they carried.

His blond hair, once neatly tied, was now singed and burned in places, clinging to his forehead in damp, matted clumps. His skin was ghostly white, marred by red burn marks streaking down his face and torso and his breath came in shallow, labored gasps.

A gust of wind howled through the trees, and the younger warrior Rowan shivered—not from the cold, but from the sight before him. The Hero of Hyrule, dying in his arms. Despair threatened to take root in his heart, but he managed to shove it down. The mission came first.

With the harness secure, they began their ascent up the treacherous cliff side, their footing made unsteady by the rain-slicked rocks. Every moment had to be careful and deliberate. The weight of their burden made the climb even more dangerous, but failure was not an option.

By the time they reached the top, their bodies were soaked with sweat and rain, the chill settling deep into their bones. But there was no time to rest and the clock was running out.

From some ruins ahead, a thin trail of smoke rose into the stormy sky. The two warriors carefully made their way toward the remnants of an old watchtower. The stone entryway, cracked and worn by time, stood open. Inside, illuminated by the glow of a small fire, a woman paced in deep thought.

Her white hair was tied in a loose bun with a shock of red hair on her bangs. She wore a long white outer jacket, glasses perched atop her head, and her wine-colored eyes darted over scattered pages of notes as she muttered to herself.

At the sound of the warriors’ arrival, she was startled but relaxed when she recognized the figures. Her gaze flickered to the doorway—landing on the figure they carried. Her breath hitched. Then, with a gasp, she rushes forward.

“Link!” The woman cried. “What happened? Last I heard, he was with the princess heading towards the castle to stop the Calamity?”

Rowan carefully laid Link beside the fire. The woman’s hands moved swiftly, divesting him of his tattered, rain-soaked clothing to assess the damage. Her expression hardened as she took in the extent of his injuries. His clothes stuck to his torso in places with deep burns and torn flesh sluggishly oozing dark red blood. During this examination, her eyes fell on a small rectangular device with the sign of the Sheikah glowing faintly on the back that was tucked into his tunic. Recognition flashed in her eyes as this was the Sheikah slate that the princess had been researching. Worry starts to creep into her mind as she is concerned about the state of the princess.

She removes the state and places it aside before she grabs a basin of boiled water and clean cloth, gently soaking the fabric to peel it away without further harm.

Hollis knelt before her, His voice was detached, but the strain in his tone was unmistakable.

“Miss Purah, we received reports that Link and the princess were ambushed by a horde of Guardians on their way to the castle. Link fought to protect her, but his injuries were too severe—but thankfully a bright golden light appeared and enveloped the area. It deactivated the Guardians in the area but Link was already mortally wounded and couldn’t go one. By the time we arrived, it was too late to assist them. Our order was to escort them both to a safe place, but Princess Zelda refused. She insisted on continuing alone and ordered us to bring Link here, hoping you could save him.”

As he spoke, the elder warrior’s fist clenched, his knuckles turning white with the pressure. His gaze dropped, shame flickering in his eyes. Leaving the princess behind, felt like a betrayal.

Purah’s hands stilled.

Her crimson eyes flicked to the wounded hero lying before her, his chest barely rising with each labored breath. Then her gaze dropped to the fatal wound in his abdomen, the life of the hero, slowly draining out of his body leaving crimson stains on Purah’s sleeves.

“She must have finally heard from the Goddess and unlocked her powers…” Purah whispered. “But still, this situation doesn’t bode well.”

She shook her head sharply, regaining focus. “No amount of red portions will fix this. The only thing that might…hold on.” She tosses a roll of bandages toward Rowan.

“Wrap the wound tightly to slow the bleeding.”

As he obeyed, Purah sprang to her feet, running toward the stacks of books and scattered pages of notes on the nearby desk. Maps adorned the single intact wall, filled with markings and scribbled observations. She muttered to herself as she flipped through pages, tossing aside the irrelevant findings in her frantic search.

“I know I read something…Not that…No, no, no—ah-ha!”

Triumphantly, she held up a tattered tome, flipping through the pages with fervor.

“Our ancestors built incredible technology ten though sand years ago to fight against the Calamity. The Guardians, the Divine Beasts…but there was something else.” Her eyes darted across the ancient script. “A healing chamber—created for the mortally wounded. During our research into the Plateau, we found ruins here with similar markings as described in the text. If my theory is correct, this chamber might still exist.”

She snapped the blood shut, fixing them both with a determined stare.

“This is our only chance to save Link.”

As the younger warrior tightened the bandages around Link’s wound, Hollis clenched his jaw.

Purah grabbed her bag, stuffing it with notes, supplies, and the princess's slate before heading for the doorway. The rain was still falling in sheets, but she didn’t hesitate.

“Well?” She called over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”

The two warriors sprang into action, adjusting Link onto the younger’s back while Hollis took point, leading the way toward the kingdom’s last hope. Their movements were quick but methodical as they ascended the mountain trail, battling against the slick stones and thick mud. The wind and the rain buffeted them and decreased their field of vision making it difficult to see but still, they moved following the trail leading them up the central mountain on the Plateau.

After several minutes of tense silence, only interrupted by the roar of wind and rain, Rowan finally spoke, his voice barely heard above the storm.

“What if this doesn’t work? What if this technology is also corrupted by the Calamity? Is there truly no other way to heal Mr. Link?”

Purah halted mid-step and turned, her expression grim. “There is always a risk. The Calamity has been one step ahead of us this entire war. But if we give in to despair now, then we have already lost.”

She turned back towards the trail murmuring as much to herself as to the others. “This has to work”

The rain continued its relentless assault, soaking their cloaks and turning the ground beneath them to treacherous sludge. Rowan’s heart clenched each time Link’s shallow breaths grew fainter. Urgency quickened his pace—if they didn’t reach the shrine soon, it would be too late.

As they crested the ridge, a chilling sight greeted them. Hyrule Castle loomed in the distance, wreathed in a seething crimson malice. The tendrils coiled and writhed like a serpent constricting its prey before consuming it. Then, suddenly—a blinding golden light flared from within the sanctum, cutting through the darkness like a second sun.

A monstrous, bone-chilling roar erupted from the castle, its magnitude shaking the very land itself. The trees trembled, loos stones tumbled down the mountainside, and the air vibrated with the force of it.

Purah’s breath caught in her throat. At that moment she knew, Zelda was making her final stand. The small group stood frozen, staring in stunned silence as the battle unfolded before them. Light and darkness clashed in an invisible war of wills. For a moment, neither yielded. Then a ripple of energy pulsed across the land, pushing back the creeping malice. Then tendrils stopped—contained, but not destroyed.

Purah exhaled sharply. “It’s a stalemate…but that means Zelda is holding her ground. If we are right, Link could be the one to tip the scales.” She turned on her heel, steel in her voice. “We have to hurry.”

With renewed determination, they pressed forward, leaving behind the sight of the princess risking everything to buy them time. The younger warrior followed Purah into the cave entrance, but the elder lingered a moment longer. Bowing his head, he whispers a quick prayer to the goddess Haylia, begging for strength for Zelda. Then, with a deep breath, he turned and followed the others.

The entrance to the cave leading to the shrine was well hidden, unless someone was looking closely, one could have passed over the entrance. The cave itself was narrow, requiring careful maneuvering to get Link inside safely. Part of the ancient staircase had crumbled away, forcing them to work together to navigate the uneven descent. As they traveled deeper, the air grew damp and chilled, a thick mist curling around them. The smooth stone walls bore faint, glowing orange constellations—ancient Sheikah markings that pulsed with energy. Purah paused a bit as the darkness of the cave increased and retrieved a flint and torch from her bag to light the way.

At last, they reached a massive stone doorway. Ancient Sheikah text was etched along the edges and at its center, the unmistakable eye of the Sheikah, glowed dimly. Purah ran a hand over the inscriptions, muttering to herself.

“This is it. The entrance to the Healing Chamber.” She squinted, lips moving as she deciphered the runes. “It reads: ‘Within the Shrine of Resurrection, the hero was brought to heal from his grievous wounds. By the light of the Goddess, he shall rise once more.’”

She glanced over her shoulder, voice hushed. “The last great hero must have been mortally wounded, just like Link…and this chamber was built to ‘resurrect’ him.” Her fingers curled into fists. “We just have to figure out how to open it.”

The group fanned out, searching for any mechanism that might unlock the door. After several frustrating minutes, they found only a single pedestal, but it lacked any visible levers or switches.

Concerned for their dwindling time, Rowan hesitated before quietly suggesting, “Could the princess’s Sheikah Slate have any answers?”

Immediately Purah’s head shot up. “Eureka! I was so focused on the shrine, that I completely forgot about the Slate!”

She dug through her satchel, retrieving the device. As soon as she held it up, the pedestal pulsed with a warm orange glow. Heart pounding, Purah ran to it and carefully placed the slate on the stone surface.

The ground rumbled beneath them. Dust and loose rocks clattered from the ceiling as the massive stone door slid backward, then descended into the floor, revealing the chamber beyond.

Inside, the shrine was eerily quiet. The glossy black stone floor reflected their torchlight in shimmering patterns, and the glowing orange constellations continued along the walls. The ceiling was formed from a glass-like material, with faint blue light shining softly above. Mist curled at their feet, and small sconces of blue flame flickered along the chamber’s perimeter.

At the far end stood another sealed doorway, nearly identical to the last. As they approached, the pedestal beside it began to glow. Without hesitation, Purah placed the Slate upon it. The door rumbled once again, then slid open revealing the final chamber. The room was smaller, but its centerpiece was breathtaking. A large, shallow basin was carved into the stone floor and above it, a structure resembling twisting roots reached down from the ceiling before merging into a singular flower-like lid to the basin. The structure seemed to rhythmically pulse with an ethereal blue light.

Purah hurried to the basin, her breath catching. “Here!”

The young warrior carried Link forward, carefully lowering him onto the smooth surface of the basin. He adjusted Link’s arms, resting them over his chest, and gently pushed the matted and blood-crusted strands of blond hair from his face. Link’s breaths were barely perceptible, now only occasional labored gasps and his lips were tinged blue.

Purah’s heart pounded. “Hurry! If this is going to work, it has to happen now!”

As Rowan stepped back, Purah scanned the inscriptions covering the walls.

“It says the chamber will seal itself and begin the healing process once the Sheikah Slate is placed within the inner pedestal.” She swallowed hard. “We have to leave him here…and trust in the Goddess.”

With a deep breath, she set the Slate in place. It locked in with a mechanical click, then rotated until it was secured within the stone. The basin shuddered as the luminous blue liquid began to rise, slowly covering Link’s torso.

A quiet gasp escaped the young warrior as the liquid enveloped Links’s face. For a brief moment, it seemed as though the hero exhaled one final breath before disappearing beneath the surface. The chamber rumbled, and the doors began to close.

Purah turned, wiping her eyes as they hurried back through the corridors. They had done all they could. Now they could only wait.

Trailing behind them, Hollis slowed his steps, then stopped entirely before the entrance of the shrine. His voice was steady, filled with quiet resolve.

“I should stay behind and guard this place.”

Purah and the Rowan turned sharply. Before they could protest, he continued.

“The Calamity’s forces will come looking for Link. If they find him before he’s healed…everything will be for nothing. We can’t risk leading them here.”

Rowan’s fist clenched. “Then I’ll stay too—“

“No.” Hollis shook his head. “You need to get Purah back to Kakariko. The people need hope. They need to know this war isn’t lost.”

Desperation crept into the young man’s voice. “But we need you! We can’t just leave you locked in here. I need you! Father, please—“

”Enough.” The elder man’s expression softened, but his resolve held firm. “I have made my peace with this. Link needs someone to watch over him. And I need you to watch over your mother and sister. You are strong, my son. Go. We will see each other again when the Hero awakens.”

The mechanical doors rumbled, slowly sliding back into place, cutting off the view of the chamber within the shrine.

Rowan surged forward but was held back by Purah’s hand, his voice breaking. “Father, no—please!”

But the final clunk of the door sealed his father inside. The silence that follows is broken only by quiet, choked sobs.

After a long moment, Rowan staggered to his feet, wiping his tear-streaked face with the back of his hand.

Purah inhaled deeply, steadying herself. “We need to head back to Kakariko Village. We have to regroup, find other survivors…and prepare. Her voice hardened. “Zelda is buying us time. We have to use it.”

The young warrior swallowed hard, then gave a single, determined nod. Without another word, he followed Purah down the mountain.

The fight wasn’t over yet.

~~~~

Inside the Shrine of Resurrection

~~~~

As the final locking mechanism clicked into place, Hollis let out a slow breath, settling into a meditative posture in the middle of the chamber.

His self-appointed mission was twofold: to watch over the Hero and ensure his safe awakening…but also, if necessary, to end him. For if Link rose corrupted by the Calamity’s malice, the warrior would be Hyrule’s last line of defense.

And so, in the silent, glowing chamber, he waited.

Chapter Text

A furious blur whizzed by—an arrow striking true, embedding itself deep in the eye socket of a boar. The animal let out a final high-pitched squeal before collapsing onto the forest floor. The forest fell silent once more, save for the rustle of leaves in the wind.

A young man emerged from the underbrush.

He moved with measured precision, his every step calculated to leave no trace. He approached the fallen beast, eyes scanning for signs of predators that might have heard the final cry of the beast. Finding none, he knelt, fingers brushing over coarse fur still warm with fading life. The young man’s breath was steady. He then lifted the boar over his shoulders, adjusting the weight so it sat balanced against his back.

Dressed in a simple navy blue tunic, his forearms and calves wrapped in white bandages to keep the excess fabric from snagging, the young man moved with practiced ease. His hair, the color of old snow, was pulled into a loose bun at the top of his head, secured by a simple metal pin. A short, uneven fringe—the rough handiwork of someone who had cut it himself, likely with a knife—framed his red-brown eyes.

The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, the summer breeze carrying the delicate fragrance of wildflowers and ripe apples. Sunlight filtered through the dense canopy, painting shifting patterns of gold on the mossy forest floor. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to pause, inhaling deeply.

A fleeting peace.

Then—movement.

His gaze flickered toward the base of a gnarled tree, where a small beetle took flight from a cluster of Hylian shrooms that had sprouted from the roots. He crouched, plucking a few and tucking them into his satchel before resuming his journey.

Leaving the forest and passing through the ruins of an ancient town, the remains of the Temple of Time sit on the top of the hill. Its structure is now on the verge of collapse. It and the surrounding ruins have now become home to a couple of scattered Bokoblins.

Silently passing through, the young man made note of the Bokoblin locations with the thought of returning to eliminate them. While Bokoblins were part of Gannon’s minions, they had limited intelligence and only became a problem if their population grew too high.

After leaving the temple ruins, the plains stretched before him, a vast expanse of golden grass that swayed lazily in the afternoon breeze. Small groves of birch trees were scattered throughout the plains. Nestled against a rocky outcropping on the far edge of the Great Plateau stood a modest log cabin—his home.

It wasn’t much. The structure was crude, the logs unevenly stacked with small gaps that let in the chill at night. There was no door, only a rough cloth draped over the entrance to keep out the wind. It had withstood many storms—though, barely.

Still, it was home.

Upon arrival, he set to work. The boar was laid across a worn wooden table outside, and with practiced hands, he began the careful process of butchering it. His knife worked swiftly, stripping meat from bone, and separating the hide with deft precision. He wasted nothing. The organs were set aside and the meat was wrapped in cloth, and stored for smoking. The mushrooms were cleaned and sliced, and set aside for drying along with the hide. He then went away from his cabin to bury the remains of the animal bones.

As he worked, his senses remained sharp, always listening. The Plateau was isolated, but it was not safe.

By the time he finished, the sun hung high in the sky, beating down on the land. Sweat clung to his skin as he wiped his brow, surveying his work. Several good cuts of meat. Dried mushroom strips. Enough to last him for the next week.

Tucking a strip of old jerky into his mouth, he reached for his weapons and set out on his patrol of the Plateau.

His mission was clear: protect the Great Plateau and prevent any of Calamity Ganon’s followers from getting too close. It had been nearly a hundred years since the Calamity struck, leaving death and destruction in its wake. The land still bore the scars, but the people’s memories were not so permanent. Over time, the truth of Princess Zelda’s sacrifice—her power being the last barrier keeping the Malice at bay—had faded into legend. The belief that the Hero would rise again and turn the tide of the war had become nothing more than a bedtime story for children.

But the Sheikah remembered.

Once the royal family’s closest allies, protectors, and weapons, the Sheikah had been given a new purpose after the kingdom fell—to guard the resting place of the Hero. For the past century, the Sheikah had dispatched warriors to watch over the Great Plateau, protect, and prevent Ganon’s forces from finding the Hero’s resting place. For their armies were still searching to this day.

Quinn was one such guardian. Young but well-trained, he had spent the past year stationed here, patrolling the Plateau, eliminating Bokoblin encampments, and watching for Ganon’s spies. It was an honor, just as it had been for his father and his father before him.

On his patrol, Quinn noted a new Bokoblin camp built along the southern cliffs. He made a mental note to deal with them tomorrow. Satisfied with his plan, and the sun starting to lower on the horizon, he returned to his cabin to complete the slow process of smoking the boar meat over a low flame.

The night air carried a sharp chill, stark against the warmth of the flames. He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders, placing a few stones near the fire to heat. Once warmed, he would take them inside for the night.

The fire crackled as the meat smoked and he sat cross-legged, recording his observations from the day on a small piece of parchment. Even with only the light of the fire to guide his writing his script was neat, methodical.

When the ink dried, he rolled up the parchment and set it aside for the morning.

Then only after all the chores were done did he allow himself to rest for a couple hours until his next patrol.

Bringing his report with him, Quinn returned to the building. Ducking under the cloth doorway, inside the cabin, the air was still. The floor was packed dirt, the furnishings sparse—a wooden table, a few shelves, a small bed pushed into the corner. The sheets were threadbare, the blanket heavy but worn.

Quinn placed the report on the table then stripped off his outer armor, unwound the cloth bindings on his arms, and unclasped his kunai daggers, setting them within reach. A smaller blade was tucked beneath his pillow as he settled into a light sleep.

The dreams came again.

A sea of crimson.

Malice, writhing. Consuming.

A flash of searing light.

A voice—distant, calling his name.

A hand on his shoulder, firm and steady.

He woke with a sharp inhale, his pulse hammering against his ribs. The cabin was silent. Cold sweat clung to his skin and his breaths uneven. The sun had yet to rise, but there was no hope of sleep now.

Not one to waste time, Quinn dressed swiftly, donning his armor and weapons and packing his waterskin before stepping outside into the misty pre-dawn air.

He held out his arm and whistled a short, sharp tune into the still morning air. A raven swooped down from the darkened sky, perching on his outstretched arm. With careful fingers, he secured the parchment to the canister strapped to its leg, offering a scrap of meat in return.

“Take it to Kakariko,” Quinn murmured, though part of him wondered if the bird had better luck with directions than he did. “Don’t screw this up like last time.”

The bird cawed loudly, pecked his hand, then took off, vanishing into the dim light.

His body then moved through the familiar motions of his morning route as he scaled the cliffs outside the Shrine of Resurrection, munching on a crisp apple he snagged from a tree along the way.

As he neared the summit, he spotted a Bokoblin sprawled out and hidden in the tall grass next to the trail. It had likely been waiting in ambush but had dozed off in the stillness of the morning. Quinn pocketed the rest of his apple and crept forward.

The Red Bokoblin was an ugly pig-like monster with short legs, arms that seemed too large for its small body, a round belly, and a wide head that looked like it was squished during some part of its life. A small horn protrudes from its forehead. Its large ears flop around with its loud snores breaking the stillness of the morning. A dirty loincloth, a skull necklace, and arm wraps are the only clothing it wears. A large club lies nearby that seems to have been its weapon of choice but since falling asleep it had tumbled from the Bokoblins hands and lay useless at its side.

With a swift, silent movement, he drew his kunai and drove the blades into the Bokoblin’s back. It let out no sound—only a faint, shuddering breath before falling still. Quinn quickly collected a vial of its green monster blood and pried off its horn before the body blackened and turned to ash. The wind scattered the remains, leaving nothing behind.

Wiping his blades clean, Quinn glanced toward the horizon just as the first rays of dawn crested over Hyrule castle. Strangely, no Malice clung to the distant castle ruins—an unusual sight.

Then, the sun seemed to pulse—brighter, almost blinding.

The earth faintly trembled beneath his feet. A couple of the nearby birds were startled into flight. His instincts began to scream at him, and without hesitation, Quinn sprinted up the trail, heart pounding.

Just as he crested the ridge of the cliff, he saw him.

A young man, appearing no older than his early twenties, staggered from the cave entrance of the Shrine of Resurrection.

Quinn skidded to a halt, breath stolen from his chest.

The Hero stood before him.

Dressed in ill-fitting, moth-bitten cloth that hung loosely from his emaciated form. His long, unkempt blond hair tangled in the wind. His movements were hesitant as if he were seeing the world for the first time. Then, suddenly, his gaze snapped toward the castle. The golden light continued to pulse there—once, twice—before fading.

Quinn barely had time to exhale when the Hero’s eyes locked onto his.

For a moment, the Hero stared straight through him—recognition. And yet—emptiness. Then his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed.

Panic shot through Quinn as he lunged forward, catching him just before he hit the ground. He pressed trembling fingers to the Hero’s neck, searching. The pulse was there—weak, but present.

He couldn’t risk moving him far. Not yet. Quickly, Quinn dragged the Hero to a nearby shallow cave, where he built a small fire and arranged a makeshift pillow from spare fabric. Carefully Quinn laid the Hero down and rested his head on the pillow.

Cursing himself for not carrying more supplies he pulls out his waterskin and half an apple. It would have to do for now.

Carefully, he tilted his waterskin to the Hero’s lips, attempting to coax him to drink. Some water went down; most trickled uselessly down his jaw. Quinn wiped the excess away before settling him back down.

Then, he waited.

Each second stretched unbearably. Quinn’s ears strained for any change in the Hero’s breathing. Never had he expected the Hero to awaken in his lifetime. Some had even believed he never would.

Quinn had hoped. He had prayed to the Goddesses. But he had never been sure if they had heard him.

Then—at last—the Hero’s body tensed. A sharp inhale.

Quinn leaned forward as the Hero’s eyes fluttered open.

Electric-blue met reddish-brown once more.

And with a cracked, uncertain voice, the Hero spoke:

“Where…am I?”

~~~

The Hero continued to stare up at the Sheikah warrior, his eyes unfocused, as if trying to make sense of his surroundings. Slowly, he began to sit up but winced at the strain of using atrophied muscles. Quinn quickly reached out to assist him, but at the sudden movement, the Hero flinched away. Quinn immediately slowed, making his movements more deliberate.

Taking a step back, Quinn bowed. “My name is Quinn of the Sheikah tribe. I will be your guide for the start of your journey.” He hesitated before continuing. “What do you remember?”

“I don’t… I just heard a voice. Telling me to get up…” The Hero’s voice trailed off, his expression distant as he tried to piece together fragments of his past.

Quinn studied him for a moment. “Do you think you can walk, or should I just carry you the rest of the way, Hero?” 

The Hero weakly glared before nodding with resignation.

”I can walk.”

Quinn extinguished the fire with a few quick movements, muttering under his breath wondering if the Hero could even stay on his feet long enough to get to a proper bed. The journey back to the cabin was slow, the Hero’s weakened state requiring frequent breaks and careful navigation through Bokoblin-infested territory. Quinn never strayed far, unwilling to leave the Hero’s side for even a moment.

Unfortunately, one Bokoblin blocking their path could not be avoided. Quinn carefully lowered the Hero behind a tree and pressed a spare dagger into his hand.

“Stay here. Don’t move. I’ll be back soon.”

The Hero didn’t respond, simply staring at the blade in his hand.

Quinn turned his attention to the Bokoblin—a red one, more interested in chasing a beetle than watching its surroundings. Luck was on Quinn’s side. Swift and precise, he struck, his kunai sinking deep into the creature’s back. The Bokoblin gave a faint shudder before falling still.

Not bothering to collect monster parts, Quinn wiped his blades clean and immediately returned to where he had left the Hero. The monster’s corpse dissolved into ash behind him, scattered by the wind.

To his relief, the Hero was still sitting behind the tree, exactly where Quinn had left him. But his gaze was distant, unfocused, staring at something unseen.

Not wanting to startle him, Quinn deliberately let his footsteps fall heavier than usual. “Hero?” he called gently. “It’s all taken care of. We can keep moving.”

The Hero blinked and gave a small nod, finally breaking from whatever had held his attention.

As they continued across the Plateau, the sun climbed higher in the sky. Without the shelter of trees, the heat quickly became oppressive. Sweat beaded on Quinn’s brow, and the Hero’s simple tunic grew damp.

The Hero’s labored breaths and unsteady steps forced Quinn to slow their pace. Glancing around, he spotted a patch of shade beneath a crumbling stone wall. Checking for any nearby threats and finding none, he guided them both into the shade.

Pulling out his waterskin, Quinn handed it to the Hero. “Drink.”

The Hero took it gratefully, gulping down every last drop before pausing, guilt flickering across his face as he realized there was none left for Quinn.

Quinn, noticing his hesitation, simply shrugged. “I had plenty already. It’s fine.”

The Hero gave a small nod but furrowed his brow, looking down.

Quinn reached into his pack and retrieved an apple, cutting away the part he had previously bitten before offering the clean slice.

The Hero hesitated before gesturing insistently, motioning for Quinn to split it evenly. Though he hadn’t spoken much, his body language was expressive—stubborn, even.

Quinn sighed and relented, cutting the slice in half. He handed the slightly larger piece to the Hero, who took it with an almost smug expression before biting into it. His eyes widened at the taste, and within seconds, he had scarfed it down.

Quinn turned away, quietly eating his portion.

After a short rest, the Hero insisted on moving again. Though still weak, he seemed to gather his strength, managing to walk on his own for brief stretches. Quinn remained close, catching him each time he stumbled. The Hero shot him a few glares in response, clearly irritated by the constant hovering.

Eventually, they made it through the grasslands, arriving at the modest log cabin just as the sun began to dip toward the horizon.

The Hero’s stomach let out a loud grumble, and his legs trembled with exhaustion. Without a word, Quinn guided him inside and settled him onto the bed. The Hero weakly protested, but Quinn quickly silenced him.

“There will be time for action later. Right now, you rest.”

With that, he started a fire and set a pot of water to boil. Adding dried meat, mushrooms, and herbs, he stirred the simple stew as the fire crackled softly in the quiet evening air.

Once it was ready, he ladled a portion into a wooden bowl and carried it inside, helping the Hero sit up. Under Quinn’s watchful eye, the Hero slowly ate, washing it down with fresh water from the collection barrel.

He finished the entire pot.

Quinn sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Great, he eats like a whole village,” he muttered to himself. “I should’ve brought a herd of deer instead of this measly boar.”

The Hero barely seemed to notice Quinn’s murmurings. Sleep was already pulling at him, his head bobbing as he fought to stay awake.

Gently, Quinn removed the empty bowl from his hands, setting it aside before tucking him into bed.

After washing the dishes, he sat down at the worn wooden table, tearing off a piece of dried bread and jerky for himself. As he chewed, his gaze drifted toward the sleeping Hero, his expression unreadable.

How could this frail, unsteady young man possibly be the Hero of legend? It seemed laughable. The same warrior who had once stood against an army of Guardians during the Calamity could barely walk from the Shrine to the cabin without trembling legs.

And yet, here he was.

Regardless of his doubts, Quinn’s hand moved with practiced ease, each stroke of ink neat and precise.

His urgent report to Kakariko would be brief.

The Hero has awakened.

Chapter Text

Sleep was restless for Quinn. His mind circled the Hero and what his return would mean—for Hyrule, and him. He had spent years in preparation for this moment, yet now that it was here, doubt had crept in.

From his spot on the floor, Quinn glanced at the softly snoring Hero sprawled across the bed. Limbs flung haphazardly, he had somehow managed to claim most of the space, resembling an octopus taking up more than its fair share. He slept deeply—far longer than Quinn had expected. Had he not already rested for a century? But no—his body was frail, his strength stripped away by time.

Recovery would be an arduous road.

Quinn exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. The weight of responsibility pressed against his chest. He had already sent word to Kakariko the night before, but until a response came, he could do little but wait. Lady Impa would know what to do, but the Hero needed to regain his strength before anything else.

With a frustrated sigh, Quinn threw off his thin blanket and rose to his feet. Sleep was once again a lost cause.

Outside, the sky was still dark, thick clouds swallowing the moonlight. He moved carefully across the uneven terrain, grabbing an axe and heading toward a nearby grove. The rhythmic swing of the blade against wood sent sharp echoes into the silent night, grounding him in the task. He tried to lose himself in the movement, but his thoughts refused to quiet.

The Hero’s return changed everything. For a century, Quinn had trained, had waited, had prepared himself for the day the long-lost warrior would rise again. Yet now, faced with the reality of the situation, he felt an unfamiliar unease creeping in.

The legends spoke of an unstoppable swordsman, a champion who could stand against the tide of darkness without hesitation. But this man—this boy—sleeping inside that cabin was fragile. A part of Quinn resented that, though he wouldn’t dare admit it. And yet… another part of him felt something else entirely. A quiet, uneasy sympathy.

By the time the sun crested the horizon, sweat dripped down his brow, soaking into his tunic. He had just finished stacking the last of the wood to be carried back to the cabin when a loud crash echoed from the house.

Quinn’s heart dropped in his chest.

Dropping the wood he had been carrying, he sprinted toward the cabin, mind racing through the worst-case scenarios—had monsters found them? Had the Hero collapsed again? Had he failed his mission at the very start?

Bursting through the cloth-draped doorway, his eyes scanned the room—

And landed on the Hero, sprawled across the floor, feet tangled in blankets.

Quinn let out a sharp breath, his panic quickly shifting into exasperation.

“Are you okay, Hero?”

A muffled groan came from the heap of limbs and linen.

“I’m fine,” came the reply, voice thick with embarrassment. “Just leave me here.”

Quinn pinched the bridge of his nose. The sight would’ve been comical if not for the sheer absurdity of it. He stepped forward and peeled back part of the blanket, revealing the Hero’s face. His cheeks were red, either from exertion or embarrassment.

“You need help?” Quinn asked.

The Hero groaned louder “No,” and attempted to tug the blanket back up as if he could disappear beneath it, but it was still tangled around his legs and not cooperating.

Quinn sighed. “Alright. I’ll make breakfast while you…figure yourself out.”

The Hero simply groaned in response, still unwilling to move. With a sigh that was more resigned than annoyed, Quinn crossed the cabin and rifled through his trunk. He pulled out his only extra pair of old trousers and boots. They were worn, but serviceable, and likely a better fit for Link than anything else he had. Shirts, unfortunately, were another matter. None of Quinn’s would fit the Hero’s lean frame, so he would have to make due with his old, moth-bitten tunic—threadbare at the seams but still intact. Mostly.

Then Quinn retrieved a basin of water and an old rag, setting them nearby for the Hero to clean himself up, before heading outside to cook.

Rolling up his sleeves, he set to work on breakfast. Stews and dried meats were easy, but cooking wasn’t his specialty. His dexterity lay in elegantly dispatching monsters, not flipping eggs. The attempt was… less than successful. The fire was too hot, leaving the edges burnt while the center remained runny. He cut away the worst bits and placed the eggs on a slice of bread, hoping the Hero wouldn’t notice.

Before he could serve it, the raven returned with word from Kakariko. Quinn opened the canister, tossing a bit of burnt egg to the bird, which gulped it down whole. Inside was a short note:

Report on the Hero’s condition, and make way to Kakariko. We must act quickly before Ganon’s forces take notice.

Quinn quickly scrawled a reply.

Hero is weak, cannot travel in current condition. No abnormalities noted. Will make haste and maintain contact with updates.

Carefully, Quinn secures the new message before whispering to the bird.

Carefully, he secured the message before whispering, “Fly careful but quick to Kakariko.” Releasing the raven, he watched it disappear into the distance before returning inside with breakfast.

The Hero was still sitting on the floor, awkwardly trying to wash his hair in the basin, succeeding only in splashing water everywhere. But when Quinn set the plate down, his attention immediately snapped to the food, his mouth visibly watering.

Quinn smirked. “Let me help, Hero.”

The Hero shrugged and nodded absently, already beginning to devour his meal. Settling in behind him, Quinn dribbled water over the Hero’s hair and began to work through the tangles. His fingers moved carefully, unraveling knots, though some were too far gone and had to be cut away. The Hero stilled under his touch, eyes closed, as if savoring the rare moment of care.

Once finished, his hair fell unevenly to the top of his shoulder blades. The Hero ran his fingers through the shorter strands, expression thoughtful. Quinn handed him a small blue ribbon.

“Tie it back with this. It’ll stay out of your face.”

When the last strand was secured, the Hero tilted his head back and forth, marveling at how much lighter it felt. Then, sheepishly, he lifted his empty plate.

“More food?”

Quinn exhaled heavily, glancing at his plate—now cold. With a resigned shake of his head, he switched their plates. Quinn was definitely going to have to go hunting again soon. The Hero grinned, practically inhaling the second portion. As the last crumbs disappeared, Quinn leaned forward, expression turning serious.

“What do you remember?”

The Hero looks downwards, “I don’t remember anything, I just knew I needed to wake up.”

Quinn sighed, “We need to go to Kakariko,” he said. “It’s my hometown—the other Sheikah live there. Lady Impa will know what your next steps should be. But first, you need to regain some of your strength. The only way off the Plateau is by climbing down steep cliffs, and right now, that’s not an option.”

The Hero considered his words and reached into his lap, revealing a strange, rectangular device. Pointing to a small marker glowing on the screen.

Quinn stiffened, immediately recognizing the object as one of his ancestral devices.

The Hero continued, “I heard a voice that told me to go there. It told me this ‘Sheikah Slate’ would help guide me? Do you know what that means?”

Quinn’s eyes narrowed. “You heard a voice?”

“I don’t know who they were, but they sounded desperate. It came from the castle.”

Quinn’s chest tightened. Zelda? Or something worse? He extended his hand. “May I?”

The Hero nodded, handing it over.

Quinn traced the glowing Sheikah eye on the back, the orange runes lining its edges. Flipping it over, he studied the screen—a lone glowing yellow marker pulsed near the northeast of the Plateau on an otherwise dark screen. Quinn tried to recall anything significant in that area—only ruins and scattered boulders came to mind.

If Malice had seeped into the Slate, it could be far more dangerous than it appeared. It might be prudent to get it examined by someone knowledgeable in ancient Sheikah technology. Their technology had already been turned against them once. Relying on it again might invite further corruption.

He hesitated for a brief moment before handing the Slate back. Every instinct told him to be cautious, but the Hero needed answers—and right now, this was their only lead.

Quinn leaned forward, bracing his elbows against his knees. “You’ve been asleep for a hundred years. Your body is weak, and your memories are gone. If we’re going to prepare you for what’s ahead, we need to start now.”

The Hero’s grip tightened around his empty bowl.

“I’ll train you,” Quinn continued. “But it won’t be easy.”

The Hero exhaled slowly. Then, after a long moment, he nodded.

“Alright,” he said.

The following days were grueling.

Mornings were spent walking laps around the cabin, forcing the Hero’s atrophied muscles to wake. The Hero’s muscles were still weak, his steps slow and unsteady. More than once, Quinn had to catch him when his legs gave out, keeping a firm grip on his arm to steady him.

The Hero never spoke about it, but Quinn saw the tight clench of his jaw, the way his hands curled into fists when he had to rely on someone else.

Afternoons were for drills—weapon handling, blade safety, and footwork. But it became clear quickly that, despite whatever muscle memory his body might have once had, the Hero’s instincts were dulled. His grip on the wooden training dagger was unsteady, his swings too slow. Quinn had barely deflected his first strike when the weapon flew from his hands entirely, tumbling into the grass.

The Hero froze, shoulders stiff, his face carefully blank.

Quinn sighed and retrieved the weapon, pressing it back into his grip. “We’ll keep working on it, Hero.”

It was small—just a barely noticeable twitch of the Hero’s fingers. But Quinn caught it.

He didn’t address it.

Evenings were the hardest. Quinn left to hunt and patrol the area, instructing the Hero to meditate and regain his focus in his absence. But every time Quinn returned, he found him in nearly the same position—rigid, scowling at the fire, fingers twitching as if they longed to do something, anything else.

The frustration built slowly, bubbling under the surface like a pot about to boil over. When Quinn adjusted his stance, Link jerked his foot back too quickly, nearly tripping over himself. When his swing missed its mark, his fingers twitched on the hilt as though he wanted to hurl the dagger to the ground. The slight way his grip tightened on his training weapon whenever Quinn called him Hero.

Quinn had spent years preparing to serve the Hero, but this Hero—the one sitting across from him now, scowling at his dinner, stiff with irritation—was not the warrior he had imagined. He was different.

And Quinn wasn’t sure what to do with that.

The breaking point came during training.

It had been another afternoon of weapon drills, another moment
correcting the Hero’s stance. Quinn crouched down, nudging his foot into a better position. “Your balance is off, Hero.”

The Hero jerked away.

“Stop calling me that.” His voice was taut, sharp enough to cut.

Quinn frowned. “Calling you what?”

“Hero.” The Hero’s grip on his weapon tightened. “That’s not my name.”

Quinn stilled.

“But it’s who you are.”

“No,” the Hero snapped. “That’s who I was. But I don’t remember that person. And the way you say it—it’s like I don’t have a choice.”

Something in his voice made Quinn pause.

The Hero exhaled harshly, running a hand through his newly cut hair. “Everyone keeps talking about the Hero, but no one talks about me. Maybe I’m not the person you all think I am. Maybe I don’t want to be.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and uncertain.

Quinn looked at him then—really looked. The tension in his shoulders, the frustration burning in his eyes, the way his fingers twitched like they wanted to tear something apart.

The Hero—the boy—was unraveling right in front of him.

Quinn exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s easier for me,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “I trained to serve the Hero. Not… you.”

The Hero’s grip loosened slightly.

“But if it matters to you,” Quinn continued, hesitation creeping into his voice, “…I’ll try.”

For the first time, he hesitated before saying it.

“…Link.”

It felt strange on his tongue, unnatural after so many years of training himself to say Hero. But as soon as the name left his lips, the tension in Link’s shoulders eased—just a little.

With that, the tension between them seemed to loosen.

Quinn watched as Link swung the wooden training dagger with all the finesse of a lumberjack hacking at a tree. His movements were wild, unrefined—not the quick, precise strikes Quinn had tried to teach him. Frustration gnawed at him. The Hero of legend was supposed to wield a blade like an extension of his own body. Instead, Link fought like a man trying to hold onto something just out of reach.

Perhaps, Quinn thought, the problem wasn’t the technique. Perhaps the problem was the weapon itself.

That night, while out on patrol, he searched for something more suitable. He discovered an old broadsword, partially buried in the dirt, rusted but salvageable. After painstakingly sharpening the blade, he presented it to Link.

The man’s face lit up with childlike excitement. From that moment, his training took a sharp turn. With renewed vigor, Link took to the sword drills like a Zora to water.

And soon, Link was strong enough to face a true monster.

Quinn had spent days stalking a small group of red Bokoblins near the plains, learning their movements, their patrols. When the time came, he carefully lured one away, keeping his body loose, his breathing steady.

“Watch carefully,” Quinn instructed, eyes locked onto the snarling creature.

“Combat is about patience as much as skill. Read your enemy. Anticipate.”

The Bokoblin let out a guttural snarl, brandishing its crude club before charging.
Quinn sidestepped effortlessly, his movements fluid, measured. The monster swung wildly, but each attack met only empty air. Quinn ducked low, rolling past its defenses, before flicking his dagger up in a sharp, controlled arc. The blade scraped across the Bokoblin’s forearm, drawing a pained shriek.

The creature, enraged, lunged with a desperate, overhand strike. This was its mistake. Quinn noting this moment of weakness quickly pivoted on his heel, sliding past the attack and stepping into its space. With one swift motion, he drove his dagger upward—between the ribs, meeting some resistance before piercing the heart.

Dark monster blood began to sluggishly pulse out around the knife, Quinn then removed the dagger with a final twist. The Bokoblin’s battle cry was choked off, its body seizing before it collapsed to the dirt. A moment later, it began dissolving into ash, carried off by the wind.

Quinn turned to Link. Spots of monster blood stained his arm wraps dark drops trailing down the hilt.

Link stood frozen, his face pale, his fists clenched tight around the hilt of his sword. His chest rose and fell in rapid breaths, his body trembling.

Then he turned away and vomited into the tall grass.

Quinn sighed, wiping his blade clean before approaching. He hesitated before awkwardly patting Link’s back.

“Death isn’t easy to watch,” he said, voice steady but firm. “But if you don’t kill them, they will kill you. You have to understand, Hero…err…Link—these creatures are the minions of Ganon. They would not hesitate to hurt you, or the innocent people of Hyrule. You must stop them.”

Quinn could see the struggle in Link’s face, the unspoken turmoil in his eye. Physically, he had come far. But Quinn still questioned whether his mind and spirit were truly ready for the battle ahead.

Still, there was only one way to find out.

Quinn’s expression hardened. “Now it’s your turn…Link” he said, stepping back. “Show me what you’ve learned.”

Link wiped his mouth, straightened, and turned toward Quinn. Though his body was still weak, his eyes burned with something new—determination. He gave a firm nod.

Quinn then lured another Bokoblin away from the group, keeping himself just out of reach as the ugly creature snarled and brandished its weapon. Then, with a flick of his wrist, Quinn sent a small rock flying toward it. The Bokoblin shrieked in anger and began to charge.

Quinn stepped aside and looked towards Link. “Go on,” he ordered.

Link tightened his grip on his sword and rushed forward with a battle cry. The Bokoblin reacted instantly, swinging its club down in a brutal arc. Link barely managed to doge, stumbling slightly as he pivoted to the side. He slashed out, his blade cutting across the creature’s chest, but it was a shallow wound—more of an annoyance than a threat.

The Bokoblin howled, its rage doubling. It lunged again, swinging wildly, forcing the Hero onto the defensive. He backpedaled, his movements clumsy but quick. The Bokoblin’s club swung past his face by mere inches, the wind of the strike ruffling his hair.

“Find your opening!” Quinn called.

Link gritted his teeth, eyes locking onto the Bokoblin’s movements. He saw it then—the overcommitment, the slight stumble after each heavy swing. The monster was strong, but its attacks were clumsy.

So when the Bokoblin lunged again, the Hero didn’t dodge it. A flash of instinct appeared in his eyes as he stepped in.

With a sharp breath, he ducked under the incoming club and drove his blade deep into the creature’s side. The Bokoblin let out a choked grunt, its body shuddering as it struggled to lift its weapon again. But Link twisted the blade and yanked it free, sending dark blood splattering across the ground.

The Bokoblin swayed on its feet before collapsing.

Link’s sword hand trembled. Blood—dark and sticky—clung to the blade, the scent of iron sharp in the air. The Bokoblin’s body collapsed, its final breath a raspy, rattling thing. As the corpse began to dissolve, Link’s grip tightened. His stomach churned, but this time, he didn’t look away. He had done what needed to be done. He took a slow, unsteady breath, and lowered his sword.

Quinn watched him carefully, Link’s face was unreadable, but there was no more hesitation in his stance, no longer a tremor in his fingers. He had done what was needed.

For the first time, Quinn began to see it—the fire of the warrior he was meant to be. Link just might be the Hero Hyrule needed.

Chapter Text

After Link’s first real battle, their routine shifted. Every morning, they patrolled the plains together. Quinn taught him essential survival skills along the way—how to identify edible mushrooms, which plants to avoid, the best techniques for finding clean water, and even how to catch fish with nothing but a wooden spear.

Afternoons were spent sparring. In the shade of a nearby grove, Quinn had cleared a space for their training sessions. Though he still won every match, Link was improving quickly. More than once, he pulled off unexpected moves that forced Quinn to stay on his toes. His instincts for unorthodox combat were returning.

Evenings remained dedicated to meditation, but while Link sat in quiet focus, Quinn worked on crafting the paraglider. Piece by piece, it was coming together—soon, it would be ready for a test flight. The rhythmic tinkering of tools blended with the crackling fire, creating an unspoken harmony between them.

The next morning, the fire crackled as Quinn poked half-heartedly at the charred remains of their breakfast. Another failed attempt. He sighed, setting the stick down in frustration. “I don’t get it. I followed the steps exactly.”

Link, sitting cross-legged nearby, raised a skeptical brow. “Did you, though?”

Quinn scowled. “Yes! Heat the pan, crack the eggs, don’t let them stick—” He gestured at the blackened mess in the pan. “And yet, here we are.”

Link hummed, unconvinced. He eyed Quinn’s sorry excuse for food before shaking his head and standing. “Move over.”

Quinn blinked. “What?”

“You’re officially fired. I’m cooking.”

Quinn opened his mouth to argue but hesitated. Honestly, it wasn’t like things could get worse. With a dramatic sigh, he scooted back and gestured for Link to do his worst. “Fine. But if you somehow burn water, I’m taking over again.”

Link snorted but didn’t respond. Instead, he grabbed their limited ingredients and got to work. He moved with quiet confidence, rolling up his sleeves before expertly cracking eggs into a small pan. The firelight flickered over his face as he worked, the glow reflecting in his focused blue eyes.

Quinn watched with mild curiosity as Link added wild herbs, a pinch of salt, and something from a pouch in his satchel. The scent of eggs and aromatic greens filled the air. It smelled…good.

Almost suspiciously good.

Quinn narrowed his eyes. “Where did you learn to cook?”

Link shrugged, flipping the eggs effortlessly. “Not sure. Just feels natural.”

Quinn frowned. Another skill resurfacing from a past life. It still unsettled him, how things came back to Link in pieces—things he should remember, but didn’t.

But then the scent of the food fully hit him, and his wariness was temporarily overridden by hunger.

A few minutes later, Link handed him a plate. The eggs were golden, speckled with herbs, and—most importantly—not burned. Quinn took a bite, expecting something at least passable.

Instead, his mouth was filled with warm, savory flavors—soft eggs perfectly balanced with the subtle bitterness of wild greens. His chewing slowed. He swallowed.

“This is…” He looked down at the plate, then back at Link. “This is actually good.”

Link smirked. “Surprised?”

“Yes,” Quinn said bluntly. He took another bite. “Very.”

Link sat down with his own plate, smugly digging in. “See? Told you you’re fired.”

Quinn huffed, but he couldn’t even argue. For the first time since he started his mission, he actually enjoyed a meal.

As they ate, the fire crackled between them, the morning air cool and crisp. For the first time in weeks, their breakfast wasn’t just fuel—it was comfort.

Maybe letting Link take over the cooking wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Taking this time to push things further Quinn turned to Link.

He speared a piece of delectable egg with his fork. “I think it's time to investigate that marker on the Sheikah Slate. Now that I no longer have to worry that a gentle breeze would knock you over.”

Link shot him a glare, and Quinn couldn’t help but smirk. “I wasn’t that bad.” Link retorted.

Quinn tilted his head with a mock innocence. “Who fell out of bed that first morning?”

“That doesn’t count! Those blankets had it out for me.”

Quinn let out a snort, but his retort was cut off when Link muttered something under his breath—something about his cooking, though Quinn couldn’t catch the rest. He narrowed his eyes, ready to fire back, but before he could, Link stood and gathered the dishes.

Quinn leaned back, watching Link move. In just a few weeks, the difference was striking. The once-loose shirt now fits snugly across his shoulders and arms. His face had lost its hollow sharpness, making him look younger. His eyes—no longer dulled by exhaustion—shone with renewed clarity.

Quinn shook the thought away, pushing it aside for now. They needed to focus on the mission ahead. But, at some point, he’d need to get Link some proper clothes.

After breakfast, they geared up and set out across the plains. Their patrol was quiet—no stray Bokoblin scouts crossed their path. That alone was a good sign. When they finished their rounds, they turned toward the Sheikah State’s marker.

The path to their destination was mostly clear, save for two Bokoblins standing in their way. Quinn had considered stepping in, but Link moved first. He dispatched them efficiently—not perfectly, but with a confidence that hadn’t been there before.

His muscle memory was returning.

As they neared their destination, the Sheikah Slate began pulsing and softly beeping. Ahead, a pile of stones loomed, a dark crevice marking the entrance to a shallow cave. A lone Blue Bokoblin stood guard. Quinn held up a hand, stopping Link.

“Alright, listen. Up until now, we’ve only fought Red Bokoblins. They’re younger, weaker—easier to deal with. Blues are stronger. Their skin is tougher, and they hit harder. This one won’t go down as easily.” He smirked. “Think you are up for a challenge, Mr. Hero?”

Link didn’t reply—he just glared and strode forward. Quinn sighed. Always so damn eager.

The Bokoblin’s floppy ears twitched at the sound of approaching footsteps. Its bulbous belly bulged as if it had just finished a large meal. White tattoos or war paint wrapped around its upper arms and painted streaks from its eyes up its squat forehead. It snarled with its two visible teeth and brandished a crude wooden spear.

Link charged with a battle cry. Still with the yelling…gotta break him of that habit. Quinn thought.

The Bokoblin howled back, spinning its spear in wide, aggressive arcs. Quinn watched as Link started strong, but the monster’s reach quickly forced him backward. Link adjusted, waiting for an opening, his grip tightening around his sword.

Good. He’s starting to analyze his opponents.

Eventually, the Bokoblin’s swings slowed, its breath growing ragged. Link took that opportunity to lunge, slicing across its shoulder—a solid hit. Green blood oozed from the wound. The creature shrieked and retaliated with a sharp jab.

Quinn’s stomach lurched. Too fast—

The spear struck Link hard in the stomach. He doubled over with a gasp. That was going to hurt in the morning.

“Link! Eyes up!”

Link barely had time to react before another thrust came for him. He rolled away at the last second, regaining his footing. Quinn clenched his fist, resisting the urge to step in. Come on, Link. Think.

Then something changed.

Quinn didn’t know how to describe it, but suddenly, Link’s movements changed. His eyes sharpened, and his body shifted—not just reacting, but anticipating. And then—

He moved.

Quinn blinked, barely keeping up as Link surged forward. His blade struck with blinding speed—once, twice, three times. The Bokoblin stumbled, unable to react before the next strike tore through its defenses.

The final blow sent the creature collapsing into a heap. Its body convulsed once before dissolving into dark ash.

Quinn let out a slow breath.

What the hell just happened?

He stepped forward carefully, watching as Link flexed his fingers, staring down at his hands. “What was that?” Quinn asked.

Link’s expression was unreadable. “I…don’t know. It felt almost like time stopped. I could see everything—every moment, every opening. It was like…” He trailed off, frowning.

Quinn felt unease settle in his gut. That wasn’t just training—that was something else entirely.

He’d fought against countless opponents, sparred with skilled warriors—but never had he seen someone strike with such speed and accuracy. No one—least of all someone barely two weeks into training—moved like that. The way Link dodged, how his strikes landed with impossible precision…it wasn’t natural.

Had he always been like this? Or had the Shrine of Resurrection done something to him?

But he didn’t press—not yet. There would be time for that later.

Instead, they continued into the shallow cave.

The smooth stone floor bore ancient Sheikah carvings, reminding Quinn of the Shrine of Resurrection and contrasting the rough stone that stretched up the walls to the ceiling creating the shallow dome of the cave. At the center stood a pedestal. Without hesitation, Link stepped forward to place the Sheikah Slate into it.

A mechanical voice rang out.

“Sheikah Tower activated. Please watch for falling rocks.”

Quinn barely had time to curse before the ground began to tremble.

“What did you do—“

The cave suddenly shook violently, the ground lurching beneath them. Then—they were rising.

Quinn tumbled to his knees as they shot into the sky. Rocks shattered around them, propelled into the air as their platform soared higher and higher. Across the landscape, other towers erupted from the ground, climbing toward the heavens.

When the shaking finally stopped, Quinn forced himself upright. Looking around at their new surroundings, they were now hundreds of feet in the air. New orange glowing structures jutted up from the surrounding distant landscape.

“Goddesses…” he swallowed thickly. “Link, you are never—ever—to randomly touch things again.”

Behind them, the pedestal glowed and the mechanical voice rang out again.

“Distilling local information.”

A melodic hum filled the air. Quinn turned in time to see blue glowing Sheikah runes stream down the stone above the pedestal, condensing into a bright blue droplet of energy before it dripped, absorbing into the Sheikah Slate.

Link stepped forward curiously. His brows lifted. “It gave us a map of the Plateau.”

Quinn exhaled, pressing a hand to his forehead. “Great. Love that. But maybe warn me next time before activating some ancient super-structure—“

Then Link went still, gaze snapping towards the castle in the distance.

Noticing Link’s attention shift, Quinn’s voice trailed off and he followed Link’s gaze.

A golden light flickered deep within the ruins of the castle, and the ground trembled in response. A group of birds took off from the nearby trees as if trying to flee. Their instincts forcing them to move.

Malice suddenly erupted from the castle, coiling into the sky like a massive serpent. It roared—a deafening monstrous sound—before fading into the air.

Quinn’s heart pounded. If Ganon’s forces didn’t know Link was awake before, they sure do now.

Beside him, Link barely breathed.

Quinn looked at him, dread curling in his chest. What’s pulling at him?

Then, softly, Link whispered, “I heard the voice again. Was…was that the Calamity you were talking about?”

Quinn’s throat tightened. Concerned for the intentions of the voice that keeps speaking to Link. He nodded. “Yeah. That’s what appeared a hundred years ago. And it destroyed everything. The princess’s power is all that holds it back from continuing the rampage it started a century ago.”

Link paled. His breathing turned sharp. Unsteady.

“I failed then…How could I possibly succeed now?”

Quinn recognized it instantly—panic.

“Link. Breathe with me.” He inhaled slowly. “In. Out.”

Link clenched his eyes shut but followed the sound of Quinn’s breathing.

After a moment, he exhaled, shoulders trembling. “Sorry.”

Quinn sighed. “It’s normal to feel overwhelmed. But at least you’ve got me this time around.”

Link let out a weak chuckle.

Quinn turned his gaze back to the land. Nearby across a lake on the Great Plateau, a new glowing structure loomed, waiting.

“Well,” he sighed. “Looks like we’ve got more exploring to do.”

Getting down from the tower proved far more difficult than getting up.

Quinn peered over the edge, his stomach twisting. The ground was impossibly far below, the tower’s walls might offer few handholds but a single misstep could send them plummeting.

Link, unfazed as always when it comes to anything physical, scanned the top of the tower before spotting something—a hole in the platform’s surface leading to a metal lattice-work that made up the outside of the tower. The holes, were just big enough to create hand and foot holds with a small ledge visible just beneath them. 

“That’s our way down,” Link said, already moving.

Quinn caught his arm. “Are you sure?”

“It’s better than jumping.”

Quinn muttered a curse but let him go.

Link slipped through the hole, lowering himself onto the lattice framework. The structure creaked but held his weight. He carefully felt for the next foothold, carefully picking his was before he dropped from view. Quinn leaned over the hole, watching as Link landed safely on the platform below.

“See?” Link called. “It’s fine!”

Quinn clenched his jaw. Fine. Sure. He inhaled deeply, then swung himself over the edge. His grip was firm, but the metal was cold and smooth.

Steady.

He tested his footing, then lowered himself further. He could just make out another set of platforms zigzagging down the side of the tower. It seemed the Sheikah had designed a way to climb down, though whether it was intentional or a lucky accident, Quinn couldn’t say.

How Link—who could barely walk a full lap around the cabin two weeks ago— was managing to climb like a monkey down the tower, Quinn couldn’t begin to explain. Link’s movements at the beginning were smooth, instinctive, like his body knew exactly what to do before his mind did.

Quinn, on the other hand, wasn’t faring nearly as well. His palms were sweating, forcing him to pause mid-descent and wipe them off on his tunic. The wind howled through the metal framework, rattling loose debris and making the drop below seem even farther. One misstep, and he’d be nothing more than a stain at the base of the tower.

He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to refocus. This was fine. He’d done worse. He’d climbed sheer cliffs with nothing but his hands and scaled crumbling ruins without thinking twice. But this? Something about climbing down ancient Sheikah tech, something built by his very people who were partially responsible for the disaster that ruined Hyrule… made his skin crawl. He didn’t trust it. He never would.

They continued downward, muscles aching from the tension. Link’s energy seemed to wane the closer to the ground they got. Each ledge grew narrower, and the final drop was a solid six feet. Link landed first, rolling to absorb the impact. Quinn gritted his teeth and followed, bracing for impact before his feet hit the dirt.

His knees burned from the force, but they were down.

Quinn sat back on his heels, staring up at the tower.

“Never doing that again,” he muttered.

Looking over at Link, it seemed like all the physical exertion was finally getting to Link. Doubled over, panting heavily. Quinn reached into his satchel and pulled out his waterskin, taking a swig before tossing it over to Link.

“Here, take a drink.”

Link quickly popped the top off before taking a couple of deep gulps. Gasping for breath when he was finished. Wiping off the excess water from the sides of his mouth Link turned to Quinn.

“Yeah, that was pretty intense.”

Link gazed up at the tower, shielding his eyes from the glare of the noonday sun. Sweat clung to both of their bodies from the intense workout they just did, but the cool breeze helped to cool off their heated bodies.

Link then grinned, and offered a hand to Quinn. “Come on, let’s check out that new structure.”

Quinn took the offered hand with a scowl, allowing Link to pull him to his feet. If we ever activate another one of these, I’m finding another way down.

Across the small lake, the glowing structure loomed—ancient, squat, and humming with quiet energy.

As they walked around the body of water Quinn pondered. “What do you think it is?”

“Some kind of checkpoint? Or maybe it holds some kind of ancient power to help us?”

Quinn shuddered at the idea of more Sheikah technology. “I don’t know, but I guess there is only one way to find out.”

The building loomed before them, an unnatural contrast to the rugged wilderness of the Great Plateau. Unlike the weathered ruins of Hyrule’s past, this structure remained eerily pristine. It was carved from smooth black stone, the surface etched with intricate swirling patterns that pulsed faintly with orange light. The air around the structure hummed with energy, a distant, steady thrum that Quinn could feel in his bones.

Above the presumed entrance to the building, a Sheikah eye framed by geometric symbols was carved into the stone. Below, horizontal bars with Sheikah runes etched into them were shut tight blocking all possible hope of a forced entry. To the right of the doorway, a pedestal sat. The structure appeared possibly buried, only its uppermost portion visible. The rest of the shrine, Quinn suspected, extended deep underground.

“I don’t like this,” Quinn muttered, running a hand over the carvings, the stone was unnaturally cold despite the late afternoon sun.

“It looks like the same technology as the Shrine of Resurrection.” Quinn continued, pondering.

Link frowned, glancing down at the Sheikah Slate. “Then maybe it’s connected. It could have answers.”

Quinn exhaled. Or more problems. Quinn clenched his fist. He hated Sheikah technology. It had led to nothing but disaster.

The writings along the outer walls were in ancient Sheikah script. Some sections were too small to decipher from afar, but others were clear enough.

“’Oman Au Shrine.’” Quinn read aloud. “‘A trial to test and temper the Hero that he may stand against the Great Calamity.’”

Link squared his shoulders, absorbing the words. Quinn, however, felt only a growing unease. As Quinn ran a hand over the carvings, a faint vibration pulsed beneath his fingertips. Not just the usual hum of Sheikah technology—this was deeper like something was waiting. Anticipating.

“So it’s a test,” Link said. “A challenge.”

Quinn nodded, still staring at the carvings. “And it’s meant for you.”

Something about that fact didn’t sit right with him. Had these shrines always existed, beneath the earth, waiting for a time like this? Had the Sheikah built them knowing Hyrule would fall?

Link, however, showed no hesitation. He stepped towards the shrine’s entrance, raising the Slate towards the pedestal.

“Wait.” Quinn caught his arm. “Last time you activated something, we were flung into the sky. Let me check—“

Before he could finish, Link had already pressed the Slate to the pedestal. And a loud click echoes across the Plateau.

A deep chime resonated through the air, and the glowing swirls near the shrine’s entrance shifted from orange to blue as the Sheikah eye above the entrance began to glow a bright orange.

Quinn flinched as the ground beneath them rumbled. A mechanical hum begins to whirl as the massive stone bars split apart, revealing an interior of smooth, polished walls. A faint blue mist drifted from within, carrying a metallic scent that sent a shiver down Quinn’s spine.

Beyond the threshold, a circular platform marked with a glowing blue sigil waited at the center of the chamber.

“Goddess damn it Link!” Quinn whispered, “What did I tell you about touching things!”

Link, stubbornly ignoring Quinn's words, stepped forward without hesitation. The moment he did, the sigil on the floor flared to life—

And the floor began lowering beneath him.

“Link!”

Quinn lunged forward, but Link was already sinking into the depths below. Quinn skidded to a stop at the edge, heart hammering and peered down. Link looked up as Quinn saw him grow smaller as he continued to lower down into the darkness. Link's arm shot up in a quick thumbs-up before he disappeared into blue mist.

Quinn exhaled sharply, stepping back. A flicker of fear ignited in his heart. Fear that the Hero might not come back.

“Be careful,” he muttered into the still-humming entrance of the shrine.

Then Quinn settled on the grass outside, eyes fixed on the shrine’s entrance.

Waiting once again.

Chapter Text

The worst part was the waiting. Before, Quinn had been guarding a legend—something intangible, something distant. But now, that legend had a name. Link. A real person, flesh and blood, and Quinn couldn’t shake the concern that gnawed at him. Not knowing what trials Link was facing, especially in his weakened state, was a constant worry.

Though Link had surprising insights and a slowly awakening battle sense, Quinn couldn’t help but feel restless. The minutes ticked by like hours. He tried to meditate, to ground himself, but his legs wouldn’t stop bouncing in agitation. Frustrated, Quinn abandoned the attempt and began to pace. His thoughts ran in circles—when Link returned, Quinn was going to give him a piece of his mind! He’d teach the Hero to think twice before running off into possible danger without so much as a word.

Quinn shook his head. Who was he kidding? Of course, Link would do it again. It was as if the Hero took some perverse pleasure in vexing Quinn. He took some strange satisfaction in driving Quinn to the edge.

He had briefly considered taking this sudden downtime to clear out a nearby Bokoblin camp—his skills would make quick work of them—but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Link might return at any moment. No, better to stay near the shrine. He didn’t want to risk missing the Hero’s return, and to make sure he didn’t get himself into further trouble.

The hours stretched on. Quinn looked up at the sky, noting the harsh midday sun turning to gentle warmth with the beginning of the sun’s steady descent to the western horizon. Looking around the shrine, there seemed to be a small pond and the beginnings of a forest beyond the water.

Though it seemed to be a peaceful glade at the moment, he really didn’t want to camp out in the field tonight—he’d prefer a proper fire and shelter. Hopefully, Link will be back soon. Continuing his pacing, his eyes caught a flicker of movement in the pond—a quick flick of a tail.

An idea soon sparked in Quinn’s mind. He could catch some fish so they could have a good dinner tonight—cooked by Link, of course—when he returned. He needed something, anything, to focus his attention on instead of this mindless worry gnawing at him. Plus, he would be right there when the Hero returned, ready to unload all of his pent-up frustration.

Shaking off the restless thoughts, Quinn rolled up the legs of his pants and grabbed a sharp stick from the nearby brush. With a glance to the shrine—just in case—he waded into the shallows of the pond.

The water was biting cold, sending a brief shiver up his spine, but he welcomed the sensation. It grounded him, forcing him to concentrate on the present instead of the unknown dangers Link might be facing. The soft silt squished between his toes, shifting under his weight, while slimy strands of algae brushed against his ankles like phantom hands. As he walked in deeper, the water swirling around his calves, Quinn found his spot and stilled. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, focusing on his breathing—slow, steady, controlled. He let his heartbeat settle, matching the quiet rhythm of the world around him.

The pond was peaceful, a small oasis untouched by the chaos beyond its shores. The hum of insects filled the air, and the occasional chirp of birds echoed through the trees. Quinn allowed himself to blend into the background, becoming just another part of the environment.

He waited.

A flicker of movement caught his eye. A fish, lazily drifting through the shallows, was drawn to the freshly disturbed algae on the pond floor. Quinn didn’t move. He barely breathed. His body was relaxed but poised, muscles coiled beneath the surface like a bowstring waiting to be released.

A single slow exhale.

Then he struck.

The sharpened stick speared through the water, meeting its mark with lethal precision. The fish barely had time to react before it was lifted, twitching, out of the pond. With a flick of his wrist, Quinn tossed the lifeless creature onto the shore. It hit the ground with a soft thump, its body giving one final spasm before growing still.

Not wasting time, Quinn emptied his mind again and turned his attention back to the water.

One fish. Two. Three. Four. Each one fell to his practiced aim, piling up beside the pond. He could already picture Link’s reaction when he saw them—probably impressed, though Quinn doubted the Hero would admit it outright. Maybe he’d make a sarcastic remark about Quinn’s survival skills instead.

Just as he steadied himself for a fifth, the surface of the water rippled unnaturally. A low, distant rumbling reached his ears.

Quinn tensed.

At first, it was subtle—just a faint tremor that sent tiny ripples skittering across the pond’s surface. But within moments, the vibration deepened, growing louder, stronger as the shrine’s glow turned from partial orange to full blue. The ground beneath his feet quivered, and the water around his legs trembled in response.

The fish, once lazily drifting, darted away in a sudden frenzy, their instincts screaming of imminent danger.

Quinn's grip on the spear tightened. His breath hitched, and hope rose in his chest. He quickly splashed out of the pond, abandoning his task, and sprinted toward the entrance of the shrine. Was Link—?

He skidded to a halt just as the figure of Link emerged from the shrine’s opening. The Hero was on his feet, looking a bit worse for wear. His worn clothes were now singed in places, smears of black soot stained the cloth and a couple of tears made his usually unkempt appearance even more ragged. But besides a small burn that marred his forearm and a couple of small cuts, there were no other visible wounds.

Relief surged through Quinn, only to be quickly replaced by frustration. He stalked forward, his steps purposeful but his emotions were a mixture of concern and irritation. Link’s eyes met his, and the Hero seemed to shrink slightly under Quinn’s gaze, bracing for a verbal barrage. A heavy silence stretched between them.

But Quinn didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he stopped in front of Link, staring at him for a moment. The anger, concern, and frustration swirled in his chest but seeing Link acting like a soon-to-be scolded child, the emotions drained, leaving a tired but relieved body behind.

Quinn simply placed a hand on Link’s shoulder, feeling a flinch shock through the Hero’s body, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Quickly, Quinn removed his hand from Link’s shoulder as if he was burned and Quinn simply looked away.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he muttered, his voice a little more horse than usual.

Link blinked owlishly, as if unsure how to respond to this uncharacteristic response from Quinn. His mouth opened and closed like a fish as if he was about to say something but couldn’t find the words.

Quinn cleared his throat and pulled his cloth mask higher up his face, attempting to hide the emotions flickering across. “But don’t think this means you’re off the hook. I’m still mad at you. Next time—give me a little warning before you dive headfirst into trouble.”

Link nodded, his shoulder slumping slightly, chastised by the unexpected change in Quinn’s tone.

“Well, I caught us some fish for dinner, I figured you’d be hungry enough to eat a whole boar yourself, but hopefully this will be enough.” Quinn gestured to the four large fish piled up on the shore of the pond.

Link’s face brightened at the thought of dinner, his stomach rumbling on cue. Link’s face reddened as the loud grumble of his stomach echoed through the glade, his hand reaching up to scratch his nose in embarrassment.

Quinn barked out a short laugh before quickly coughing to cover up the small moment of amusement. He bent down to gather the fish he had caught, glancing at Link as he asked absently, “So, what was the inside of the shrine like?”

At the mention of the shrine, Link’s excitement somehow doubled—if that was even possible. His eyes practically sparkled as he launched into his explanation.

“Oh! It was amazing! The inside was huge! It felt like the whole Plateau could fit inside. There were these tall walls with glowing blue lights, and the ceiling lit up the entire chamber like it was daylight!”

He barely took a breath before reaching into his pouch and pulling out the Sheikah Slate, gripping it tightly in both hands. His excitement was childlike and infectious, and Quinn could already tell he was about to show off something.

“And I learned out to do this!”

Quinn watched as Link began swinging the Slate around in a frenzy, scanning their surroundings. The screen displayed an overlay of the landscape, marked with red hash lines, and a large glowing red shape beneath the pond’s surface.

Link's expression sharpened in concentration as he zeroed in on his target. With a quick press of a button, a tendril of red energy shot out from the Slate, latching onto the unseen object within the lake. His arms tensed, his entire body straining as if he were physically pulling something.

Quinn’s instincts flared. He quickly dropped the fish in his arms and tightened his grip around his weapon as he took a step back, his body tensing for a fight. Was something dangerous about to surface?

A sudden pop echoed through the glade, followed by a deep suctioning noise. The water churned, rippling outward. Quinn’s heart skipped. Dropping the fish he had been holding with a wet splat, he drew his weapon, bracing for whatever horror might emerge.

Instead, a metal chest slowly rose from the depths, suspended in midair as though by magic. Water cascaded off its sides with chunks of mud clinging to its edges. With surprising gentleness, the chest settled onto the ground with an almost serene finality.

Quinn exhaled sharply, adjusting his stance.

Link, clearly thrilled with his newfound power, turned to Quinn with an expression that could only be described as a self-congratulatory tada! But when he met Quinn’s skeptical glare, his enthusiasm faltered slightly

“What…was that?” Quinn asked, his voice tight. His hands were still gripped around the hilt of his weapon.

Link blinked, then glanced at the chest as if the answer was obvious. “Magnesis! It’s a rune I got from the shrine. It’s supposed to help me on my journey! There are three more shrines to find on the Plateau that'll give me even more powers.”

Quinn’s frown deepened. More shrines. More Sheikah technology.

His stomach twisted.

“Are you sure these are necessary?” he muttered, his eyes narrowing at the Slate.

“Yes,” Link said without hesitation. Then, after a brief pause, he tilted his head, looking at Quinn curiously. “What is your problem with Sheikah tech, anyway? You seem to hate even the mention of it.”

Quinn froze.

A sharp edge cut through his thoughts—memories flashing like lightning. The blinding glow of a failed experiment. The sound of a woman’s screams. A smell of hot metal and burning flesh.

For a brief moment, something flickered across his face, too fast to read. But then, just as quickly, he schooled his expression back into its usual impassive mask.

“It’s nothing important,” he muttered, shaking his head and bending down to pick up the fish he had dropped. “Let’s just go back. We’ve wasted enough time.”

Before he could turn away, Link called out.

“Wait!”

Quinn glanced back to see Link pointing eagerly at the newly surfaced chest.

“Can we at least open it? See what’s inside?”

Quinn sighed, already regretting his life choices. He really wasn’t in the mood for this. But Link’s enthusiasm was hard to ignore.

With a reluctant groan, Quinn stepped toward the chest. Droplets of water still trailed down its metal sides, pooling in the dirt beneath it. For something that had been submerged for goddess knows how long, it wasn’t as rusted as he expected—just coated in a thick layer of mud and silt.

The lock, however, was another story. It was sealed tightly, refusing to budge even when both Quinn and Link combined their efforts. That led to an impromptu lock-picking lesson, where Quinn—grumbling all the while—showed Link the best way to force open a stubborn lock with minimal tools.

A satisfying click later, the chest creaked open, its hinges groaning from years of disuse.

Quinn found himself unexpectedly caught up in the moment. Forgotten for ages, buried beneath the water, who knew what secrets this chest could hold?

The lid fell open with a dull thunk.

Inside, waterlogged scraps of cloth sat in a decayed heap, disintegrating the moment Link touched them. Whatever they had once been was long lost to time.

But nestled among the ruined fabric was something that had survived the ages. A single, polished amber stone.

Link lifted it carefully, holding it up to the light. The setting sun caught its surface, casting a warm golden glow. Suspended within the translucent gem was a tiny, perfectly preserved insect, frozen forever in time.

Quinn exhaled slowly, his earlier excitement fading. He had been hoping for something more... useful. A weapon. Rupees. Something.

But Link?

He looked absolutely enchanted.

Quinn watched as the Hero turned the stone in his fingers, eyes shining with fascination, the golden hues reflecting in his irises.

For a moment, Quinn said nothing.

Then, shaking his head, he let out a quiet, resigned chuckle.

“I guess that’s one way to make a discovery,” he muttered.

Link grinned. “See? Sheikah tech is useful!”

Quinn just rolled his eyes. Useful when it’s not trying to kill you.

With their impromptu treasure hunt completed, Link quickly pocketed the amber stone—only for it to accidentally tap against the Sheikah Slate.

Immediately, the Slate let out a melodic chime. Before either of them could react, the amber vanished in a flash of glowing blue energy.

Quinn’s eyes widened, his pulse quickening.

“Okay,” he said slowly, his patience wearing dangerously thin. “Now what the hell is happening?”

Link blinked down at the now-empty space where the amber had been, then at the Slate, and then back at Quinn with an expression of equal parts curiosity and fascination. Glancing back down on the Slate he pressed a few buttons on the device, and an image of the amber stone appeared on the screen.

Quinn barely had time to brace himself before Link tapped the image.

With another bright flash, the amber stone reappeared in his hands, completely unchanged.

“Uh…” Link muttered, turning the Slate over as if looking for an explanation. “Okay, that’s… weird.”

Quinn ran a hand down his face. “You think?”

Link, apparently unbothered by the laws of nature being casually rewritten in front of them, immediately launched into experimentation mode. Moving around the glade, he began tapping the Slate against anything he could get his hands on—testing the limits of what could disappear in blue light and what remained stubbornly in reality.

The fish. The chest. Rocks. A tree branch. Even a half-buried Bokoblin horn.

Everything responded differently. Some items vanished instantly, stored within whatever incomprehensible void the Slate seemed to contain. Others refused to budge, as if deemed unworthy by the ancient technology.

Quinn, meanwhile, just sat on a nearby log, staring into the middle distance.

Utterly overwhelmed.

This was not how he expected today to go.

A creeping sensation gnawed at him—the growing realization that the goddesses had a twisted sense of humor. Link’s entire journey, his entire destiny, seemed inextricably tied to the very Sheikah technology Quinn despised—the same technology that had played a significant role in Hyrule’s downfall a century ago.

Yet Link, the hero who had been killed by this technology’s failure, showed no such bitterness. No wariness. No hesitation.

Instead, he flitted around the glade like a child with a new toy, grinning in unfiltered wonder as he tested the limits of his newfound power.

Quinn clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay quiet.

Finally, when the novelty seemed to wear off, Link let out a satisfied sigh and turned back toward the cabin.

Quinn followed, his mind still spinning.

The walk back to the cabin was quiet. Link, in his usual carefree way, seemed to be enjoying himself, running ahead and trying to catch fireflies with the Slate. Quinn, on the other hand, trudged along with his thoughts tangled in frustration.

At least the journey back was uneventful. No monsters. No more Sheikah surprises. Just the gradual darkening of the sky as the last remnants of sunlight faded from the horizon.

When they arrived, they set to work—Quinn gathering wood and starting the fire while Link, still somewhat distracted by the Slate’s newfound abilities, somehow managed to cook the fish to perfection. The skin crisped up just right, while the meat remained tender and juicy, flaking effortlessly from the delicate bones.

As Link was focused on cooking, Quinn had retrieved a few herbs from his satchel, ones known to soothe burns. He crushed them into a paste and carefully applied it to the reddened skin on Link’s arm. With that task finished, he turned his attention to his report for Kakariko.

It wasn’t going well.

Between the limited space on the parchment and his inability to focus, he ended up scrapping his writing multiple times. Each failed attempt was crumpled and tossed into the fire, where the flames hungrily consumed his frustrations.

Finally, after far too many rewrites, he settled on,

The Slate caused towers to rise and new powers were gained. Unsure intentions of new power but investigating. Have Ganon’s forces begun to mobilize?

Setting the completed report aside for the morning, Quinn shifted his focus to the paraglider. Sitting cross-legged near the fire, he carefully adjusted the structure, shaving down rough edges and fine-tuning the balance.

Link watched with interest, his sharp eyes tracking every precise movement of Quinn’s hands.

“I think it’ll be ready to test tomorrow,” Quinn said, breaking the silence. The crackling fire filled the space between them as he continued working.

Link perked up immediately. “Really?”

Quinn sighed, already anticipating the inevitable.

“No, you are not testing it by jumping off the Sheikah Tower.”

Link deflated with a huff, clearly disappointed that his plan had been foiled before he could even suggest it.

“There’s a small hill west of here,” Quinn continued. “It’ll be a good spot for a test flight—a safe test flight.”

Link poked at the fire with a stick, considering this. “After that, can we look for the other shrines?”

Quinn exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Shrines. Right. He still wasn’t entirely convinced these trials were necessary, but the Great Plateau was massive. Finding them all could take ages—time they didn’t have if Malice was spreading.

They needed a vantage point. A high place to get a better view.

Before Quinn could voice any ideas, Link beat him to it.

“We could climb up the Sheikah Tower again!” he said brightly. “It’s the highest spot around. We’d see everything from up there!”

Quinn stiffened. His fingers twitched slightly where they rested against the paraglider.

Climbing that cursed tower again?

The mere thought made his stomach churn. But as much as he wanted to argue, he couldn’t deny the logic in Link’s plan. It was the best vantage point.

He exhaled slowly, continuing to regret his life choices.

“…Fine.”

Chapter Text

Quinn woke with a sharp inhale, the remnants of his dream slipping away like mist in the morning sun. The memories stirred by yesterday’s events left a deep unease settling in his bones. He exhaled slowly, forcing the tension from his body.

Link was still fast asleep, sprawled across the bed in complete disarray—somehow managing to twist himself around so his feet were near the headboard. Quinn shook his head. The Hero of Legend, ladies and gentlemen.

Moving carefully so as not to wake him, Quinn rose from his makeshift bed on the floor. His joints popped softly as he stretched, moving with a cat-like grace despite the morning stiffness. He collected his gear and stepped outside into the crisp dawn air. The chill bit into his lungs, shocking him fully awake, but he knew the mist would burn away soon, leaving the land bathed in warmth.

With practiced efficiency, he started the fire pit and pulled out his latest secret project—a patchwork warm doublet, painstakingly sewn together from old cloth scraps and a woolen blanket. Link’s clothes were barely holding together, ripped and singed from his foray into a shrine. Quinn had patched his clothes up as best he could, but at this point, the fabric itself was beyond saving.

He wasn’t exactly a tailor, but he could mend well enough. Making something from scratch, though… well, that was another story. He had already restarted more times than he’d like to admit. The so-called ‘shirt’ was finally taking shape, though. Loosely. If you squinted.

Hearing movement from inside the cabin, Quinn hastily tucked the garment away before Link could stumble out and start asking questions. Instead, he casually whistled for the carrier raven, sending a message off to Kakariko, and pretended he hadn’t just been doing something suspicious.

Moments later, Link emerged from the cabin, blinking blearily at the morning light. His hair was a mess, sticking up at odd angles, and he stretched with a jaw-cracking yawn before padding over to the fire. Without a word, he grabbed apples and eggs, tossing them into a pan with practiced ease, toasting some bread to go with it.

The smell was unfairly good. Quinn’s stomach grumbled, and he cursed the fact that Link was too good at cooking. Fortunately, his mask hid his expression, so his dignity remained intact.

By the time breakfast was finished, they both ate like starving wolves, leaving no crumbs behind.

Link licked his fingers clean before turning to Quinn with an eager gleam in his eye. “So, is it time to test out the paraglider?”

Quinn sighed. “Yes, I am going to test it out. You can watch.”

Link pouted but was quickly distracted by the Sheikah Slate’s new functions, which Quinn counted as a small victory. Once the dishes were cleaned and the fire put out, they headed for the small hill Quinn had picked for testing.

As they hiked, Quinn’s heart clenched with unease. If he miscalculated and crashed badly, he’d be no good to Link. But better him injured than the Hero.

His grip tightened on the paraglider’s handles as they reached the top. The wind was light, the sky mostly clear—good conditions, at least. He glanced at Link, who watched him with open concern.

“So,” Quinn began, steadying his breath, “I’m going to glide down the hill. You watch and tell me if it leans one way or the other. I need to check the balance.”

Link nodded, though he didn’t look convinced.

Quinn adjusted his stance, took a running start—

And jumped.

For a brief, glorious moment, the world held still. The wind caught beneath the glider, lifting him.

And then, just as suddenly, it betrayed him.

The paraglider buckled slightly, sending him tilting left. Gravity reasserted itself with a vengeance, and he crashed to the ground, tumbling down the hill in a most undignified fashion. By the time he skidded to a stop, his breath was heaving, his ankle throbbing, and his pride thoroughly shattered.

Behind him, he heard Link’s hurried footsteps.

“Are you okay?!” Link panted as he reached him.

Quinn pushed himself up, his face burning. “I’m fine. But the glider needs more work.” He dusted himself off, rolling his sore ankle experimentally. Pain flared, but he gritted through it, unwilling to show weakness. “This is why I didn’t want to test it on the Tower first.”

Link visibly paled at the thought, shuddering. 

“Yeah. That was a good call.”

Quinn sighed and retrieved the fallen paraglider, giving it a once-over. It was scuffed but salvageable. “Alright. Let’s drop this back at the cabin and then…” He exhaled, already dreading the next step. “We can go to the Tower to look for the other shrines.”

Link brightened, clearly excited about the adventure ahead. Quinn, on the other hand, braced himself for a long day.

After dumping the mangled remains of the glider at the cabin, they continued toward the tower.

The sight of it made Quinn's stomach twist. The massive structure loomed over them, an ever-present reminder of how much he despised Sheikah technology—how much he distrusted it. And yet, here he was, continually forced to rely on it to continue their journey.

He glanced at Link, who, despite his enthusiasm, had a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

“Hey, we can take our time climbing it. It's not a race,” Quinn offered, trying to keep his voice even. Then, against his better judgment, he added, “Or—I could climb up and tell you what I see?”

The suggestion made him shudder, but he'd rather deal with the tower alone than risk Link getting hurt, especially with him still recovering.

Link, however, shook his head. “No, I want to climb it.” That determined gleam had returned to his eyes, the one that always meant there was no talking him out of anything.

Quinn exhaled through his nose. Great.

He had already climbed this thing once. How bad could a second time be?

The answer: horrible.

The handholds was smooth and slick, his sweat making it worse as they ascended. The climb seemed to stretch endlessly, each climbing section of the tower feeling longer than the last. At least the ledges provided a place to rest, but that did little to help his aching muscles and sore ankle.

Halfway up, while catching their breath, Link peered out over the land and suddenly perked up. “There’s another shrine down there.”

Quinn followed his gaze. Sure enough, nestled within the ruins of the Eastern Abbey was a glowing shrine.

Quinn clenched his jaw. “Wish I’d noticed that before. Could’ve saved us this climb.”

Link merely hummed in agreement before continuing upward.

As they ascended, Link’s stamina began to wane. Their breaks grew longer, the strain evident in his face. But Quinn wasn’t faring much better—not with the added stress on his injured ankle. The midday sun beat down mercilessly, its heat reflecting off the stone and searing their skin. Quinn’s mask helped shield his face, but Link wasn’t as lucky. His pale skin had turned pink under the relentless sun.

At long last, they reached the final platform before the top. Both of them were panting, sweat dripping from their brows.

With one final push, they scrambled through the opening onto the tower’s summit. A cool breeze swept through, drying their sweat. The roof mercifully provided shade, shielding them from the brutal sun.

“Now... I wish we took a better look at the shrine locations last time we were here,” Quinn muttered between breaths.

Link, leaning on his knees, nodded in exhausted agreement. His enthusiasm for climbing had died about halfway through, but his stubborn determination had carried him to the top.

Quinn exhaled and rolled his ankle experimentally. Pain flared through it—bad enough that he’d have to wrap it later.

After a short rest, they got to their feet and surveyed the land. The view was breathtaking, the Plateau stretching endlessly around them. They marked the shrine in the ruins, then spotted another atop the cliffs behind their cabin. The last one stood at the far western edge, on the mountain blanketed in snow.

That one was going to be a problem.

As Quinn traced the distant peaks with his gaze, Link pulled out the Sheikah Slate and began fiddling with it. Quinn only half-paid attention—until Link made a curious noise.

Alarm bells immediately went off in Quinn’s head. He turned sharply, catching Link poking at the Slate’s screen.

Quinn narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing?”

Link flinched, turning around slowly—caught red-handed.

“I think this map marks the Sheikah structures we activate. See?” He gestured at the blue icons. “I was just curious why they were glowing. I wasn’t going to do anything bad.”

Quinn scoffed. “Right. Just like you didn’t mean to activate all the towers and shrines yesterday.”

Link huffed, going back to his investigation.

His poking became more insistent, and before Quinn could stop him, Link tapped on the shrine they had visited the day before. A new window popped up—text that Quinn couldn’t quite read from his angle.

Then, before Quinn could snatch the Slate away, Link pressed the prompt.

A familiar melodic chime echoed from the device and blue light swirled around Link’s body.

Quinn’s stomach dropped.

Link didn’t even have time to react before the energy consumed him, dissolving his form into shimmering wisps. His expression remained eerily calm, but Quinn’s heart seized in his chest as he lunged forward.

His hands grasped at empty air.

Link was gone.

For a moment, Quinn could only stare at the spot where he had stood, his mind struggling to process what had just happened.

Panic clawed up his throat. He whirled around, searching desperately for something—a sign, a clue, anything. But the platform was empty. Even the Sheikah Slate had vanished.

He was alone.

The realization hit like a hammer.

He had failed.

The Hero had been taken again by ancient Sheikah technology—only this time, there was no body left behind. No chance of revival in the Shrine of Resurrection.

Nothing.

A cold dread settled over Quinn's chest.

What have I done?

Then, behind him, the same melodic chime rang out.

His blood ran cold.

Whipping around, blades drawn, he saw that same blue energy swirl and reform. His breath caught as the shimmering light condensed back into a solid form—Link.

The Hero stumbled slightly, looking a bit queasy but otherwise unharmed.

Quinn’s heart sank again.

Was this Link? Or was it some trick of the technology?

His grip tightened on his weapons as he hesitantly called out, "Are you Link? Or something else?" His voice was cold, suspicious—daggers in his glare.

Link blinked at him, his excitement faltering into confusion at Quinn’s guarded stance. "Uh… yes?"

Then, as if he physically couldn’t hold it in any longer, his face lit up with excitement. "You can teleport with the Slate!" His words tumbled out, voice growing more rushed as he went. "I know you don’t like it, but your ancestors were amazing! There was a flash of blue light, everything disappeared, and then—boom! I was at the entrance of the shrine!"

Quinn exhaled sharply, slowly lowering his weapons.

Yeah, that’s Link. No one else would ignore every obvious sign of distrust and instead gush about Sheikah technology like a total nerd.

But if his ancestors were advanced enough to create instant teleportation, how had their technology fallen so easily to Malice?

"Look, I’ll show you!" Link continued. 

Before Quinn could react, Link grabbed his arm.

"Wait—!"

The blue energy swirled around them.

His breath hitched.

The light was blinding—almost the exact shade of Link’s eyes. It burned into Quinn’s vision, forcing him to squeeze them shut. A loud sound roared in his ears, a deep whooshing that drowned out everything else. If he was screaming, he couldn’t even hear it over the noise.

His stomach twisted violently as his body was pulled apart—broken down into pure energy, then forced back together somewhere else.

Then—solid ground beneath his feet. The noise cut off.

Quinn opened his eyes just in time for his stomach to rebel. He turned and vomited into the grass.

"Ugh…"

Link, only slightly less queasy, clapped him on the back. "Yeah, it’s a bit disorienting at first, but you get used to it!"

Quinn wiped his mouth, shooting him a murderous glare. "I never want to do that again."

"But we didn’t have to climb down the tower!" Link countered brightly.

Quinn refused to dignify that with a response. But Link’s smug expression said he took Quinn’s silence as agreement.

Quinn sighed, straightening up. "We’ll head to the shrine in the ruins first. Tomorrow, we’ll deal with the others."

Without waiting for a response, he started walking. Link, still practically vibrating with excitement over the Slate, eagerly followed.

Quinn clenched his jaw.

Link’s enthusiasm for the Slate reminded him too much of someone else—someone he had trusted, someone he had lost.

His sister.

As they neared the ruins, Quinn slowed his pace.

He had to tell Link.

"Before we go any further," he said, voice low and serious, "you need to know about the Guardians."

Link paused mid-step, turning to him curiously.

Quinn inhaled deeply. "They’re also ancient Sheikah technology. Over a hundred years ago, they were excavated—dug up from the earth in preparation for the war against Ganon. The princess and the royal researchers worked to restore them, hoping they’d protect Hyrule."

He exhaled sharply.

"But Ganon was clever. The Malice was stronger than anyone anticipated. He seized control of all Sheikah technology meant to protect us… and used it to destroy us instead."

Link frowned, listening intently.

"The Guardians were the worst of it," Quinn continued. "Even now, they still roam Hyrule, killing anything in their path. They're fast, and they shoot beams of energy that can destroy almost anything in a single hit. Some have fallen to time, left as terrifying husks… but others?" His voice dropped lower. 

"They sleep. Waiting. The moment they detect movement, they will attack."

He gestured toward the ruins ahead. "There are Guardian corpses scattered through these ruins. Some are nothing more than wreckage. Others still function—trapped without legs, but just as deadly."

Quinn met Link’s gaze, deadly serious. "Do not underestimate them."

A long pause.

Then, despite the warning, that same fire lit Link’s eyes.

"I’m ready," he said.

Quinn studied him for a moment, then gave a small nod.

“The best way to deal with a live stationary Guardian is to run and hide behind something sturdy. Breaking the line of sight reduces their concentration. Plus they have a cool down period after firing.”

Link gave another nod and without another word, they stepped into the ruins. 

The air was thick with unease as they stepped past fallen stones and crumbling walls—the scattered bones of what was once a proud structure. All that remained of the Eastern Abbey were skeletal outlines of rooms and halls, the last traces of a building long devoured by time and war.

Quinn crept forward with practiced ease, his footfalls soundless.

Link, despite his best efforts, was another story. He tried to be quiet, but the crunch of grass, the snap of twigs—it was impossible to ignore. At least he kept his weapon drawn, though Quinn doubted it would do much good against a Guardian.

The debris grew denser as they moved deeper—more Guardian parts strewn about, more ancient scars left from the long-ago battle.

The first husk they passed was toppled on its side, limbs shattered, the swirling Sheikah patterns along its chassis long since darkened. Quinn saw Link tense, ready for a fight, but even when they crept ever nearer, the machine remained still—cold and dead.

As they passed and bolstered by its lack of response, Link leaned closer, curiosity winning out. His fingers reached into an exposed cavity and pulled out a loose spring, quietly pocketing it into the Sheikah Slate’s storage. Quinn frowned. That was the third bit of scrap Link had taken. He was definitely becoming a hoarder now that he had seemingly infinite space to keep things.

Eventually, the top of the shrine peeked above one of the broken walls—but its entrance was blocked by fallen stones. No clear path.

Quinn sighed through his nose. They’d have to climb.

He scouted for a suitable section of wall and signaled Link to follow. But just as they neared their chosen spot, a new obstacle presented itself.

A Guardian husk—motionless, in the center of the open-air chamber they needed to cross in order to reach the wall.

Quinn froze, holding out a hand to stop Link. Then, he raised a finger to the mask over his mouth, signaling the need for absolute silence.

This one might still be alive.

His pulse quickened. They’d been lucky before, but there was no way to tell from a distance if this one was a corpse or a slumbering killer.

Quinn stepped forward, testing his injured ankle. Pain shot up his leg with every step, spiking when he rolled the joint. He gritted his teeth—it was going to hurt, but there was no other way.

He gestured for Link to start climbing first. He’d keep watch.

Link nodded and moved quickly. He was halfway up when his foot slipped on a loose chunk of stone. The piece tumbled to the ground with a sharp clatter.

Both men froze.

Then—

A flicker of red.

The dead husk was not dead.

Its eye flickered, lighting with a menacing blue that pulsed once… twice… before locking onto movement.

"GO, LINK!" Quinn roared, diving away from the wall to draw the Guardian’s attention.

Link scrambled faster, urgency giving him strength.

The Guardian’s eye swiveled between them, calculating. Then it locked on Quinn.

Of course.

Quinn’s heart pounded like a war drum. He knew what came next.

The eye pulsed. A high-pitched beep began—slow at first.

He ran.

He darted through the chamber, never still, never in a straight line. His ankle throbbed with every movement, threatening to give way, but he pushed through.

The beeping grew faster.

Then—the laser.

A bright red line locked onto his chest.

Quinn dove behind a half-standing wall, praying it was enough to break the line of sight.

A split second later—

BOOM.

Heat and force blasted the wall apart, stone melting, air shimmering from the energy. Quinn lay stunned on the ground, ears ringing, vision swimming.

His ankle screamed in protest as he forced himself upright.

Can’t stop now.

The Guardian would take time to recharge. That was his chance.

He bolted for the wall. Half-limp, half-sprint, he made it to the base and began to climb.

The laser returned, locking on again.

Beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep-beep—

He was almost at the top when his ankle finally gave out.

His foot slipped. He began to fall—

—but a firm hand caught his arm.

Link.

"Quinn!"

Link strained, gripping him tightly, pulling him up as Quinn used his good leg to push off the wall.

The moment they tumbled over the top, another blast struck the wall behind them.

BOOM.

This one didn’t shatter it, but bits of rock showered around them as the ground shook from the impact. The sound of the blast echoed ringing throughout the Plateau.

The two of them lay there, gasping on the grass, hearts racing.

Quinn’s ankle burned. He doubted he could stand on it again anytime soon. Turning to the side to make sure Link was okay, Quinn saw him.

Link, pale, stared off into the distance.

Quinn glanced worriedly around. Did that trigger something? A memory?

But after a long, shaky breath, Link blinked it away. He looked rattled but present.

Then Quinn started laughing.

It began low and quiet but quickly turned into uncontrollable chuckles.

Link blinked at him in confusion—then started laughing too.

They both lay back in the grass, staring up at the sky, letting the weight of the moment pass in silence.

"I told you," Quinn finally said, breathless, "Guardians are no joke."

"Yeah," Link wheezed. "That was terrifying."

Silence again. Not awkward—just worn and peaceful. Just the two of them enjoying being alive at this moment.

Eventually, Quinn sat up and Link followed. He winced as he tried to stand, his ankle giving out beneath him.

Link caught him instantly.

"Are you okay?"

"It’s fine. Just tweaked it a little."

Link didn’t look convinced.

Ignoring Quinn’s protests, he knelt and tugged off Quinn’s shoe.

"Hey—!"

But Link was already examining the swelling, frowning at the angry red-and-purple bruising. He poked at it, earning a hiss of pain from Quinn.

Link raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"That’s not ‘just tweaked.’"

Quinn looked away. "It’s not as bad as it looks."

Link shook his head, disappointed. "You need to say something if you're hurt."

Quinn deflected. “Well, we’re here now. Might as well activate the shrine. I’ll sit here a bit, and by the time you’re back, my ankle’ll be good enough for the trip home.”

Link frowned deeper.

"But if something happens—how will you protect yourself?"

Quinn gave him a dry look. "My arms still work. Don’t forget, I beat you once without leaving my seat.”

Link huffed, but he seemed more willing to go.

"Alright. I’ll be back soon."

He turned toward the shrine. It looked practically identical to the last and as he approached, its glow intensified. When he held the Slate over the pedestal, the color shifted from orange to blue, and the doors parted with a hiss of ancient hydraulics.

Link stepped onto the platform. It glowed beneath him—then began to descend, taking him deep below the ruins.

He waved to Quinn as he disappeared underground.

And once again, Quinn was alone.

Waiting.

Chapter Text

Constantly being left behind was getting old.

Sure, this time it was his own damn fault—Quinn’s leg throbbed from where he’d twisted it ducking away from a Guardian blast—but the sting to his pride burned hotter.

No pond to fish in. No trees, no books, no fire—not even decent cover. Just a still-smoking, crumbling ruin wall that barely shielded him from the Guardian. With nothing to do and no way to contribute, Quinn was left with the one thing he hated most: stillness.

And waiting.

At least he now had a better idea of what Link might be experiencing within the depths of the Shrine.

From how Link had described the first one—an ancient, sealed chamber with moving platforms and strange mechanisms—it sounded like they were built to assist the Hero on his journey. But that had been more than a hundred years ago. In a world now thick with Malice and decay, who know if they were all still functioning as they should? The Goddess might’ve meant well, but time had a way of warping even the best intentions.

Quinn let out a quiet huff and shook his head.

Pointless thoughts. Dwelling on them wouldn’t help. Link had already made up his mind—he was going to explore all the shrines on the Plateau, one by one. Nothing Quinn could say would stop him.

So instead, he eased himself back onto the grass, careful not to aggravate his injury, and let his gaze drift upward.

The sky stretched out in an endless canvas of blue, the clouds soft and slow like tufts of whipped cream. For a brief, strange moment, Quinn let himself play a child’s game—trying to make out shapes in the drifting sky. One cloud looked like a Bokoblin riding a cucco.

Another like a cucco eating a Bokoblin.

His mouth twitched, just slightly, into a smile.

The ache in his body, the exhaustion from the past few weeks—it all settled over him like a blanket. His blinks grew slower and longer. The sounds of the Plateau faded into the background as Quinn drifted slowly into sleep.

And for once, his dreams were peaceful.

~~~

Awareness came back slowly as he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. It reminded him of his mother. Quinn hummed contentedly, feeling rested for the first time in weeks. But as he blearily blinked his eyes open and saw Link smiling fondly down at him, reality came crashing back—and panic set in.

“Rise and shine! Shrine’s done!” Link brightly said.

He’d fallen asleep. Out in the open. Injured. And a live Guardian sat just over the wall.

The air felt colder now—or maybe that was just the realization creeping in: he’d let his guard down. That could’ve cost them everything. Ganon’s monsters could have easily taken him out, slipped into the shrine, and killed Link.

Quinn tensed instinctively and pulled away from Link’s touch. Link’s smile faltered, his eyes immediately scanning Quinn’s face.

“Are you okay?”

Quinn blinked, momentarily speechless.

“No! I’m fine, I just…lost focus for a second.”

He mentally smacked his forehead. Great. Add falling asleep on the job to the ever-growing list of failures this week. First, the paraglider test had gone sideways, then he slipped off the wall and nearly got blasted by a Guardian—Link had to save him. And now this?

Eager to change the conversation from his own inadequacy, Quinn asked, “How was the shrine? Did you get a new power in this one?”

Link looked like he wanted to keep fussing over him, but eventually excitement won out over worry.

“Yeah! They gave me bombs!”

Quinn blinked. That was…deeply concerning.

“Two kinds,” Link went on, practically bouncing with energy. “Round and square. I can place or throw them, and detonate them whenever I want!”

Oh great. Explosives. Exactly what they needed.

“They’re Sheikah-made, so they don’t run out. It’s like a magic supply. Infinite bombs!”

Quinn stared.

That sounded both incredibly useful and like the worst possible thing Link could’ve been given.

Exactly what the reckless Hero needed.

“I don’t think I’m that reckless.” Link said with a slight pout.

Oops, must have said that out loud.

Quinn gave him a long, deadpan stare until Link’s cheeks began to pinken and he coughed, looking away.

“So,” Link said, nodding toward the blocked entrance, “I think I can blow up the rocks. That way, we don’t have to climb out and risk getting attacked by that Guardian again.”

Okay. That actually made sense—provided the explosion didn’t kill them or bring the whole structure down.

“Alright,” Quinn said, backing up instinctively, “let’s give it a try.”

He retreated behind the shrine, position himself behind the thickest stone wall he could find, while Link pulled out the Sheikah Slate.

With practice ease, Link summoned a glowing, square-shaped bomb and gently nestled it against the cracked wall entrance. Then he backed up a good twenty feet before tapping a button on the Slate.

A loud boom echoed once again through the Plateau as the rocks that once blocked the way exploded into rubble, the dust settling in a shimmering haze beneath the sun’s golden light. Quinn tensed, waiting for the ruins to come crashing down—but the stone walls held.

Quinn exhaled in relief, stepping out from behind the shrine wall where he’d taken cover.

“Well…that went surprisingly smooth,” he muttered, brushing off his robes. “You didn’t blow us up. That’s progress.”

Link preened, obviously pleased with himself and his new ability. “I told you—square bombs are stable. They don’t roll. It’s the round ones you should be worried about!”

“Oh good,” Quinn said flatly. “Remind me to run if I ever see you holding a round one.”

Grinning, Link skipped ahead through the newly cleared path. They made it out of the ruins without encountering another live Guardian, though Quinn tried not to limp. Every step sent a dull throb through his ankle. He gritted his teeth and kept pace, aware of Link’s frequent, concerned glances.

The sun was beginning to dip toward the horizon, painting the sky with hues of amber and rose by the time they reached the cabin. The familiar shake of the Kakariko raven greeted them, pecking lazily at the remains of their breakfast fire. It hopped once, tilted its head towards Quinn, and let out a sharp caw as if impatient.

“Hold your feathers, I’m coming.” Quinn muttered, quickening his pace despite the pain.

The bird extended one leg obediently, revealing a small canister holding a small parchment. Quinn collected the message and scanned it quickly, his expression tightening.

Towers risen all over Hyrule. Ganon’s forces have begun to stir. Whispers of the Hero’s return are starting to spread. You don’t have long until they find you.

Quinn didn’t hesitate. He grabbed a charcoal stick and scribbled a reply on fresh parchment.

Received. Two more shrines to investigate. Almost strong enough to travel. Expect another reply before we leave.

He rolled the parchment neatly and placed it expertly in the securement device on the raven’s leg, pausing to stroke its feathers and give a small offering of dried nuts and a splash of water. The bird took off shortly with a whispered word before it eventually vanished into the horizon.

Behind him, the familiar clatter of cookware signaled Link’s latest culinary effort. The aroma soon followed—herbs, a hint of seared meat, and something spicy that made Quinn’s mouth water.

Link glanced up as Quinn approached. “It’s not gourmet, but I used the last of the eggs. Hope you're not too attached to omelets.”

“As long as I don’t have to eat Hyrule Bass again, we’re good.”

Link laughed, ladling food into bowls. “Your suffering has been noted.”

Their meal was simple but satisfying, and they ate in comfortable silence broken occasionally by dry quips or exaggerated stories of today’s shrine trial. As night fell, the fire popped and crackled, and the air turned cool.

Quinn wrapped his ankle, applied more salve, and reclined against the cabin wall, eyes heavy.

“Do you think you’ll be alright tomorrow?” Link asked gently, poking at the fire.

“I’ll manage,” Quinn gritted out, though the dull ache pulsing up his leg begged to differ. “If we push through another shrine tomorrow morning, we can hunt in the evening and prepare for Kakariko.”

The name made Link pause.

“…We really have to leave soon, huh?”

Quinn looked over at him, seeing the way Link’s shoulders drooped, the wistfulness in his eyes.

“We’ve carved a little home out here,” he said quietly. “But it was never meant to last. We’ve got work to do.”

Link nodded reluctantly. “I know. It’s just… peaceful here.”

“We’ll find peace again,” Quinn said, more to himself than anything. “Once Ganon’s gone.”

~~~

The next morning dawned cold and clear. Quinn rose early, tending the fire and quietly placing the finishing touches on the shirt he’d been crafting for Link—a thick doublet stitched from salvaged fabric and lined with warm wool. It wasn’t perfect, the seams uneven and the cuffs a bit too wide, but it was warm and durable.

He stared at it in his lap, groaning. “How do I even give this to him without making it weird?”

After several aborted ideas, he decided to take the coward’s route. He padded into the cabin and gently laid the shirt on the table near Link’s bed, planning to slip out before he noticed.

Everything was going well—until Link rolled over in his sleep and slapped him square in the cheek.

“Augh—!” Quinn staggered back, clutching his face. “Seriously?!”

Link sat up blearily, rubbing his eyes. “Quinn…? What happened?”

“Nothing! I was just—forget it!” Quinn backed out of the cabin, mortified. He dropped down by the fire, scowling and poking at the embers, his cheek still smarting.

A few moments later, Link stepped outside, beaming. He was already wearing the doublet—it hung a little loose, but the warmth looked welcome.

“You know,” Link said cheerfully, “the clothing fairies must’ve visited me this morning. I found this mysterious shirt on my bed.”

“Wow, what a miracle,” Quinn muttered. “Maybe they pitied you. That old shirt was half holes, and the other half—crime against fashion.”

Link gasped theatrically. “That shirt had character! You can’t just throw away history!”

“I’m not throwing it away,” Quinn said coolly. “I’m burning it. Tonight.”

Link yelped and ran back into the cabin. Moments later, he re-emerged, grinning as his old shirt dissolved into Sheikah mist after a quick tap to the Slate.

“Saved forever,” he announced triumphantly. “Take that, fashion police.”

Quinn rolled his eyes. “Great. Now future archaeologists will know exactly when you gave up on dignity.”

Link huffed and turned away, but Quinn caught the corner of his mouth twitching up in a smile before Link changed the subject.

“How’s the ankle?” he asked.

Quinn tested his weight on it carefully. The pain was dull but manageable. “I won’t be dancing anytime soon, but I can walk.”

“Good,” Link said, serious again. “I’ll be quick in the shrine. If there’s trouble, yell. Loudly.”

“You mean like I did when you smacked me in the face this morning?”

Link snorted. “That was a love tap.”

Quinn gave him a flat look. “I’ll love tap you off a cliff.”

Laughing, Link reached for the Slate. Quinn began gathering the pieces of the broken glider, intending to find a better design before their final departure. As he stuffed the awkward parts into his bag, the weight nearly unbalanced him.

Link noticed and gently took the bundle from him. With a quick scan from the Slate, the parts vanished into blue mist.

“You’re welcome,” Link said.

Quinn sighed. “I hate that I’m starting to appreciate that cursed thing.”

Link smiled. “You’ll come around.”

“Not in this lifetime.”

Together, they turned toward the next shrine.

Quinn unrolled one of their worn maps and laid it flat on a sun-warmed rock outside the cabin. Link knelt beside him, tilting his head as Quinn tapped a particular spot with a charcoal-smeared finger.

“This shrine’s supposed to be on the cliff just behind us,” Quinn said, eyeing the map. “We have to first cross a ravine and then climb the cliff to get to it. It’s about two hundred feet up. This should be the quickest route.”

Link squinted up at the jagged ridge in the distance, shielding his eyes from the rising sun. “Looks steep.”

“It is,” Quinn agreed. “But the rock face is solid. Plenty of handholds, narrow ledges here and there. Shouldn’t be too hard for someone with a death wish and excellent upper-body strength.”

Link grinned and flexed one arm dramatically. “So, me?”

Quinn rolled his eyes. “Yes, you. I, on the other hand, will be dragging this busted ankle up like a sack of potatoes.”

He glanced across the narrow ravine that separated them from the cliff’s base. That, of course, was the real problem. The chasm between them and the starting point was just wide enough to be dangerous. No way to jump it, and no obvious path down or around.

Link was already pacing the edge, eyes searching. “Maybe a rope bridge?”

Quinn snorted. “What rope? We’d need more rope then we’ve both got in our whole kit.” He paused, then turned toward the tall pine trees growing on their side of the chasm. “But… if we could cut one of these just right…”

He ran his fingers down his jaw thoughtfully.

“If we drop it at the right angle, it might span the gap. Create a makeshift bridge.”

Link lit up instantly. “That’s perfect. Let’s do it!”

Quinn hesitated, eyeing the tree warily. “It’s risky. If the angle’s off by even a little, it could fall short. Or bounce. Or snap.”

“I’ll chop, you guide,” Link said, already grabbing the axe.

Quinn sighed and hobbled over, setting himself at an angle where he could measure the slope and judge the fall. Link lined up the blade and, after a nod from Quinn, began to hack at the trunk. Wood chips flew, and the pine creaked louder with every swing. With one final blow, the massive tree groaned and leaned, its needles rustling like whispers of fate.

The tree crashed down, and they both held their breath.

It landed perfectly.

Thudding across the ravine with a firm, echoing finality. A natural bridge.

Link threw his arms up and shouted, “Yes! Nailed it!”

Quinn chuckled, though he still approached cautiously. The tree’s trunk was wide enough to walk on, but the bark was rough and uneven.

“Just don’t do a cartwheel or anything,” Quinn warned as he began to inch across, placing each foot with surgical precision.

Link, naturally, danced across like it was a performance stage. “You worry too much!”

“Because someone has to,” Quinn muttered, gripping a knot in the bark as his ankle twinged again. But to his relief, they both made it across safely.

The base of the cliff now loomed before them, and the climbing began.

The rock was good—firm, dry, scattered with divots and narrow shelves that made ascent possible, even for someone moving on a sore ankle. The air thinned slightly the higher they climbed, the breeze sharpening and tugging at their clothes. Quinn’s scarf whipped around his face as he climbed steadily, Link moving ahead but pausing often.

“I’m… just admiring the view,” Link would say, panting slightly with each break.

Quinn smirked behind him. “Oh, of course. Not winded at all.”

“I’m pacing myself.”

“You’re pacing me,” Quinn muttered, half grateful and half annoyed by the thoughtfulness.

By the time they reached the top, their hands were dusty and sore, but the view made it worth it. The cliff overlooked the vast expanse of the Plateau. Their little cabin below looked like a forgotten relic of peace, nestled among groves of birch and tall grasses swaying like waves. The wind carried the smell of pine, of firewood, of something old and sacred.

Up here, the air was thinner, sharper. Their breaths turned to mist, curling from their mouths with each pant. No snow clung to the cliffside, but the cold crept in like a warning, nosing beneath collars and stiffening fingers.

And there, standing sentinel at the edge, was the shrine.

It pulsed softly with Sheikah energy, ancient and unmoving—like it had waited all this time for the Hero to arrive.

Link approached and pulled out his Slate, tapping a few buttons before the paraglider pieces appeared in a flash of blue mist. After making sure all the glider pieces were out for Quinn, Link turned towards the shrine.

“I guess it’s time,” he said softly, almost to himself.

Quinn took the pieces, nodding. “Be careful in there. I don’t care how fancy that slate is—I’ve seen what it does. Just… keep your wits about you.”

Link gave him a little salute and smirked. “Always do.”

As Link stepped onto the shrine platform, the glow intensified, shifting in hue. The doors rumbled open with a low hum, revealing the descent below. Without hesitation, Link stepped inside.

And Quinn was left alone.

But this time, he had something to do.

He dropped to the ground and started spreading out the battered remains of the glider, arranging the salvaged parts by size, by function, by what might possibly still work. The wind tugged at the corners of the cloth as he weighed them down with tools. One by one, he inspected joints, rethreaded bindings, replaced frayed cords with the last of his spares. His breath fogged over the metal as he worked, muttering to himself, anything to fill the silence.

Anything to stop thinking about what kind of cursed ability Link might return with next.

Probably another Sheikah-powered nightmare.

He sighed and pulled the main support bar into his lap, adjusting the balance system with hands that were starting to stiffen. The metal was freezing. So was the ground. But he kept going.

Every day they lingered here was another day Ganon’s forces had to close in. The Yiga Clan would be the first to arrive if word of the Hero got out. They were relentless. Disguised as merchants, travelers, even messengers—Quinn had heard stories of whole towns betrayed from within.

They were Sheikah, once. Like him. But they’d abandoned the Royal Family, turning to the forbidden magics sealed away long ago. The Yiga believed in Ganon’s rise, believed he would rule a better world. Quinn still remembered the first time he saw one—how the eyes behind that mask weren’t mad, but certain. Certain they were right.

The thought made his blood run cold.

So Quinn worked. And worked. Until the twisted, half-salvaged glider began to resemble something usable again. It wasn’t pretty, but it would fly. Hopefully. His hands turning red and stiff as the cold began to seep into his bones.

He looked toward the shrine’s glowing door, still waiting.

"Come on, Hero," Quinn murmured. "Don't get yourself killed in there."

Chapter Text

Almost like it had been waiting for Quinn to finish his thought, the shrine’s glow shifted—its steady amber fading to cool blue. A low, mechanical rumble echoed from deep within, the kind that vibrated in your chest.

Quinn stood, brushing snow from his cloak and flexing his stiff knee as he limped toward the shrine’s entrance. His joints ached from sitting too long in the cold.

The platform rose with a faint hiss, and from it emerged Link—sweaty, pale, and clearly spent. His breathing was heavy, shoulders slumped, and his hair stuck to his forehead in damp strands. The shrine trial must’ve wrung him out, especially after the steep climb.

He looked relieved to see daylight again—until a sharp gust of mountain wind hit him full in the face. His entire body shuddered, arms crossing tight over his chest.

“Ugh,” he muttered. “I forgot how cold it is up here.”

“Just you wait,” Quinn said, nodding toward the peak of Mount Hylia looming above them, its summit wreathed in snow. “That’s where we’re going tomorrow.”

Link followed his gaze and visibly paled.

Quinn grinned. “We’ll need to find some spicy peppers. Cook up a dish with one of those, and you’ll be sweating through your boots.”

That perked Link up a bit. “Really? Just one?”

“Just one,” Quinn said with a knowing nod. “Nature’s own furnace.”

Link gave a thoughtful hum, already imagining his next culinary experiment.

“So,” Quinn asked, shaking frost from his gloves, “what was in there?”

Link held up the Sheikah Slate. “New rune. It’s called Stasis. I can freeze objects in time. Hit ’em while they’re frozen, and all the force stacks up. Once time resumes, they go flying.”

Quinn blinked. “Flying?”

Link nodded. “One of the blocks nearly took out a wall.”

“Just objects?” Quinn asked, suspicious.

“Just objects,” Link confirmed. “I think.”

“Comforting,” Quinn muttered, casting a wary glance at the Slate. Another Sheikah trick. Another unnatural power tucked into a rectangle of ancient tech. He wondered what else the device could do—and who might try to take it.

Still, the trial was over, and they’d survived the climb. But Quinn’s eyes drifted to the cliff edge. The descent looked even worse than the way up.

Link followed his gaze, then turned back with a hopeful look. “What if we teleported? Back to the shrine in the ruins. It’s a short walk to the cabin from there.”

Quinn’s frown deepened immediately.

Being dissolved into light and reconstructed miles away wasn’t exactly his idea of safe travel. The last time, he’d thrown up in a bush and spent the next hour blaming the Slate for trying to rearrange his organs.

Still, his fingers were already numb, and his knee throbbed with each step. He didn’t like the idea—but he didn’t like frostbite either.

He sighed. “Fine. But if I throw up again, you’re cleaning it.”

Link grinned, already pulling up the Slate’s interface. “It’s not so bad once you stop fighting it!”

Quinn narrowed his eyes and braced himself. This time, he closed his eyes before the light hit.

Blue light bloomed around them, and the mountaintop vanished into a blur of energy.

The rush came anyway—blinding blue, roaring wind, that awful lurch in his stomach. But when the world came back into focus, he was upright. Still nauseous, but… upright. And, thankfully this time, he kept his breakfast down.

The wind was warmer here. The sun was shining again, and the grass rustled gently in the breeze—a welcome change from the frigid cliffside.

“Hey! You didn’t throw up this time!” Link grinned.

Quinn shot him a look. “And yet somehow, I still regret my life choices.”

Still, Link was practically bouncing with leftover energy.

That wouldn’t do.

“You seem full of energy,” Quinn said with a sly tilt of his head. “Why don’t you take point on hunting and gathering this afternoon? Consider it a test of your survival training.”

Link didn’t object. He even seemed excited.

Which meant Quinn would just have to make the test harder.

The afternoon was dedicated to honing Link's archery, tracking, and foraging skills. Quinn was relentless—no gentle hints, no second chances. If Link aspired to be the Hero of Hyrule, he needed to prove his mettle, even during a seemingly routine hunt.

They began by trailing a boar, its fresh tracks imprinted clearly in the soft earth. Link moved with growing confidence, eyes sharp and bow at the ready.

Quinn, following silently a few paces behind, soon noticed additional tracks—three-toed, erratic, and widely spaced. Bokoblins. He observed quietly, waiting to see if Link would detect the danger.

The trail led them through a thinning copse of trees into a wide clearing. Without warning, Link found himself on the edge of a Bokoblin camp. A cluster of three red Bokoblins lounged around a meager fire, some half-asleep, others gnawing on scraps of meat. One froze mid-chew, locking eyes with the exposed Hero.

Link's eyes widened as he instinctively glanced back toward Quinn—but Quinn had already vanished into the shadows.

From the concealment of a tree branch, Quinn's voice drifted down, calm and measured. "You followed tracks without checking for others. Rookie mistake. Congratulations—you've wandered into a monster camp."

The Bokoblins shrieked, scrambling for their weapons.

"You got yourself into this," Quinn continued. "Let's see if you can get out. But just so we're clear—if I have to intervene, you're doubling your exercises tonight."

Link's stance straightened, jaw tightening. No whining. Just focus.

The Bokoblins charged.

Link moved. Fast and messy—but effective. His sword caught one mid-swing, the momentum carrying him into a roll as another club missed by inches. He dodged and parried, maintaining his footing. His movements were wild and instinctive, more reactive than trained.

One Bokoblin went down, then another. Link kicked a burning log from the campfire into a third, sending it screaming and flailing. His breathing grew ragged, his form looser—but he kept going.

From above, Quinn watched every movement with narrowed eyes. He wasn’t graceful. Not yet. But he was learning.

And more importantly—he wasn’t giving up.

When the final Bokoblin hit the ground with a dull thud, Link stood hunched and panting, his blade trembling in his grip. Blood on his knuckles. Sweat on his brow. Dirt smeared across his cheek.

But he’d won.

Quinn dropped silently from the tree.

“Took you long enough,” he said, stepping over a slowly dissolving Bokoblin.

Link shot him a glare, but it was half-buried under a smile.

Quinn returned it, just barely. “Still alive. Not bad.”

He clapped Link on the shoulder—then stepped past him and calmly looted the camp for any salvageable supplies.

“Come on,” he added. “Next time, check for other signs and don’t just focus on what you’re hunting. That camp had been here for a while and there were multiple signs you missed.”

Link nodded slowly, breath still heavy. “Noted.”

“Good. Lesson two will be the actual hunt.”

They continued, with Link taking the lead.

To Quinn’s mild surprise, he was actually good with the bow. Especially under pressure. When leaping from rocks or diving through trees, it was like time itself slowed around him—his focus sharp, his aim steady. The air itself seemed to hold its breath around his shots.

But stealth? That still needed work.

“Twig,” Quinn hissed once.

Snap.

The deer bolted before Link could draw.

Quinn sighed dramatically. “That’s three now. If we were starving, we’d be eating mushrooms and regret.”

Link frowned but didn’t argue. He dropped lower into the underbrush, trying again.

Eventually, they returned with two boars and a deer’s worth of meat. Respectable. But Quinn wasn’t done.

“Let’s add another layer,” he said, gesturing toward the cliffs where the wind cut sharp and the air grew thin. “There’s a pepper patch I want to check. Won’t be easy. Steep climb. Chill wind. Let’s see how your hands hold up after a few hours of hunting.”

Link groaned but followed, and Quinn kept a close eye on him the entire way.

They found the spicy peppers nestled high in a craggy outcrop, their red skins vibrant against the gray stone. By the time they were picked, Link’s fingers were stiff from cold and effort, and his breath came in visible puffs.

Foraging in the forest was easier. Mushrooms bloomed in damp shadows, and apples still clung to low branches near the cabin. Link gathered everything without complaint.

It wasn’t until they stopped to store the meat that Quinn noticed something strange.

Link tapped the Slate, and mist curled around the cuts of meat—but they didn’t seem to age. Hours later, the meat looked just as fresh, untouched by time.

“Must be a part of the stasis ability,” Quinn murmured, frowning. “Freezes objects in time, preventing decay.”

Useful. Unsettling. Just like the rest of this cursed tech.

By the time they were packed and ready to head back, the sun was sliding low behind the trees, shadows stretching long across the Plateau.

They had a good haul. Not bad for Link’s first attempt.

Next, they cooked—well, Link cooked.

Link threw himself eagerly into the task, clearly energized by the success of the hunt and still curious about how spicy peppers would affect the flavor. He made skewers of meat, mushrooms, and bright red peppers, arranging them with care before roasting them over the fire.

The scent was immediate—savory meat sizzling in fat, earthy mushrooms crisping around the edges, and a sharp, nose-tingling spice that made Quinn’s eyes water before he’d even taken a bite.

Quinn helped with prep, slicing and seasoning, but Link had taken full command of the fire. And Quinn, despite himself, found it oddly reassuring—watching the Hero of Hyrule focus so intently on a task as humble as dinner.

Link was not quite a master chef, but what he lacked in precision, he made up for in passion. He cooked enough for the next few days, carefully plating portions and storing them with the Slate. Each time he tapped the device, a skewer vanished in a swirl of soft blue mist.

Quinn couldn’t help but wonder. Would the slate preserve heat and flavor too? Or just the freshness?

Once they’d eaten their fill—bellies warm, tongues tingling with spice, and the fire crackling low—Quinn pulled out a roll of parchment and began writing another report to Kakariko. Link sat beside him, watching with quiet interest as Quinn's brush swept across the paper in elegant, fluid strokes.

“What are you writing?” he asked quietly.

“Progress update,” Quinn said without looking up. “Details on shrine locations, your recovery, current supply status…”

He trailed off as he dipped the brush again. Link didn’t press.

When the letter was finished, Quinn folded it neatly, slipped it into a small canister, and set it aside for the raven’s next flight. Then, with a grunt, he began to unwrap his ankle and apply fresh salve. The joint was still slightly sore and much less swollen than before.

“It looks better.” Link observed

“Only because I’m stubborn,” Quinn muttered. “How’s your burn doing?”

Link rolled back his sleeve and shrugged. “It’s not bad. That salve you used a few days ago did wonders—I can hardly even see a scar.”

Quinn leaned over to get a look. Sure enough, the skin was smooth, only faintly pink where the injury had been. His brow lifted, impressed.

“You heal fast,” he murmured. “Maybe another gift from the goddess.”

“Maybe.” Link sounded distracted.

Quinn smirked, attempting to lighten the mood. “Well, that’s good. We can’t have the Hero of Hyrule all scarred up.”

But the joke didn’t land. Link’s smile faltered, and he looked down at his hands, voice quiet.

“…What if I’m not the Hero everyone wants me to be?”

The fire popped. Quinn stared into it for a moment, searching for the right words. He wasn't good at this sort of thing—comfort. Honesty, maybe. But not comfort.

“You might not be the Hero people want,” he said at last, “but you're the one we've got. It’s not fair to you—but I don’t think you’re the kind of person who walks away when people need help.”

Link didn’t respond at first, eyes still downcast. Then he sighed, long and quiet.

“…Yeah.”

Silence lingered over the camp, stretching longer than usual. Quinn didn’t normally mind quiet—it gave him space to think—but something about this silence made his skin crawl. He was used to Link chattering about mushrooms or making dumb jokes about rocks. The stillness felt wrong.

So he tried to break it.

“Well… when we leave the Plateau, we’ll head to Kakariko first. But after that, you’ll probably have to travel all across Hyrule.”

He picked up a stick and started drawing in the dirt between them, sketching out a rough map of the kingdom.

“There are five main races here—well, six, if you count the Sheikah,” he added with a half-smile. “The Hylians live everywhere, but the others have their own regions. The Gorons live in the mountains to the north. The Zora in the eastern domain by the riverlands. The Rito in the northwest, near the snowy peaks. And the Gerudo… they’ve got the desert to the southwest. Beautiful, but brutal.”

He talked on, sharing odd facts and stories from his travels—like the hot springs hidden near Goron City, or the fish that could light up in the dark in Zora’s Domain.

At first, Link stayed quiet, eyes still distant. But slowly, something shifted. A question here. A smile there. And then he was leaning closer to the map, pointing at places and asking about monsters, terrain, and what kind of food people ate in each region. His curiosity lit up the night brighter than the fire.

Quinn tried to answer all his questions but his knowledge was lacking in some areas, Quinn found himself smiling without realizing it, warmed not just by the flames but by the boyish excitement beside him.

Later, as they tucked in for sleep, Quinn’s mind drifted into dreams—adventure-filled, full of winding roads and sun-dappled forests and ancient cities waiting to be rediscovered.

For once, there were no nightmares.

Just the promise of the journey ahead.

Morning came, and their breakfast routine passed without incident. As Link cooked, Quinn packed flint and stone, along with warm cloaks for them both. The air was already colder today, and it would only grow worse the farther they climbed. With snow and a river to cross, there was no guarantee they’d reach the shrine by nightfall.

Thankfully, Link was able to tap his Slate and store several bundles of wood inside it—along with the glider, which Quinn secretly hoped to test again before the day was done.

Preparations complete and a brief report sent off to Kakariko, they set out.

Their path took them past the crumbling remains of an old temple. A small group of Bokoblins lurked nearby but were swiftly dispatched by Link and Quinn working in tandem. There was no time to waste on drawn-out fights—not with a mountain looming ahead and the weather turning.

Link cast a few curious glances back at the ruins, clearly tempted to explore, but Quinn shook his head. “Later,” he said. “We’ve got a goal.”

Reluctantly, Link nodded, and they pressed on.

The clouds thickened above them, shifting from pale grey to steel. The wind picked up, biting through their cloaks, and the scent of snow hung in the air. A storm was coming.

Quinn tugged his cloak tighter and paused to scan the horizon.

“We should eat one of those pepper skewers now,” he said. “Might help us stay warm on the way.”

Link nodded and pulled out the Slate, tapping through its interface until two skewers shimmered into being with a burst of blue mist. They were still warm, steam curling gently into the cold air.

The smell alone was enough to make Quinn’s stomach rumble. Well, that answered Quinn's question about the abilities of the Slate from last night.

Link devoured his skewer in two bites. Quinn, as usual, was slower, tugging down his mask just enough to take small bites as they walked.

Link eyed him curiously. “Why do you wear that mask?”

Quinn glanced over. “It’s part of a warrior’s uniform. Sheikah tradition. We were meant to be the hidden blade of the Royal Family—faces covered, identities secret, tools to carry out their will.”

He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. “Even now, with the Royal Family all but gone, we hold to our traditions. We still fight for Hyrule, even if the kingdom is fractured.”

Link’s brows knit together. “But… you’re not a tool. You’re a person.”

The words made Quinn hesitate.

A faint smile touched the edge of his lips. “You’d be surprised how often people forget that.”

He continued, voice softer now. “There are old stories—passed down through our people—about a Sheikah warrior who guided the Hero through darkness. Taught him the sacred songs, helped him strike from the shadows. He had to wear a mask to keep Ganon’s spies from discovering his identity. That’s where the tradition began.”

Link looked thoughtful, but he still frowned slightly. “It makes sense… but it feels lonely.”

Quinn didn’t respond at first. Then he said, “It can be.”

They walked a while longer, snow beginning to drift lazily from the clouds above. The silence between them was heavier now—not awkward, but contemplative.

Finally, Quinn spoke again. “After the Calamity, things changed. People feared us. Blamed us.”

He didn’t have to say why. The Guardians. All of them were built by Sheikah hands.

“To make things worse, some of us turned. Gave in to Ganon’s promises of power. Called themselves the Yiga Clan.”

Link glanced over sharply.

“They’re Sheikah?” he asked.

“Were,” Quinn said flatly. “They abandoned their oaths and embraced forbidden magic. They follow Ganon now. Assassins, spies, saboteurs… They’ve been causing trouble for every race in Hyrule for the last century.”

Link’s hand drifted toward the hilt of his sword, brow furrowed. “Do you think they’ll come for us?”

“I’d be surprised if they weren’t already trying,” Quinn replied. “Word of the Hero’s return will spread. It always does. And they’ve been hunting you for a hundred years.”

He looked up at the darkening sky.

“So we move quickly. Get to the shrines. Get off the Plateau. Then make for Kakariko.”

Link gave a small nod, face set with quiet determination.

They walked on, the last of the pepper’s heat lingering in their chests.

The farther they traveled, the more snow lingered on the ground. Flakes began to float lazily from the sky, light and scattered—for now.

Hopefully, it will stay that way.

Their trail curved between two low ridges, both capped in snow. A great stone arch stretched between them, ancient and weathered. As they passed beneath it, Quinn spotted a small cluster of spicy peppers growing stubbornly at its base, red against the frost. Beyond the arch, a river rushed beneath a wide waterfall, carving a path through the land. Water misted into the cold air, collecting in icy beads along the riverbanks.

“The water here’s glacier-fed,” Quinn warned, stopping at the edge. “No way to swim across—you’d freeze and drown before you were halfway.”

Link peered at the current. “So how do we cross?”

“There’s an old bridge downstream. Rickety, but it might still be standing.” Quinn glanced at him sideways. “You do know how to swim, right?”

Link frowned. “Maybe? I don’t know.”

Quinn sighed heavily. “Of course you don’t.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “Great. That’s something we’ll need to tackle later… somewhere warmer. For now, don’t fall in. I’m not about to dive in after you.”

They followed the river’s edge, boots crunching over frozen snow and slick patches of ice. Every breath puffed out in clouds of steam. Quinn pulled his cloak tighter, his cheeks and nose already rosy from the chill. He glanced at Link beside him, who looked far more comfortable in the warm doublet Quinn had sewn. At least that had worked out.

Eventually, the bridge came into view—weathered, leaning, but still spanning the river. Ruined stone structures flanked either side, hinting that this crossing had once been something grand. Now, its remains were littered with ice and wreckage—and three Guardian husks, half-buried in snow and frost, their limbs twisted and frozen in place.

Link halted, instinctively shifting into a guarded stance at the sight of them.

Quinn stepped past him without hesitation, giving the nearest Guardian a swift glance. “Relax. These ones are really dead. Cold’s not exactly a friend to Sheikah machinery.”

He nudged the ice-encrusted frame with his boot. No response.

Still, Quinn’s voice dropped a notch as he added, “But don’t get too close. Just in case.”

Link nodded but kept his distance. The corpses were silent, but the aura they gave off lingered—ghosts of the Calamity frozen in time.

Quinn picked up the pace, eager to move on.

At least until he saw the state of the bridge.

The starting section of the bridge on their side had collapsed, the planks washed away by a past storm. Only the far side remained connected.

Quinn groaned. “Damn it. We’ll have to backtrack. Maybe climb the cliff and loop around.”

But Link, scanning the area, pointed to something half-buried in the snow nearby. “What about that?”

It was an old metal slab—possibly a rusted door—mostly buried but intact.

Quinn gave it a skeptical look. “It’s too heavy for us to lift.”

Link grinned. “Yeah, but I don’t have to lift it.”

He pulled out the Sheikah Slate and activated the Magnesis rune. The slab shimmered with golden energy and slowly lifted into the air. Link guided it forward and gently laid it across the gap between the bank and the bridge’s start.

It settled with a loud clang.

Quinn blinked. Huh. That actually worked.

Link tucked the Slate back on his belt, smug as ever, and started forward.

“Be careful,” Quinn warned. “That bridge might be barely holding together.”

They crossed slowly, testing each plank before committing their weight. The wind whistled through the narrow gorge, rattling the old wood beneath them. Almost to the end, a loud crack rang out behind Quinn.

He turned just in time to see Link’s legs fall through the boards.

“Link!”

“I’m okay!” Link called, legs dangling as he hung sideways off the bridge, his other leg thankfully caught on a support beam.

“Hey, there’s a weird little acorn thing hanging under the bridge. Hold on.”

“Link, what are you—?!”

Still dangling, Link pulled his bow, nocked an arrow, and shot the strange object beneath the bridge. A soft jingle echoed as the acorn burst apart.

Link startled, then froze.

“…Wha—?” he said quietly. “No, I’m not… Who’s Hestu?”

Quinn frowned. “Link, what’s going on?”

Link slowly reached out his free hand, and a small golden seed shimmered into existence in his palm. He stared at it, blinking.

“Okay. I’ll try my best,” he said to… no one.

“…Link?” Quinn asked, eyes narrowing.

Link looked up sheepishly. “Hey, can you help me up?”

Quinn moved fast, helping him haul his weight back onto the bridge. Once Link was upright, he beamed and held out the seed.

“You didn’t tell me about the cute forest spirits, Quinn!”

“What spirits?”

“The little guy floating there! He said he’s one of the ‘children of the forest.’”

Quinn paused, staring at him.

“…You saw a Korok?”

Link nodded, excited. “Yeah! He said they’re all hiding and I should look for more. And he gave me this seed!”

Quinn eyed the seed warily. “Most people can’t see them,” he said slowly. “Me, for example. I just saw you talking to thin air. Thought maybe you hit your head.”

“I didn’t hit my head!” Link said indignantly. “He was right there. Mask, little leafy face, weird squeaky voice.”

“I believe you,” Quinn said. He didn’t sound entirely convinced.

Koroks were legend—spirits said to protect the Great Forest, hidden behind impassable fog. The idea that one had come this far out…

Quinn glanced around warily. “That’s… rare. Very rare.”

Link, oblivious to the weight in Quinn’s voice, tucked the seed away and looked even more determined. “Well, if there are more of them hiding out there, I’m going to find them.”

“Of course you are,” Quinn muttered.

Thankfully, they made it the rest of the way across the bridge without further incident—though Link kept casting glances around them, his eyes scanning every tree hollow and rock crevice. 

Quinn didn’t need to ask. He already knew.

Link was absolutely trying to spot more Koroks, as if one of them might spring out from beneath a bush at any moment just to prove their existence to Quinn. He even paused once to peek under a snow-dusted rock, looking hopeful.

Quinn sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. At least Link was paying more attention to his surroundings now. Maybe next, he’d learn to spot monster ambushes, too.

They backtracked upstream, following the river’s edge until they found a narrow, winding path snaking up the mountainside. The climb began in earnest as the trail tilted sharply upward, the terrain growing steeper with each step. The midday sun had long since vanished behind a ceiling of thick, swirling clouds.

Wind howled down the slope, cutting through their cloaks and tugging at their hoods like grasping hands. The higher they climbed, the colder it grew—sharp and biting, the kind of cold that gnawed straight through to the bone.

Quinn glanced skyward, his brow creasing. The weather was turning. They needed to keep moving.

He hunched deeper into his cloak and lengthened his stride.

That was when the snow around them shifted.

With a sudden pop and puff of frost, a pale blue, quivering blob erupted from beneath the drifts.

Link flinched, hand flying to his weapon.

“Ice Chuchu,” Quinn said calmly, already pulling a dagger free. “Slow, but they can cover ground fast with a jump. When they land, they blast cold in a radius—so don’t be too close.”

He shot a look toward Link. “Best option? Hit them from a distance. Use your bow.”

Link nodded, already nocking an arrow. He exhaled slowly, aimed, and loosed.

The arrow struck true, piercing one of the Chuchus cleanly. It burst with a soft crack, sending a wave of icy mist outward.

Right into Quinn.

He froze—literally—as the frost dusted him from head to toe, glittering across his scarf and shoulders.

“…You also want to avoid the blast when they pop,” he muttered, teeth beginning to chatter.

Link winced. “Sorry. I guess I was a little too quick.”

Quinn grumbled under his breath and shook off the frost like a wet cat, his glare only half-hearted.

They continued up the slope. Two more Chuchus emerged a short while later, but this time Link took them down quickly and cleanly—well out of range. He even managed to avoid stepping on any twigs in the process, which Quinn quietly noted as an improvement.

“See?” Quinn said as they passed the scattered slush and frost. “Quick learner, when you’re not busy interrogating tree stumps for hidden forest sprites.”

Link grinned, undeterred. “Hey, you never know. Maybe one’s hiding in your hood.”

Quinn snorted. “If something jumps out of my hood, I’m chucking you off the mountain.”

Link laughed, their breath curling into the freezing air.

The climb was far from over—but at least, for now, the mood had lifted.

Chapter Text

Several more hours passed as they continued their slow ascent up the snowy mountain. Their steps slowed with every inch as the snow deepened, crunching beneath their boots in muted defiance. Each breath curled into the air as a small cloud of white, drifting briefly before vanishing into the cold.

The path narrowed as they ascended higher along the cliffs. When the trail switchbacked again, Quinn paused to glance over his shoulder. The view behind them was both breathtaking and grim—Death Mountain smoldering in the distance, its glowing red veins twisting like scars across its flank. Farther still, Hyrule Castle loomed on the horizon, dark with Malice, a blight against the sky.

Quinn turned back and continued climbing. Link was beginning to lag, his movements slower and shoulders hunched from exhaustion. The snow and steep incline were taking their toll. Quinn eased his pace but didn’t stop. They needed to make it to the top before the weather worsened.

When they finally crested the first ridge to a flat stretch of mountain, Quinn was winded, but Link was visibly struggling. He doubled over, panting hard, breath fogging in the frigid air. The cold and thin atmosphere was clearly making it harder for his lungs to recover.

“Here.” Quinn handed him a waterskin. “We’ll take a short break, but then we keep moving.”

Link nodded wordlessly, took a few gulps, and handed it back. They didn’t linger. Quinn knew that resting too long in the cold could be more dangerous than pressing forward. Thankfully, the next stretch was relatively flat, and the shrine’s peak was now visible through the snow mist ahead.

As they climbed higher, the red rock towers of the Gerudo Highlands became visible far off in the distance, jutting sharply into the sky. They were even higher than the mountain they now trudged.

Halfway through the next incline, Quinn caught the faint crackle of fire and the wet, greedy sound of chewing. He motioned for Link to be still, then crouched low.

There was a camp ahead.

Quietly, the two crept forward. The scent of roasted meat hit them first, followed by the flickering glow of firelight. Around the fire, several red Bokoblins were laughing and squealing in celebration, spinning a spit with sizzling meat. Their weapons were carelessly piled on a nearby log.

Quinn’s eyes flicked toward the edge of the campfire—and locked onto two barrels marked with white skulls. Explosives.

“Hey Link,” Quinn whispered, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “You know how monsters aren’t the brightest?”

“Yeah?” Link whispered back, raising an eyebrow.

“Those barrels are filled with black powder. One spark and—boom. No need for a sword. Saves time. Saves energy.”

“Too bad we don’t have a fire arrow,” Link muttered.

“Watch and learn.”

Quinn pulled out an arrow, wrapped the tip with a strip of cloth, and soaked it with a strong-smelling liquid from a smaller waterskin. He handed it to Link. “Flint and steel. Light it.”

Link struck a spark, and the cloth caught flame almost immediately. Quinn took the arrow, aimed carefully, and loosed it into the heart of the camp.

The Bokoblins turned just as the arrow hit the barrel.

For a moment, they froze in place, blinking at the burning tip. Then came the shrieking panic, limbs flailing as they scrambled like headless birds.

A second later, the barrels exploded.

The blast tore through the camp with a roar. Fire and snow scattered in every direction. When the smoke cleared, little remained. Not even the meat had survived intact.

“Okay,” Link said, beaming. “That was awesome.”

They crested the final ridge and came face to face with a frozen pond. The surface was thin and glassy, cracks spiderwebbing across it with every gust of wind. Quinn squinted up at the sky—what had started as a gentle snowfall had taken a turn. The clouds were darker now, swirling in thick, fast-moving layers, and the wind had picked up enough to bite through their cloaks like knives. Snowflakes, once delicate, now fell in heavy clusters that stung when they hit.

Just one last hill remained.

They powered through, boots slipping slightly as they pushed into the wind. Their breaths came in shallow puffs, steam curling around their faces as the cold deepened. The shrine pulsed at the top of the slope, its amber glow a beacon of warmth against the growing storm.

Link stepped forward first, teeth chattering, and activated the pedestal. The sigil on the ground shimmered to life, humming with soft energy as it lit the snowy peak in blue light.

Quinn hesitated, lingering just outside the circle. He’d never entered a shrine before. Never wanted to. He’d always kept his distance—guarding the entrance, standing sentinel.

But this time, the cold was deadly. The wind howled louder now, tugging at his hood and swirling snow so thick it blurred the horizon. Even the thought of returning to the remains of the Bokoblin camp for warmth felt foolish now—too far, too exposed. The storm was settling in.

Link looked back and seemed to read the conflict on his face.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Why don’t you come with me this time? Just to the entrance. It’s warm inside. And… you’ll finally get to see what it looks like.”

Quinn frowned, snowflakes catching in his lashes. Every instinct screamed at him not to trust the ancient tech. But freezing to death wasn’t a noble way to go either—and if anything went wrong inside, at least they’d be together.

He pulled his cloak tighter.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But I’m not going further in. This is your trial, not mine.”

Link nodded, serious despite the snow dusting his hair. “I know. I wouldn’t ask you to.”

Together, they stepped onto the glowing sigil.

The platform hummed beneath their feet, and with a low mechanical groan, it began to descend—sinking them into the glowing depths of the shrine, and away from the storm that raged above.

The inside of the shrine was eerie. A low mechanical hum echoed around them, growing louder as they descended into the belly of the ancient machine. The tunnel they continued to descend into was dark, the air unnervingly still—until, at last, light bloomed around them.

The sudden light after pitch darkness led him to blink.

A metallic screech tore through the silence— like a gate grinding open or gears shifting in protest. The sound bounced through the shrine’s stone walls in jagged echoes. Then came the sharp snap of ice cracking, followed by the deep crunch of something heavy breaking free.

Quinn startled and stood, weapons already drawn, eyes narrowing toward the gate. His pulse quickened.

Another beat— then a blinding blast of blue energy cracked through the chamber like thunder.

Water sprayed, and the clatter of metal legs followed.

Quinn darted to the bars, peering through just in time to see it: a Guardian Scout— small, nimble, and terrifyingly fast. Its spidery limbs sliced through the shallow pool, glowing lines across its armor pulsing with energy. Its single eye blazed, locking onto Link.

Another beam shot out.

Link dove sideways, the blast just missing his shoulder and sending water exploding behind him. He rolled, came up fast, and whipped out the Slate. Cryonis pulsed to life, a pillar of ice erupting between him and the Scout just in time to intercept the next blast.

The Scout paused, recalculating— but Link didn’t wait.

He sprinted around the pillar, lobbed a round blue Sheikah bomb over the top, and immediately detonated it mid- air.

Boom.

The Scout staggered, one leg sparking and twitching. Link whooped, half- laughing as he ducked behind another ice block and rolled another bomb across the wet floor like a mischievous bowling ball. It detonated under the Guardian’s chassis, sending it stumbling backward in a burst of steam and smoke.

“ Is this a fight or a fireworks show?” Quinn muttered under his breath, heart hammering.

The Guardian fired again— three shots this time, rapid- fire. Link scrambled, sliding across the slick floor, laughing breathlessly as one blast singed the tip of his boot. He skidded to a stop, planted his feet, and charged in.

Sword drawn, he lunged.

He was on it in seconds, sword flashing, driving a powerful blow into the machine’s leg. Sparks flew. Another strike—this time across its central core—and the light in the eye flickered. The Scout twitched, retreating on damaged limbs. But Link was relentless. He slammed the sword down in a final arc, cleaving through a joint. The machine let out a strangled whine before collapsing, blue light sputtering out. With a soft hiss of steam, it exploded in a burst of parts.

Smoke curled into the air.

Quinn let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He tried for nonchalance— crossed his arms and leaned casually against the bars like he hadn’t just been bracing for disaster.

“ Nice work,” he called. “ You really showed that bucket of bolts who’s boss.”

Link startled, then flushed. He clearly hadn’t realized he had an audience.

“ Don’t distract me,” he muttered, shoving a glowing component into the Slate. “ I’m busy.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow. “ Oh, sorry. I’ll just let you get back to your bomb- throwing, ice- spawning chaos routine.”

Link grinned, already crafting another bomb out of thin air— just to toss it up and catch it like a toy.

“ Never said I wasn’t efficient,” he chirped.

Quinn sighed. “ You're going to be the death of me.”

“ But I’ll do it in style!”

Quinn groaned and turned away, muttering something about finding a new job. His eyes followed Link as he stepped out of the water, surveying a new obstacle: another smooth wall, too tall to climb.

A narrow platform lay ahead, balanced on a pivot point over the water. Link tested it, and it dipped immediately under his weight.

Quinn watched with interest. A puzzle.

Link, thinking quickly, opened the Slate again. A moment later, a Cryonis block jutted up beneath the platform, tilting it upward. It formed a ramp to the next level.

Link smiled in triumph and scrambled up. Then he was gone again, vanishing down another corridor.

Quinn leaned back, rubbing his hands together near the fire. How many more puzzles did these shrines hold?

Minutes passed in silence—then a bell chimed, crisp and clear. The ancient voice echoed once more:

"Your resourcefulness in overcoming this trial speaks to the promise of a hero... In the name of the Goddess Hylia, I bestow upon you this Spirit Orb. May the Goddess smile upon you."

And then—silence.

“You alive in there?” Quinn called.

“Yup!” Link shouted back. “That’s the last shrine on the Plateau! I just have to get back.”

Quinn waited as footsteps echoed from deeper inside. Eventually, Link came jogging back into view.

“How was that, huh?” Link beamed. “Starting to see how cool these shrines are?”

Quinn gave him a flat look. “They definitely keep it cool in here. You said it would be warmer.”

Link shrugged. “Okay, maybe not this one. Probably because of the whole ice theme. But they’re not all like this. Come on—let me circle around, and we can get out of here.”

As Link disappeared again, Quinn stared into the fire, thoughtful.

This was it. Their time on the Great Plateau was nearly done. Link had proven himself. He was stronger now—sharper. Capable. Soon, he’d outgrow Quinn’s guidance. And maybe that was the point. Quinn’s mission had always been to get Link to Kakariko. To Impa. After that…

Well. After that, it was Link’s path to walk.

A splash drew Quinn’s attention. Link returned, soaked up to the knees, leaving a trail of soggy footprints and squelching with every step. He plopped down by the fire, peeling off his boots and setting them close to the flames.

“I am not walking back in wet boots,” he muttered. “I’d lose my toes to frostbite.”

Quinn nodded and tossed more wood into the fire.

“This spot’s as good as any. Let them dry.”

Link nodded gratefully, then perked up. “Actually—why don’t we teleport again? Just back to the shrine in the ruins. Then we can walk across the plains and get back to the cabin.”

Quinn frowned. Again with the teleporting. He understood the logic—but he didn’t like the risk.

“This is the last time,” he said sternly. “Relying on this tech… it’s dangerous. What if something goes wrong? What if you’re reassembled wrong—or not at all?”

Link laughed. “You’re such a worrywart, Quinn. That’s not how it works.”

“Well, the people of Hyrule didn’t think the Guardians would turn on them either. And look how that turned out.”

“That was because of Ganon. It wasn’t your people’s fault.”

“Maybe,” Quinn said, quieter now. “But using this stuff… it opens doors. And we don’t know what’s waiting on the other side. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” He mumbled the last part.

Link smiled softly. “I’ll be fine. Like you said—I’m the Goddess’s chosen. I doubt she’d let me die.”

“You almost did. A hundred years ago.”

“But I didn’t. And now I have you. You wouldn’t let that happen again, right?”

Quinn sighed, rolling his eyes. “Are your boots dry yet?”

Link grinned, shoving his half-dried boots back on.

Quinn stamped out the fire, and together, they stepped onto the platform that would carry them back into the freezing air above.

Stepping out into the crisp mountain air, the two were greeted by the fading glow of the day. The storm had passed leaving a fresh layer of snow that covered their previously made tracks and left a fluffy white blanket coating the mountain top. The sun was sinking low behind them casting brilliant red and orange streaks across the sky lighting up the Dueling Peaks to the east. The golden light bathed the Plateau, washing the snowy landscape and distant valleys in warmth and fire. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

They simply stood there, shoulder to shoulder, breathing in the moment.

The view of Hyrule stretched endlessly before them—rolling hills, distant forests, the glint of rivers catching the last gold of daylight. Even Death Mountain, though ominous in its distant rumble, looked momentarily peaceful. For a brief second, the world felt untouched.

Link’s breath fogged in the cold air. “It’s beautiful,” he murmured.

Quinn only nodded, his eyes fixed on the horizon. “Yeah. Try to remember this. It’s good to have something worth fighting for.”

Then, the moment passed. Link turned to the Slate, tapping through its interface with fingers still stiff from the cold. With a shimmer of blue light, they vanished—reappearing near the ruins of the Eastern Abbey as twilight crept across the land.

By the time they reached the outskirts of the cabin, night had fallen.

The world felt different in darkness—quieter, but more alert. The moon cast a pale glow through the trees, and long shadows stretched across the lush grass.

Then came the scraping.

Bones rattling against stone.

A skeletal hand clawed its way up from the earth, followed by another. Link startled, drawing back, his exhaustion clear in the slump of his shoulders. He hadn’t been out at night before—hadn’t seen what the dead did when the sun fell.

Two Bokoblin skeletons rose from the ground, their bones creaking and clacking as they pulled themselves upright. Their empty eye sockets glowed faintly with eerie light.

Link instinctively reached for his sword, but Quinn was already moving.

Without a word, he lunged at the nearest skeleton, his blade flashing in the moonlight. One clean swipe separated its head from its body. The bones scattered, clattering to the ground—but the head kept moving, jaw chattering as it bounced across the grass.

The body staggered aimlessly, searching.

Quinn didn’t give it the chance. With a sharp crunch, his boot came down hard on the skull, shattering it. The remaining bones crumbled to dust, dissipating into the night air.

The second skeleton gave a pitiful screech—but Quinn spun and silenced it with two quick slashes.

When the last fragment of bone turned to ash, Quinn flicked the blade clean and turned to Link, who was still catching his breath.

“Welcome to Hyrule after dark,” Quinn said. “Where even the dead forget to stay buried.”

Link blinked. “That was... unsettling.”

“You get used to it. Or you learn to be inside by sunset.” He gave Link a pointed look. “Preferably behind a locked door.”

Link nodded slowly, still staring at where the bones had vanished.

They didn’t speak again until the familiar shadow of the cabin came into view, exhausted they bedded down immediately not even making dinner. They would need all the rest they could get for their next steps of the journey.

Chapter Text

Quinn looked out over the expanse of Hyrule, his sharp eyes scanning the terrain below for any signs of trouble. Patches of woodland broke up the rolling fields, and among them, wild horses grazed near the moss-covered ruins of villages and outposts long lost to the Calamity. Quinn looked to the Dueling Peaks, their destination, and the tattered flags waving in the wind. Everything looked quiet—peaceful, even—but Quinn knew better than to trust appearances in Hyrule.

Satisfied there were no immediate threats, he turned to Link.

“You ready?”

“Of course!” Link grinned, practically bouncing on his heels.

Before Quinn could offer any final warning, Link launched himself off the cliff’s edge. The glider burst into existence with a soft shimmer of blue light, catching him mid-fall. He drifted downward in an elegant arc, cloak fluttering behind him, before landing gently in the tall grass far below.

Tucking the glider back into the Slate with a flash of blue, Link looked up and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Your turn!”

Quinn exhaled through his nose. “Showoff,” he muttered, then turned to begin his descent the old-fashioned way.

He climbed carefully, hands and boots seeking solid purchase against the Plateau’s craggy stone. His mind, however, was already several steps ahead—calculating distance, planning the remainder of their route, and revising their schedule.

The glider test, and the Talus ambush that followed, had taken longer than expected. With the sun dipping toward late afternoon, it was clear they wouldn’t reach the Dueling Peaks stable by nightfall. He'd hoped for shelter and a warm meal, but that was no longer realistic.

They’d need to make camp somewhere along the road. Unless… Quinn’s gaze drifted to the wild horses they’d spotted earlier. If they could catch one—or two, if luck favored them—it might shave hours off their journey. But that depended on Link. The Hero of Legend was said to be a natural with horses, able to ride like he was born in the saddle.

But the Link Quinn traveled with? That Link was more sass than solemnity.

He scoffed quietly to himself. “Strong, silent guardian,” he muttered. “Right.”

Halfway down the cliff, Quinn looked behind to find Link and see what he was doing while waiting for Quinn to descend. Quinn initially didn’t see him in the field below, but looking around a bit he saw Link on top of a moderate hill throwing rocks to pop balloons that were whirling in a circle around him. With the last balloon popped Link gave a big grin and seemed to pocket something in his slate. Another Korok found Quinn guessed. Link just can’t stay still or something. Shaking his head, Quinn continued to climb down to the ground below.

The descent ended without issue, and Quinn dusted off his gloves as his boots touched the grass. When he looked up, Link was now crouched in the field a short distance away, munching on an apple, completely absorbed and looking at something on the ground.

Quinn approached, curious—until he saw what it was.

A Hyrule field cricket twitched in the grass, its spindly legs and glossy shell gleaming in the sun. Link was watching it with intense interest, even leaning in like he meant to poke it.

Quinn recoiled, quickly stepping back and turning away under the pretense of adjusting his gear. He pulled his scarf higher over his face to mask his expression.

Crickets.

He hated crickets.

Spiders? No problem. Slugs? Bring it on. But crickets, with their hairy back legs, erratic jumps, and twitching antennae? Absolutely not. One had leaped into his favorite soup as a child and he didn’t notice in time, it traumatized him for life. He still remembered the crunch. 

He’d never recovered.

Behind him, Link stood and gave him a strange look, clearly having caught the quick retreat.

“What?” Quinn said defensively.

Link smirked but didn’t press. Instead, Quinn cleared his throat and shifted the topic quickly.

“Let’s not waste time. We’ve got ground to cover. How are you with horses?”

Link tilted his head. “I think I know how to ride? It feels familiar, but... I don’t exactly remember.”

“Well, if we can catch one, it’ll make this journey a lot easier,” Quinn said, already scanning the field for a suitable target. “Stay here. I’ll try to catch us a ride.”

Link gave a thumbs-up, already distracted again—this time chasing a butterfly through the grass.

Quinn sighed and headed toward the herd, praying to the Goddess that Link’s instincts kicked in when it counted.

Four wild horses grazed in the distance, their heads bowed as they nosed through the tall grass. None of them were tethered—Hyrule’s wild horses weren’t domesticated, but with a steady hand and patience, they could be trained. The real challenge was catching them. At the slightest noise, they’d bolt—or worse, lash out with their powerful hooves.

Fortunately, Quinn knew how to move quietly. He hadn’t caught a wild horse in some time, but stealth was second nature to him.

He crouched low and crept into the tall grass, each step deliberate and silent. His eyes flicked between the herd—a dappled gray, a black, a cream, and a chestnut mare. The gray looked the most even-tempered, ears relaxed and tail flicking lazily.

Quinn angled toward her, slow and steady, inching through the stalks.

Please no crickets, he prayed silently to the Goddess, scanning the grass as he moved. He didn’t have the patience—or dignity—to deal with one of those right now.

When he was close enough, he paused, waited, then lunged.

He gripped the horse’s mane and hauled himself up in a practiced motion. The mare startled violently, rearing slightly with a shrill whinny, then bucked hard. The rest of the herd snorted and scattered, pounding the ground as they galloped off into the trees.

Quinn held tight, arms wrapped around the mare’s neck, legs clamped to her sides. She kicked and twisted, trying to throw him, but he gritted his teeth and rode it out. He didn’t speak—just endured.

Eventually, the horse began to tire, her frantic movements slowing to a trot, then a walk. Her flanks were heaving, ears still twitching, but she no longer fought his hold.

“Give her some reassurance!” came Link’s voice from behind. Quinn turned to see him approaching casually. “And pat her neck! She needs to know she did a good job!”

Before Quinn could respond, Link stepped closer and held out an apple in his open palm. The mare fixed him with a wide, wary eye—but after a long moment, she leaned in and plucked the fruit from his hand with a soft crunch.

“There we go,” Link said, his voice gentle as he reached forward and offered the back of his hand. The horse sniffed it, then bumped her nose against it. Encouraged, Link stroked her muzzle and neck with practiced calm.

“Who’s a good girl?” he murmured. “You are. I know that was scary, but you did amazing. No one’s going to hurt you.”

Quinn blinked at him. “Have you done this before?”

Link shrugged, still petting the mare affectionately. “Maybe? I dunno. Just feels... right, I guess.”

Of course it does, Quinn thought with an exasperated huff. Horse-whisperer Hero. Figures.

Another thing he’s infuriatingly good at.

The other horses had vanished into the trees, and Quinn sighed, accepting that they'd be sharing one mount. It wasn’t ideal, but it would work.

Link, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content. He was already fussing over the mare, running a hand down her neck and scratching behind her ears like they were lifelong friends.

“I think I’ll call her Apple,” Link announced, beaming. “She likes them. I like them. It fits.”

The horse gave a soft snort, almost approvingly, and nudged Link’s arm with her nose.

Quinn raised an eyebrow. “Apple? That’s the name you’re going with?”

Link gave a mock gasp. “Don’t mock her name. It’s perfect. She’s sweet, dependable, and round.”

“She’s not round.”

“She will be if we keep feeding her apples.”

Apple gave another snort and shook her mane, as if amused by their conversation. Quinn huffed and crossed his arms.

“Well, if she throws you later for naming her after fruit, I won’t feel bad.”

“She would never.” Link grinned and leaned close to whisper to the mare. “He’s just jealous because you like me more.”

Apple whinnied, and Quinn rolled his eyes. “Great. Now I’m outnumbered.”

They spent a few more minutes settling the mare, brushing bits of grass from her flanks and whispering soft reassurances. When it came time to ride, Quinn climbed up first and scooted forward, patting the spot behind him.

“No saddle,” he warned. “Don’t fall off.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Link said, hopping up with fluid ease. He wrapped his arms around Quinn’s waist, perhaps a little tighter than necessary. “This is nice.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not making it weird. You’re making it weird.”

“You’re breathing down my neck.”

“I’m just making sure I don’t fall.”

Quinn sighed dramatically, then clicked his tongue and guided Apple forward with a gentle nudge. The mare obeyed with surprising grace, her hooves quiet on the forest path. Link seemed enamored with the new sights and had his head on a swivel looking all around in wonder like a child.

As they trotted along, the warm light of the afternoon filtered through the trees. The calm was welcome—but Quinn knew it wouldn’t last long.

“Let me know if she tries anything,” Quinn muttered.

“She won’t,” Link replied, giving Apple a fond pat. “She’s the best horse in Hyrule.”

“You’ve known her ten minutes.”

“Yeah, but I have good instincts.”

Quinn snorted. “That’s what you said before fighting the Stone Talus.”

“And I won, didn’t I?”

“You almost got flattened.”

Apple gave a soft huff, almost like she was laughing, and Link chuckled into Quinn’s shoulder.

“She agrees with me,” he said smugly.

The forest around them was quiet but watchful, the trees casting long shadows in the late afternoon light. The hush wasn’t peaceful—it was anticipatory. Quinn had been down this road before. The route hugged the edge of the Great Plateau and passed close to the Gatepost Town Ruins—an area that had become a haven for roaming monsters. Moblin dens, Bokoblin camps… all drawn to the shelter of crumbling stone and the scraps left behind by war.

After the chaos with the Stone Talus, Quinn wasn’t eager for another fight today.

Link’s arms around his waist had grown more relaxed, his body shifting naturally with the horse’s stride. Apple’s hooves struck a steady rhythm as they followed the faint trail winding between trees and broken fences, the overgrowth reclaiming the remnants of the once-bustling town.

As the ruins thickened around them, Quinn sat straighter. The air changed—denser somehow. The low walls and tumbled columns loomed like sleeping beasts in the underbrush, casting long shadows that danced with every flicker of wind.

They reached a fork, the path veering either toward the center of the ruins or clinging closer to the cliffside trail. Quinn tugged the horse slightly left, steering them along the latter route—narrower, but safer, and with fewer blind corners.

“Hold on a bit more and stay low,” he murmured, barely audible over the horse’s stride.

Link immediately tensed, arms tightening around Quinn’s ribs, his chin dipping behind Quinn’s shoulder as he sank closer to the mare’s back.

Quinn leaned forward and gave Apple a quiet, encouraging click of his tongue.

“Let’s go, girl.”

The mare responded beautifully, surging into a faster gait, her hooves drumming against the hard-packed earth as they weaved between the vine-choked remnants of the village. Stone walls zipped past them in a blur of grey and moss. A shattered fountain. A roofless house. A rusted cart half-swallowed by the ground.

Then Quinn saw them—two hulking red shapes moving just ahead where the road pinched between two leaning walls. Moblins. Each one was nearly twice the size of a man, lumbering in slow, heavy arcs as they paced between the broken ruins. Their guttural voices carried on the breeze, thick with discontent.

Quinn swore under his breath.

He couldn’t turn back now—the path behind was too narrow to spin a horse quickly. And they didn’t have time to climb.

“Stay calm,” he muttered low. “Just ride steady. No sudden moves.”

Apple’s ears flicked nervously, catching the scent and sound of the monsters ahead, but she didn’t falter. Whether it was her temperament or Link’s quiet, soothing grip behind him, Quinn wasn’t sure. But she kept going, hooves striking a faster rhythm now as she instinctively recognized the danger.

The Moblins turned toward them as they approached, blinking stupidly at the fast-approaching trio. One growled and reached for a crude club.

“Go, go, go—!” Quinn hissed and leaned low over Apple’s neck.

They streaked past in a blur. The Moblin’s club whooshed through the air and struck the road behind them with a jarring thud, sending up a spray of dirt and gravel. Apple didn’t slow. Neither did Quinn.

Link held on tightly, laughter and nerves mixing in his breath as they flew through the last stretch of ruins and back into the trees. Only once the road widened again and the Moblins were far behind did Quinn ease up, slowing Apple to a steady trot.

“You okay back there?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“I’m great,” Link grinned breathlessly. “That was amazing!”

Quinn shook his head with a sigh. “You and I have very different definitions of amazing.”

”Well, Apple was amazing, how she dodged those swings and ran so fast!” Link reached up past Quinn to pat Apple’s neck. “Who’s the bestest girl!” He cooed in a singsong voice.

Apple gave a little toss of her mane as if preening under the praise. Her ears flicked forward, alert and proud, and her hopes tapped a bit more enthusiastically along the dirt path. Quinn rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. These two would be the death of him—but they’d be entertaining company along the way.

They continued along as the terrain shifted, the dense woods slowly giving way to open fields. Trees thinned into scattered groves, revealing wide stretches of golden grass and the jagged silhouettes of ruined buildings in the distance. Beneath Apple’s hooves, the packed dirt gradually turned to worn stone—the remnants of an old trade road that once led straight to Kakariko.

Quinn’s eyes swept the landscape, alert for anything out of place. The afternoon light had deepened to a golden hue, casting long, creeping shadows across the ruins. It wasn’t the cooling air that made him uneasy, but the quiet—the kind that came before trouble.

Ahead, the twin spires of the Dueling Peaks loomed ever closer, their sharp cliffs etched in deepening shadow, slicing up into the darkening sky like blades. They were beautiful in a way, but ominous too.

Quinn’s mind was already weighing options. They wouldn’t reach the village by nightfall. They’d need to find camp—somewhere out of sight, near water, and defensible—before full dark set in.

That’s when they reached the crumbling remains of Proxim Bridge.

The wide stone span arched over the Hylia River, just downstream from where the Squabble River joined it, forming a broad, swirling confluence. Once a proud thoroughfare for trade and travel, the bridge was now a fractured relic—its edges weathered, bricks loose beneath the overgrowth, parts sagging from age and disuse.

As they approached the moss-choked stairs leading up to the bridge, Link suddenly gasped and tugged on Quinn’s sleeve.

“Wait—stop! There’s another shrine here!”

Without waiting for permission—or common sense—Link vaulted off the horse and sprinted toward the stone structure half-hidden behind a rise near the bridge.

“Link!” Quinn called after him, already sighing. “We’re supposed to be avoiding attention, remember? Kakariko? The whole reason we’re out here?”

“This’ll only take a minute!” Link shouted over his shoulder, already reaching the shrine’s entrance and fiddling with the pedestal.  “And maybe it’ll give me a new power!”

Quinn muttered something under his breath and dismounted, rubbing his temples. Of course it would.

The shrine’s glow brightened as its ancient mechanisms stirred. That haunting Sheikah hum filled the air again—low and thrumming, like a heartbeat rising from the earth itself. The stone doors split with a slow grind, revealing the dark maw within.

Quinn approached cautiously, Apple trailing behind him with an uncertain snort. The shrine, half-buried in the hillside and veined with moss and cracks, pulsed with the same eerie blue light as the others. Its entrance yawned wide and waiting—too wide, Quinn thought. Like a mouth ready to swallow.

Link was already bouncing on his heels. “Come on! If I’m quick, we won’t lose any time.”

Quinn shot him a flat look. “It’s literally a detour into a glowing dungeon full of death traps. Time’s already lost.”

“Not if I don’t die,” Link countered cheerfully.

“Comforting.”

Still, Quinn stepped closer and scanned the area again. No enemies in sight. Yet. But the last thing he wanted was for Link to get separated… or ambushed mid-trial.

He sighed, folding his arms. “Fine. I’ll stay out here and keep watch. Leave some wood so I can make camp. Be quick. And yell if something tries to kill you.”

“Something always tries to kill me,” Link grinned as he stepped into the shrine’s threshold. The blue light spilled over him, casting his silhouette long across the stones. “But that’s what I have the Slate for.”

Quinn watched Link vanish into the shrine, the heavy doors sliding shut with a hiss that felt far too final. The glowing sigil beneath his feet dimmed to a soft, pulsing blue—still active, but distant. Isolated.

Quinn exhaled slowly and turned away, guiding Apple a short distance from the entrance. He found a weathered cluster of rocks nestled beside a low, windswept rise and led the mare behind them for cover. The sun had slipped lower now, washing the world in amber and rust. The long shadows cast by the Dueling Peaks stretched like claws across the land.

He sat down, pressing his back to the stone, but couldn’t relax. Not even close.

Every sound—the breeze rustling the tall grass, the distant cry of a waterfowl, the groan of a tree shifting in the wind—made his fingers twitch toward his blade. He scanned the horizon constantly, eyes sharp, calculating. The woods behind them were thinning, and the wide path near the bridge remained exposed—far too visible for his liking.

Shrines had always made him uneasy. Bright. Loud. Obvious. Like lighthouses to the wrong kind of sailor.

And now, they were reawakening one by one. A ripple across Hyrule. The Yiga Clan would notice. Of course they would. The moment any shrine’s glow shifted, it left a breadcrumb behind—an unmistakable sign that someone was tampering with Sheikah tech.

And not just anyone.

They’d put it together soon enough. A figure visiting ancient shrines. A glider. The return of a face long thought buried beneath rubble and time.

Quinn clenched his jaw, teeth grinding together. The Yiga were patient. They wouldn’t come storming in—at least, not at first. No, they’d stalk the edges. Watch. Wait. Cut at the edges until you bled from a thousand unseen wounds.

He’d seen it before. And he wasn’t about to let it happen again.

He rose abruptly and moved, scattering any signs of their presence. Brushed out the prints from Apple’s hooves. Kicked dirt over the ashes where Link had tried to spark a fire earlier. If someone followed this far, he didn’t want to make it easy.

They wouldn’t know who they were hunting. Not yet.

But they would. And when they did, everything would change.

Quinn paced, every instinct on edge. His hands itched—not from cold, but from the tension coiling beneath his skin like a spring. He hated this: being still. Being exposed. Waiting for someone else to come back from a trial he couldn’t see, couldn’t control.

He kept glancing at the shrine.

Come on, Link. Don’t get cocky. Just take what you need and get out.

The sky was bleeding deeper into dusk now. A chill crept into the air, curling around the edges of his cloak and settling in his bones.

Quinn sat back down, blades at his side, and resumed his vigil.

Watching. Listening. Waiting.

Protecting.

Chapter Text

Thankfully, this shrine’s trial hadn’t taken long.

The sigil at the entrance pulsed bright blue, and with a low mechanical groan, the inner platform began to rise. A rush of warm air spilled out as the doors opened, followed by Link—panting, sweat-slicked, and dusted with pale chalk from whatever mechanisms or puzzles lay inside.

Quinn stood immediately, relief flickering through him. Link looked winded but unhurt. No burns, no limping, no blood. Still, there was something in his expression that made Quinn pause.

Link didn’t look triumphant.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Quinn asked, already striding toward him, eyes scanning for any injury hidden beneath the dirt and disheveled hair.

“I’m okay,” Link huffed, waving a hand. “It’s just… there wasn’t a new rune.”

He kicked lightly at the dirt, frowning at the Sheikah Slate in his hand.

“I think I’ve gotten all of them from the Plateau. But there were… empty slots. Like it’s missing something. I thought maybe—” He trailed off, voice tapering into disappointment.

Of course, Quinn thought dryly. The kid was sulking because he didn’t get another shiny new superpower.

Still, he didn’t say that. Instead, he sighed and offered a reluctant, “Maybe it’s broken.”

Link perked up slightly, blinking. “Really?”

“I mean… maybe,” Quinn said, tugging his scarf a little higher. “There are a few Sheikah who still study the old tech. One of them’s basically a self-proclaimed genius. If anyone could figure it out, it’d be her.”

Link’s face lit up. “Does she live in Kakariko?”

“Not anymore.” Quinn winced. “She moved a few years back. I haven’t spoken to her since before I got assigned to the Plateau. But Lady Impa would know where she ended up.”

Link nodded thoughtfully, already filing that information away. The disappointment still lingered in his eyes, but now it shared space with curiosity—hope, maybe.

Quinn didn’t share that hope.

Purah. The old bat. Always so eager to tinker and prod and push the boundaries of what Sheikah tech could do. She believed it could be used for good again—reclaimed from the shadow of the Calamity.

Quinn didn’t buy it. Not then. Not now.

He remembered her wild eyes behind soot-streaked goggles, her lab filled with humming relics and sparking wires, always one experiment away from blowing a hole in the roof. She’d wave it all off as progress. As brilliance. As “one step closer to restoring balance.” But Quinn had seen what her “breakthroughs” could do when they turned on the people they were meant to protect.

Good intentions didn’t stop machines from killing.

She’d called him narrow-minded. Stuck in the past. Too afraid to see the future.

But Quinn remembered the screams. The smoke. The flash of blue lights turning red.

He wasn’t afraid of the future.

He was afraid of repeating the past.

He clenched his jaw, suppressing the old ache in his chest.

And now, here he was—guiding a boy chosen by the Goddess, armed with a Slate brimming with Sheikah power, diving headfirst into every glowing tomb and arcane relic they stumbled across.

It was everything Quinn hated.

And it was exactly where he needed to be.

Their path—Link’s path—was tangled with the remnants of Sheikah ingenuity. There was no separating one from the other. And no matter how much Quinn resented it, he would follow. Watch. Guard. Worry.

Because if the world was going to survive this time, it would need more than faith and fire.

It would need the Slate.

And the boy who carried it.

Quinn shook his head, forcing the memories back down where they belonged. No use dragging ghosts into the open now.

“Well,” he said stiffly, “we should put some distance between us and this shrine. Staying too close might draw the wrong kind of attention. I know it’s getting late, but I think there’s a small shelter up the road—nothing fancy, just a small lean-to shelter, but it should give us cover from the wind at least.”

“Sure,” Link replied, chipper as ever. “You’re the plan guy, I’m the muscle guy!”

He waggled his eyebrows as if that sealed the deal. Quinn huffed—not quite a laugh, not quite annoyance—but Link seemed to count it as a win.

“Go ahead and get Apple ready,” Quinn said, waving a hand. “Since you’re such a big horse guy, you can steer her. I’ll follow and clean up our tracks.”

Link paused, halfway to the mare. “Isn’t that being a little paranoid?”

Quinn shot him a flat look. “You don’t know Ganon’s followers like I do. The Yiga Clan is already hunting you—or will be. Right now, they don’t know your face. All they know is that someone is reactivating shrines and towers. Someone with the Sheikah Slate. The longer we stay shadows, the better.”

Link’s smile dimmed, just a fraction. He nodded and turned without another word, leading Apple toward the road.

Quinn knelt to sweep out their prints with a branch, eyes scanning the horizon. Paranoid? Maybe.

But alive? Definitely.

Link grew quiet at the reminder that he was being hunted, his earlier cheer dimming at the edges. The weight of it pressed down for just a moment—until he turned to Apple with a grin and began lavishing her with praise.

Quinn could only make out snippets of it—“Good girl,” and “You’re the smartest one here”—delivered with a kind of reverence that made Quinn raise an eyebrow.

“Smartest one here,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m standing right here, you know.”

Apple snorted in apparent agreement with Link, flicking her ears forward with regal satisfaction.

With a surprising grace, Link swung himself onto her back in one smooth movement. No saddle, no hesitation. He sat tall and balanced, like he’d done it a hundred times before. The image would’ve been almost heroic—if not for the part where he immediately slouched forward and made kissy noises at the horse.

“So we’re crossing the bridge next, right?” he asked, bright-eyed.

“Yeah,” Quinn replied, adjusting his cloak. “The shelter’s just beyond it. Don’t go too far ahead—I’ll catch up once I’m done here.”

Link gave a quick salute and nudged Apple forward. She obeyed with an easy rhythm, hooves clicking softly on the dirt path.

Quinn knelt behind them and began brushing away their tracks, using a bundled length of grass and a small branch to disturb the prints they’d left behind. It was slow, meticulous work—but necessary. The fewer signs left behind, the harder it would be for anyone—especially the Yiga—to follow.

By the time he reached the edge of the bridge, the work got easier. The stone surface required only a few quick swipes to scatter the thin layer of dust and horsehair. The sun had dipped fully now, casting the bridge in dusky shadow, but to Quinn’s mild surprise, someone had lit the old oil lanterns along its span. Their glow flickered gently in the growing dark, illuminating the path ahead with a soft amber gleam.

That’s when Quinn heard it—voices.

Faint, casual, but definitely up ahead.

His pace quickened, boots whispering against the stone as he crept forward, every sense alert. If Link had run headlong into another traveler, that could be a problem. Stranger danger wasn’t exactly a trait Link seemed to retain from his former life.

He reached the rise of the bridge and peered past one of the lanterns. Sure enough, there was Link—Apple standing calmly beneath him—and a man on the other side of the bridge, wrapped in a patched cloak and carrying a rusted sword at his belt.

Quinn eased his grip on his weapon and stepped into the open, no longer bothering with stealth.

He caught the tail end of their conversation.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” the man was saying, his tone low and serious. “The end is here! With all this craziness happening, I’ve been keeping an eye on that thing.”

He gestured toward a Guardian husk lying dormant on the far riverbank, its carapace cracked and half-buried in moss.

“Just to see if it suddenly starts moving, ya know? You and your friend ought to be careful.”

“Oh yeah,” Link agreed quickly, trying to match the man’s tone. “Those things can be vicious. One nearly blew me off the map.”

The man nodded emphatically. “You’re lucky you made it. I heard some of them still move. One chased me halfway across a ridge once, near the castle.”

“This one?” Link gestured toward the silent husk.

“No, different one. That one’s over toward Hyrule castle—”

The man’s words died as soon as he spotted Quinn approaching.

He froze. Took one step back. His eyes narrowed beneath his hood as they locked onto the masked Sheikah figure striding toward them with spear in hand.

“Who goes there?” he barked, trying for authority—but the tremble in his voice betrayed him.

“I’m a friend,” Quinn replied evenly.

“It’s okay!” Link added quickly. “He’s with me!”

The man hesitated. His gaze flicked between Link and Quinn, clearly reassessing.

Quinn stopped just short of them, lowering his weapon slightly—but not sheathing it. The traveler’s posture remained tight, hand hovering near the hilt at his side, eyes narrowing beneath his hood as he took in Quinn’s masked face and the Sheikah symbols stitched into his dark cloak. The faint glow from the lanterns flickered across the markings, making them seem to shimmer.

“Didn’t know the Sheikah were still walkin’ the roads,” the man said warily.

“We are,” Quinn replied, voice cool and measured. “Just… not always where people expect.”

The man didn’t relax. He gave Quinn a long, lingering look—one that carried more than just caution. Mistrust, maybe. Disgust, even. But eventually, he gave a stiff nod.

“Well,” he said, backing up a step, “watch your step. Things’ve been strange lately. Stranger than usual.”

Quinn followed the man’s earlier gesture to the still form of the Guardian husk across the river. Its eye socket remained dark, its limbs unmoving—but its presence was enough to haunt the space around it.

“Yeah,” Quinn murmured. “I know.”

Link gave a friendly wave. “Thanks for the warning!”

The traveler nodded again, then hesitated. He looked at Link—then at Quinn—and said, “You seem like a smart kid. You’d best be careful what company you keep.”

Then, without another word, he turned and made his way off the bridge, his boots echoing on the stone. He glanced back one last time before vanishing into the dark.

Quinn let out a slow breath once the man was gone, the tension in his shoulders loosening.

“Next time,” he muttered, “maybe don’t wave down every stranger you see.”

“But he had a cool coat,” Link said cheerfully. “Also, I don’t think he liked you very much.”

Quinn shot him a dry look. “You’re observant today.”

Link blinked. “Was it something you said?”

“No,” Quinn said, adjusting his cloak. “It’s what I am.”

He turned away, eyes scanning the horizon as he resumed walking. Beside him, Apple’s hooves tapped a steady rhythm against the stone, the quiet clip-clop echoing through the growing twilight. Link nudged her forward to walk in step with Quinn, keeping pace in the deepening silence

“Remember, the Sheikah played an unfortunate role in Hyrule’s downfall. He was literally talking about how awful the Guardians are—and to him, I look like the one who built them.”

“But that wasn’t your fault,” Link protested. “It was Ganon! He turned them against us.”

“Most people don’t see the difference,” Quinn replied, his tone quiet, almost resigned. “To them, we made the weapons. We woke the tech. And when it all went to hell, we couldn’t stop it.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No,” Quinn agreed, “but it’s truth. The Sheikah are outcasts now. Most Hylians keep their distance. And with the Yiga Clan spreading chaos, people don’t bother telling us apart anymore. Sheikah face, red mask, ancient tech—doesn’t matter. To them, it all looks the same.”

Link’s brow furrowed. “That’s stupid. You’ve been keeping me safe. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Quinn didn’t answer right away. He stared ahead, the dusk painting his face in pale blue shadows. Then, with a faint smirk, he said, “Only to the people worth saving.”

Link seemed to take that in, brow furrowed as he mulled it over. He still wasn’t satisfied with how the world viewed the Sheikah—how it viewed Quinn. But he didn’t argue. He just nodded quietly, like he was filing that answer away for later. Like he knew Quinn was worth saving too, whether the world agreed or not.

The far end of the bridge finally came into view, and just beyond it, the shelter Quinn had mentioned. It barely qualified as one—more a half-hearted lean-to than a structure. A few weathered boards leaning against a collapsed post, with a makeshift firepit nestled in the center. Probably left by travelers too exhausted to reach the stable—or maybe even by the man they’d met on the bridge. Still, it was something.

“Well,” Quinn said, rolling his shoulders with a tired grunt. “Here we are. I’ll set up the fire. You settle the horse.”

He didn’t need to say he was exhausted. The weariness clung to his voice like the growing cold.

Link nodded, looking just as worn down. He slid off Apple’s back with less grace than he’d mounted her earlier, landing with a quiet “oof.” He gave the mare a soft pat on the flank and murmured something under his breath—probably another round of “best girl” praises—before tapping the Slate. A few logs materialized in a burst of blue light.

Quinn crouched near the firepit, arranging stones and kindling while Link led Apple a short distance away to graze. The field beyond the shelter had enough scrub and grass to keep her occupied, and she seemed content enough. Hopefully she wouldn’t wander in the night. Quinn knew—knew—that if she went missing, Link would be devastated.

But there wouldn’t be much rest for either of them tonight.

Quinn already knew he’d take the watch. Link was still healing, still building back strength, and after handling the shrine alone, he’d need the sleep. Quinn, on the other hand, had been trained for long nights and longer silences. He could manage a little more exhaustion. He always did.

While he coaxed the fire to life, his mind drifted—over the day’s battles, over Link’s growing skill, over the Guardian husk back on the riverbank. Over what it meant to walk the roads again as a Sheikah.

Link returned with a small pack and sat down beside him, pulling two skewers from the Slate: meat and mushrooms, still warm. They ate in companionable silence, the fire casting flickering light across their faces.

For now, it was enough.

Link poked at the fire with a stick, watching sparks drift upward into the night. After a while, he spoke—softly, like he didn’t want to break the peace.

“So… what’s Kakariko like?”

Quinn glanced at him, a little surprised by the question. “Kakariko?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s where we’re headed, right? I figured I should know more than just the name.”

Quinn leaned back, stretching his legs toward the flames. He was quiet for a moment, like he was weighing what parts of memory to share.

“It’s tucked between the mountains,” he said eventually, voice low. “You have to know where to look. Sloped roofs, wind chimes, old stone lanterns. Feels like time forgot it.”

Link tilted his head. “Sounds peaceful.”

“It is,” Quinn admitted. “Or it used to be. Fog in the mornings, lanterns glowing at dusk. Kids running errands with baskets too big for them. There’s this one old lady who feeds the cuccos like they’re royalty. And don’t get me started on the pickled radish festivals.”

Link blinked. “Radish festivals?”

Quinn nodded, deadpan. “It’s more dangerous than it sounds.”

That earned a quiet laugh from Link, and Quinn’s expression softened—just a little.

“There’s a tree in the center of the village,” he said after a moment. “Huge thing. Old. Impa calls it the village’s memory. Says it’s watched every joy and every disaster that’s ever passed through Kakariko.”

He paused, firelight flickering across his face.

“I used to hide under it,” he hesitantly continued, lost in a memory,. “When I was a kid. When I needed to think, or when I needed to get away…be away from everything.”

Link smiled gently. “So… a lot?”

Quinn huffed a breath. “Constantly.”

He didn’t say who he’d been hiding from.

Didn’t mention the way his sister used to find him there every time—arms crossed, brow raised, always knowing exactly where he’d run off to. He could still picture her silhouette framed by the sunlight through the branches. But he kept that image to himself, folding it away like a fragile scrap of paper he wasn’t ready to open.

The fire popped softly between them. The wind rustled through the nearby grass.

“It’s safe,” Quinn said at last, trying not to sound too fond. “As safe as anywhere gets these days. Just don’t touch the radishes.” The corner of his mouth twitched, humor a thin veil over the heaviness that had crept into his voice.

Link chuckled, then tilted his head. “You seem like you really respect Lady Impa.”

Quinn nodded slowly, the firelight catching in his eyes. “I do. She’s earned it.”

He leaned back on his hands, gaze distant. “She led the village through the worst of the Calamity—kept the Sheikah together when the world was falling apart. People think she’s just an old woman with good stories, but they forget she used to be a blade in the dark. Smart. Unflinching. Loyal to a fault.”

There was a pause. A flicker of something unreadable passed over his face.

“She never gave up on Hyrule,” he added, quieter now. “Even when some of us wanted to.”

“Sounds like someone I’d like,” Link said with a grin.

“She’ll like you too—if you don’t say anything stupid,” Quinn replied.

Link gasped. “I never say anything stupid.”

Quinn gave him a look.

“Okay, fine,” Link amended, “maybe I occasionally say things that are considered… spontaneous.”

“That’s better.”

The fire crackled, casting soft shadows on their faces.

“Kakariko’s a good place,” Quinn said after a pause. “A place to rest. To think. To remember—if that’s something you want. And Impa… if anyone can help you piece things together, it’s her.”

Link didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered on the fire, shoulders slightly hunched.

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” he admitted, quiet.

“That’s fair,” Quinn said. “Memories don’t always come back clean.”

Link gave a slow nod, letting the words settle in his chest. He didn’t say anything more. He just watched the flames dance and die down.

As the fire shrank, its warmth grew more precious. Link gave a long yawn, rubbing at his eyes before curling up closer to the embers. Nearby, Apple lay tucked into the grass, ears flicking at the sounds of the night.

“Okay,” Link murmured, his voice thick with sleep, “I think I’m going to turn in. Get some good rest.”

Quinn gave a quiet nod and reached for a cloak, draping it over Link’s shoulders.

Link smiled faintly in thanks, pulling the fabric tighter around himself. It didn’t take long before his breathing slowed to a steady rhythm, his face softening into peaceful sleep.

Quinn watched him for a moment, silent, then turned his gaze outward—eyes sharp, ears tuned to the night.

The fire crackled softly.

The ruins of the lean-to offered some protection from the wind, but not from Quinn’s thoughts. He sat with his back against one of the support beams, one leg drawn up, his spear across his knees. The stars overhead were unusually bright—clear and sharp, unbothered by clouds or storm.

It was almost peaceful.

Almost.

But Quinn didn’t sleep.

He didn’t even try.

His eyes stayed sharp, scanning the fields beyond the firelight, ears attuned to every rustle in the grass, every distant hoot of a night bird or splash from the river. The encounter on the bridge still itched in the back of his mind. That traveler’s suspicion, the way his hand hovered near his weapon when he saw the Sheikah symbols. That was going to keep happening. People were going to stare. Question. Assume.

It was safer that way—for Link, at least. Let them mistrust Quinn if it meant the boy got a little farther unnoticed.

He shifted slightly, glancing again at the shrine in the distance. Its glow was faint now, quiet. But that didn’t mean it hadn’t been seen. And the Yiga were always watching for movement. For patterns.

Quinn let out a slow breath, cold in the night air.

Though it was convenient that Link hadn’t argued over who would take the watch, Quinn found that fact unsettling in itself. It hadn’t even crossed the kid’s mind. No hesitation. No mention of staying alert or splitting the shift. He’d just curled up by the fire like they were safe—as if safety was something they could afford to believe in.

Quinn’s gaze shifted from the horizon to Link’s sleeping form, the firelight flickering across his relaxed features. One hand was still curled protectively around the Sheikah Slate. As if instinct told him that was the thing worth holding onto.

Quinn exhaled slowly.

Who was going to watch his back when they inevitably parted ways?

Because that was coming—sooner or later. Quinn’s job was to get him to Kakariko, and maybe a little beyond if Impa needed him. But that was it. Link had a destiny. A path. A war to win.

And Quinn?

He was just a man with a spear, a mask, and a head full of ghosts. Not exactly the long-term sidekick type.

Still… the thought of Link sleeping this deeply in some other camp, beside some other fire, without anyone to keep watch—it didn’t sit right.

Someone had to be the one who didn’t assume every traveler was a friend, who didn’t sleep soundly under an open sky, who stayed awake while the world spun with danger just out of sight. That role had always fallen to Quinn.

He glanced again at Link—soft-faced, snoring faintly, dreaming of gods-know-what. Link had one hand tucked beneath his cheek, the other curled around the Skeikah Slate like it might disappear in the night if he let go.

Someone needed to be the jaded one. The untrusting one. The one who didn’t believe peace was permanent or that kind words meant safe company.

Quinn settled deeper into his cloak, eyes sharp in the dark.

If Link wasn’t going to doubt the world, then Quinn would do it for both of them.

Chapter Text

The night watch dragged on, slow and heavy.

Link, oblivious to the world, snored softly a few feet from the fire, cocooned in his borrowed cloak with one arm still draped protectively over the Sheikah Slate. Quinn sat nearby, back to a weathered support beam, his knife laid across his lap and eyes half-lidded, burning from exhaustion. The chill in the air had deepened, carried on a restless breeze that rustled the tall grass and stirred the ashes of their dying fire.

In the far distance, the angry red glow of Death Mountain pulsed like a heartbeat, its molten light flickering against the stars. To the north, the twisted silhouette of the castle loomed beneath its shroud of Malice, the writhing darkness ever shifting like smoke caught in a storm. Both sights weighed heavy on Quinn’s mind—silent reminder of where Link’s path would inevitably lead.

He shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders, the worn fabric doing little to block the cold that crept in from the riverbanks.

Their fire had dwindled to low-burning embers, a faint glow that barely lit the lean-to. With quiet care, Quinn reached for the small pile of remaining logs and fed a few into the pit, coaxing it back to life. Flames caught with a soft snap and curl, sending thin wisps of smoke spiraling into the night. The added warmth helped, but not enough to soothe the fatigue settling into his bones.

He blinked slowly, willing his eyelids to stay open.

No rest. Not tonight.

They no longer had the sanctuary of the Plateau—their mountain retreat, isolated and unseen. Out here, they were in plain sight. Among people. Among watchers. And Quinn couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being followed.

On the far side of the bridge, a small bobbing light marked the slow patrol of the man they’d met earlier—still keeping his own watch over the rusted Guardian husk. Quinn tracked the flicker of his lantern between tree shadows and stone, the rhythm steady, almost hypnotic.

But not comforting.

The Yiga Clan might approach with lanterns and conversation. They approached in silence. In disguise. In the guise of friendly travelers and helpful merchants. Cunning, patient, and skilled in deception. They would track shrine activity. Piece together clues from careless footprints and passing rumors.

They would be hunting.

And Quinn couldn’t shake the itch between his shoulders—the one that told him eyes were on them, just beyond the reach of the firelight.

He flexed his grip on the knife, jaw tight. Every rustle of grass made him turn his head. Every creak of the old wooden lean-to made him brace.

Sleep dragged at his mind, fogging the edges of his awareness. But he pushed through it.

Because he knew—tonight, he was all that stood between Link and whatever shadows might be waiting just beyond the river’s edge.

Suddenly a branch cracked somewhere in the dark.

Quinn shot to his feet in an instant, knife leveled toward the sound. The fire cast long shadows through the underbrush, and his eyes scanned the edge of the camp, muscles tense, breath held. The rustling came again—quiet, deliberate, too soft to be wind.

He stepped forward silently, heart hammering as he swept the tip of his weapon toward the movement.

Then—

A pair of small eyes reflected the firelight. A flash of russet fur darted through the brush, ears pricked and tail flicking.

A fox.

It paused just beyond the reach of the fire, nose twitching as it studied him. Then, with a dismissive flick of its tail, it turned and vanished into the tall grass, leaving only silence behind.

Quinn exhaled slowly, letting his arms fall. He glanced over his shoulder—Link hadn’t stirred. Still curled by the fire, breathing slow and even.

“Great,” Quinn muttered under his breath, “nearly impaled a fox. Really earning my keep.”

He returned to his place by the lean-to, settling back down with a grumble. The fire popped gently behind him.

But even as he sat, cloak pulled tight and eyes once again on the shadows, the tension didn’t fully leave his shoulders.

Tonight, it was just a fox.

Tomorrow, it might not be.

Dawn crept steadily across the sky, washing the horizon in soft pinks and muted oranges. Light bled through the clouds—more of them than yesterday—hinting at the promise of rain before day’s end. Quinn watched the shifting sky with a practiced eye. If they wanted to reach Kakariko before the weather turned, they’d need to move soon.

The sun continued its slow ascent, gradually warming the chilled earth and casting a golden glow over the quiet campsite. Somewhere nearby, a bird trilled a tentative morning song.

Link stirred, half-buried beneath his cloak, releasing a series of soft, breathy groans as he untangled himself from sleep. He flopped onto his back with a sigh, blinking up at the sky like it had personally offended him.

Quinn, already on his feet, stretched the stiffness from his limbs in a quiet series of movements. He rolled his shoulders, flexed his fingers, and bent into a few light exercises, shaking off the weight of a sleepless night. His joints ached, but it was a familiar ache—one that meant he’d done his job.

Link let out a louder yawn and muttered something unintelligible as sunlight filtered directly onto his face.

“Morning,” Quinn said dryly, not bothering to look over. “Nice of you to rejoin the living.”

Link let out a wide yawn, eyes watering from the stretch. “That was not as comfortable as sleeping on the Plateau,” he mumbled, rubbing at his face. “How’d you sleep?”

“I rested enough,” Quinn replied, already straightening his gear. “But we should head out soon. Looks like we might run into some weather.”

Link hummed in agreement and began packing up his things. Each item vanished with a soft flash of blue light as he tucked them back into the Slate.

“I’m heading down to the river to freshen up,” Quinn said, glancing over his shoulder. “Apple probably needs a drink too. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He led the mare down the gentle slope toward the riverbank. The morning mist curled low across the ground, catching early sunbeams in golden wisps. The air was cool and quiet, broken only by the soft splash of Apple’s hooves in the damp grass. She gave a lazy snort and lowered her head to drink, ears flicking with contentment.

Quinn crouched by the water, cupped it in his hands, and splashed it over his face—rinsing away sweat, dirt, and a full night of tension.

Then—gurgle-pop.

A sound he knew too well.

Before he could fully rise, a fist-sized rock came zipping through the air. Quinn jerked aside, and the stone skipped into the river with a splash.

Apple’s head shot up, nostrils flaring. She gave a startled whinny and skittered backward, hooves kicking up wet dirt as another rock launched from the reeds.

Quinn spotted them—two Octoroks bobbing at the edge of the river, their rubbery bodies inflating ominously. Beady eyes blinked in sync before one belched another stone straight at him.

Quinn ducked, grabbed a smooth river rock, and in one clean, practiced motion, hurled it.

Thwack.

The first Octorok deflated with a wet squeal, vanishing into the water in a burst of ink and bubbles. Apple danced nervously nearby, ears swiveling, clearly offended by the ambush.

The second Octorok puffed up—but didn’t get the chance to launch. Another rock struck home. Gone.

Link crested the slope just in time to see the last one explode in a splash.

Quinn stood in the shallows, soaked, mildly annoyed, and holding a rock like it owed him money. Apple stood beside him now, snorting and stomping at the river like she planned to chase the Octoroks herself.

Link blinked. “What was that? And… did you just throw a rock at it?”

Quinn didn’t even look up. “Octoroks. River-dwelling vermin with a fondness for sneak attacks and terrible aim.”

He flicked water off his fingers. “And yes, I threw one back. Fair’s fair.”

Apple gave a disgruntled huff and tossed her head, still clearly ruffled.

“She agrees with me,” Quinn added dryly. “Ambush before breakfast is just bad manners.”

Link raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning. “Alright, alright. Remind me never to interrupt your morning routine.”

Quinn gave him a long, unimpressed look. “Good. I fight dirtier before breakfast.”

Link laughed, and Apple let out a snort like she was laughing too.

Quinn shook out his arms and adjusted his cloak. “Now that we’ve all been thoroughly assaulted by pond scum, let’s get back and finish packing. I want to be gone before anything else comes slithering out of the water.”

They made their way back up to the lean-to. Apple, now calm again, gave one last indignant snort at the river before returning to nibble at the surrounding plants like nothing had happened. Link resumed packing up camp, moving with his usual distracted ease—gear vanishing into the Slate with soft pulses of blue light.

As Quinn reached for his pack, movement caught his eye.

The stranger from last night was approaching.

Same patched cloak. Same rusted sword. Same narrowed eyes that zeroed in on Quinn like he was some kind of threat simply for existing.

The man didn’t say a word. Just glared.

Quinn stared back, silent. Exhaustion pressed down on his shoulders like a weighted cloak, and his patience—already threadbare—wasn’t up to handling whatever half-baked accusation this man might be stewing over. Fortunately, the traveler seemed to think better of it and moved along, his boots crunching softly down the trail until he vanished into the trees.

Quinn let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

With the last of their gear packed, Quinn grabbed an apple from his bag and took a bite. It was bruised and slightly mealy, but he didn’t care. Energy was energy.

Once everything was secured, they mounted up—Quinn in front, Link behind—and Apple set off at a relaxed trot. The old dirt road followed the winding Squabble River, snaking between the jagged spires of the Dueling Peaks. The gorge ahead grew sharper with every step, carved deep into the land like some ancient wound.

Clouds gathered above, thick and heavy, blotting out the sun. The warmth of morning faded into a damp chill that settled deep in Quinn’s bones.

About thirty minutes in, Link perked up and pointed toward a slope off the road.

“Whoa—look at that!”

Quinn followed his line of sight. A massive, fallen tree lay sprawled on the hillside, its trunk hollowed out and dark with age. Moss blanketed its exposed roots, and birds flitted through jagged holes high in the bark. The interior looked big enough to park a wagon in.

It was a monument to time and rot—and, apparently, adventure.

“Can we check it out?” Link asked, already halfway sliding off Apple’s back.

Quinn exhaled through his nose. “It’s a rotted tree.”

“Yeah,” Link said, grinning, “a rotted tree I haven’t explored yet.”

And then he was off, boots crunching over gravel as he jogged uphill. Apple gave a relieved huff and resumed grazing like she’d dodged another hour of marching.

Quinn dismounted with a muttered curse and followed.

The closer they got, the more imposing the tree became. It must’ve been centuries old before it fell. The hollow inside smelled of damp bark and decay, with patches of soft moss and a pool of water reflecting slivers of light from the canopy above.

Link stepped into the opening with wide eyes. “This is so cool,” he said, running his hand along the inner wall. “It’s like a secret hideout.”

Quinn lingered at the threshold, scanning the forest. “More like a bug palace. Let me know if something in there tries to eat your face.”

“Always so positive,” Link’s voice echoed faintly from inside.

Quinn didn’t respond. His gaze flicked upward—the clouds had darkened, wind teasing the treetops. The air was too quiet. Heavy. Like it was holding its breath.

“There’s something glowing in here,” Link called out. “I think I see a yellow flower.”

Quinn squinted. “And your first thought is to crawl deeper into a dead tree?”

“Exactly!”

“Goddess give me strength,” Quinn muttered, staying just outside but peeking inside watching Link scramble up the slope.

Inside, a yellow flower shimmered gently in the dim light. As soon as Link touched it, it vanished with a twinkle. A second flower blinked to life further up the slope.

Quinn folded his arms, watching warily. “If this ends with bees or a bear, I’m leaving you.”

Link followed the glowing trail like it was a game, each flower disappearing and reappearing deeper into the trunk. Eventually, the last one—now white—sat atop a mossy rock. Link touched it, and a bright chime echoed through the hollow.

“Yahaha!” came a high-pitched voice from inside.

Quinn blinked. “What the hell was that?”

Link reappeared grinning, holding a tiny golden seed in one hand. “I found a Korok!”

Quinn narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t see anything.”

“They’re shy,” Link said with a shrug. “They like puzzles and hiding. This one left me a gift.”

Quinn leaned in from outside. “Let me guess. You got a mildly cursed forest bean.”

“It’s a Korok seed,” Link said proudly. “Very valuable.”

Quinn stared. “To who? A raccoon?”

Link just jogged back down the slope, smug. “Jealous?”

“Of your uncanny ability to befriend shrubbery?” Quinn snorted. “Not particularly.”

He turned away as Link tucked the seed into his pouch like it was a rare gem instead of a glorified forest fart.

This was just the beginning—Quinn knew that now. Traveling with Link meant stopping every ten minutes because something caught his eye. A puff of smoke on the horizon? “Hey, let’s check that out!” A random flagpole across a river? “Ooh, I bet there’s something up there!” A suspiciously round rock next to a suspiciously round hole? “That looks important.”

It was like traveling with a magpie in boots.

Quinn adjusted his cloak with a sigh. “We’re never making it to Kakariko at this rate.

Link was already swinging back onto Apple behind Quinn, chipper as ever, another Korok seed safely stashed. “Come on! That was lucky. Maybe we’ll find more.”

“Can’t wait,” Quinn said flatly. “Just promise the next ‘important discovery’ doesn’t explode.”

“No promises,” Link replied, grinning.

So naturally, their next stop was the base of a small hill beside one of those weathered stone statues scattered across Hyrule. And, of course, Link immediately zeroed in on a suspicious-looking crack in the rock face.

Without hesitation, he pulled out a Sheikah bomb and blew a hole clean through the side of the hill.

The blast echoed across the valley, revealing a wide cavern tucked beneath the slope. Inside were glittering veins of ore, a scattering of gems, and—because of course—another suspiciously placed rock with a Korok hiding beneath it.

Link’s eyes sparkled with delight as he gathered his spoils, cradling the seed like some sacred prize.

Quinn, still brushing dirt from his cloak, muttered under his breath, “The supposed Hero of Hyrule really missed his calling. Should’ve been Korok Finder General.”

“Is that a thing?” Link asked, head tilting with genuine curiosity.

“No, dummy,” Quinn replied flatly. “Can we please try to make it to Kakariko? I’d feel a lot better once we’re behind some walls.”

Link huffed, clearly disappointed. His bright blue eyes widened just a bit—puppy-dog mode activated. Quinn looked away before he caved.

As they rounded a bend, the river opened wide before them—fast, foaming, and loud. And in the distance, at the base of the Dueling Peaks, the Sheikah Tower glowed amber and steady. Its segmented metal structure stretched skyward like a divine tuning fork, radiating light and dormant power.

“There!” Link said, straightening. “We need to activate that tower! It could help me on my journey.”

Quinn groaned. “It’s on the other side of the river. How do you suppose you’ll get there? You don’t even know if you can swim!”

Link squinted thoughtfully across the current. “Details,” he said.

“Details?” Quinn echoed. “That’s a fast-moving current, and you—last I checked—barely remember how to hold a fork.”

“I remembered how to fight a rock monster.”

“You also nearly got flattened by it.”

Link waved that off like it was ancient history. “It’s not that far. Maybe there’s a bridge or—oh! I could try the glider again!”

Quinn pinched the bridge of his nose. “Goddess preserve me. If you drown chasing a glowing tower, I will revive you just to yell.”

Link grinned. “So supportive.”

“Supportive of not losing the last Hero to a water hazard.”

“What if I use Cryonis?” Link offered. “Make those ice blocks? I wouldn’t even need to get wet!”

Quinn blinked. “Wait… is that how it works?”

“Only one way to find out!”

Before Quinn could object, Link was already hopping off Apple. She gave a slow blink, swished her tail, and resumed chewing a mouthful of grass. Quinn stood watching, expression tight with exasperation, as Link jogged to the river’s edge and pulled out the Sheikah Slate.

He tapped it.

A chime rang out, followed by a low rumble as a glowing rune activated beneath his feet. With a hiss and a splash, a jagged pillar of ice surged up from the river’s surface.

“Ha! Look at that!” Link called. “Stable and everything!”

Quinn crossed his arms. “Let’s see if you can string together more than two without ending up soaked.”

Link activated another Cryonis block a short distance ahead and leapt to it. Then a third. Quinn noticed a shimmer ripple through the air as the rune’s limit kicked in.

And then—crack.

The first block shattered violently, water crashing into the space where it once stood.

“Oh,” Link said, wobbling slightly on his current perch. “Three max. Good to know.”

“You think?!” Quinn barked from the shore.

Link, grinning like this was a game instead of a near-death stunt, quickly tapped the Slate again. Another block of ice erupted just ahead of the one he stood on—barely in time. The second block behind him cracked apart with a splash, sending shards tumbling downriver.

He kept going—hop, activate, hop again—each move precise but reckless, like a manic frog with magic ice powers. Water sprayed with every landing, and his boots skidded more than once, arms flailing briefly before he caught his balance.

“Careful!” Quinn called out. “You’re one slip away from being river bait!”

Link just whooped, clearly having the time of his life. “I’m fine!”

Quinn muttered something unrepeatable under his breath and resisted the urge to throw a rock at him. Just a little one. For morale.

“Don’t worry!” he shouted over the roar of the river. “If I fall in, I’ll scream loud enough for you to hear!”

“That’s not comforting!”

“You’re welcome!”

Quinn narrowed his eyes, arms crossed, cloak tugged tighter against the rising wind. Link reached the far bank and jogged toward the base of the tower, triumphant and entirely too pleased with himself.

“Absolutely nothing about this boy is normal,” Quinn muttered.

Apple snorted behind him, unimpressed.

“You get it,” Quinn said.

From the riverbank, Quinn watched as Link reached the base of the glowing tower, now towering even more ominously up close. Its spire gleamed with amber light, the Sheikah technology humming faintly beneath the stone—ancient, alive, and completely uncaring about whoever was about to scale it.

Link tilted his head back to take in the full height. Several rusted platforms jutted from the structure at irregular intervals, remnants of a design meant to aid the ascent—or hinder it, depending on who you asked. At the base, large river rocks leaned precariously against the tower, half-buried in mud and moss.

Quinn narrowed his eyes as Link seemed to spot one of the sloped stones. Instead of attempting the slick vertical wall outright, he trotted toward the rock, already rolling up his sleeves like this was all part of a morning workout. “Of course,” Quinn muttered. “Why climb a deadly tower the normal way when you can improvise a shortcut out of landscaping debris.”

Link scrambled up the boulder with surprising grace, his boots finding purchase along the rough edges. He reached the midway point of the tower in good time, vaulting onto one of the ancient platforms with a determined grunt. From there, though, the real climb began—straight up, with little more than narrow handholds and weathered ridges between him and the top.

Quinn crossed his arms, watching with a growing mix of anxiety and reluctant admiration. He was quietly grateful not to be the one stuck scaling that death trap. But a pang of guilt tugged at him all the same. He’d faced Taluses, ambushed Moblins, and spent the last few nights watching over their camp while Link slept soundly. Still, it felt wrong somehow—watching this kid risk his neck while Quinn just stood by like a glorified bodyguard.

“Come on, Hero,” he murmured under his breath. “Don’t fall now.”

The wind tugged at Quinn’s cloak, sharp and rising. Above, Link climbed with focused determination—hands steady, limbs coiled with that quiet strength he always seemed to pull from nowhere. He didn’t look down. Didn’t hesitate. Just kept going, chasing some instinctual purpose only he could feel.

Then, with one final push, Link disappeared from view, slipping through the circular opening near the tower’s peak.

Quinn held his breath.

A moment passed.

Then—with a sudden flash—the tower flared to life. The amber glow erupted into brilliant blue as ancient gears groaned and whirred to motion. Light pulsed up the length of the spire like a heartbeat, humming through the stone as Sheikah tech awakened from its slumber.

Quinn squinted up through the bright flare, and there—tiny but unmistakable—Link stepped out onto the edge of the platform and waved.

Of course he waved.

Then he took a running start and leapt.

For a breathless second, he was free-falling through the open air—just a boy framed by sky and mountains and sheer nerve. Then, with a shimmer of blue light, the glider unfolded and caught him. The wind snapped his cloak back as he sailed into the air like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Quinn let out a long breath and shook his head.

“Showoff,” he muttered, but there was no real bite behind it.

Just relief.

And maybe a little awe.

Chapter Text

Link touched down on the riverbank in front of Quinn, the glider folding away with a soft shimmer of light. Quinn let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Okay,” he said, exasperated but relieved, “now that that’s finished, can we please continue on to Kakariko? At this rate, we’ll be lucky to make it to the stable before nightfall.”

At the mention of a stable, Link visibly perked up.

“What’s that?”

Quinn raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? You don’t remember stables?”

Link shrugged with a sheepish grin.

“They’re waypoints,” Quinn explained. “Places along the main roads where travelers can stop to rest, eat, talk, gossip—you name it. They’ve got supplies, food, a place to register your horse. Pretty useful, especially if you don’t want to sleep in the dirt every night.”

“Oh, cool!” Link said, eyes lighting up. “Do they have food?”

“Yes, Link. Most places where people live tend to have food.”

“Nice,” Link said, already looking more excited about the stable than the whole tower-gliding, ice-bridge death stunt he’d just pulled.

Quinn glanced skyward. The clouds had thickened into a heavy blanket of storm-gray, swollen with the promise of rain. At this rate, they were going to be soaked before they even saw the stable roof.

“So many detours today,” he muttered under his breath. “Let’s go.”

He swung back onto Apple and offered a hand down to Link, who took it without hesitation, settling behind him with a contented hum. With a nudge, Quinn guided Apple forward, her hooves striking a steady rhythm on the worn dirt road.

They passed the sagging remains of an old monster outpost—wooden platforms clinging to a gnarled tree like brittle scars. It had been abandoned for some time, but the sight still set Quinn’s jaw tight.

Ahead, the Dueling Peaks loomed larger than ever—twin spires of jagged stone that split the sky in two. Their sheer faces were streaked with age, weathered by centuries of wind and water. Snow still clung to some of the highest crags, and flocks of birds circled near the summit like flecks of ink against the gray sky.

As they drew closer, the mountains seemed to rise even higher, pressing inward like silent sentinels. The road narrowed, hemmed in by steep cliffs and massive slabs of rock. Vegetation thinned to stubborn shrubs and sparse, wind-warped trees. The pass ahead yawned open, a jagged mouth between the peaks.

The wind funneled through the canyon, cold and sharp, carrying the echoes of distant water and the occasional rustle of unseen things in the rocks. Apple’s ears flicked back as she stepped carefully along the worn trail, her hooves clicking against stone.

The shadows between the mountains were deeper here, and Quinn instinctively reached for his weapon—not because he saw anything, but because this place felt like the kind that wanted to hide something.

They were in the mountain’s throat now, the world behind them shrinking with every step.

The further they rode into the narrowing pass, the more Quinn’s senses buzzed. A prickle crept along the back of his neck—a telltale weight, subtle but unmistakable. They were being watched.

His fingers twitched where they rested near his weapon, but he didn’t reach for it. Not yet.

Instead, he shifted slightly in the saddle, casting a casual glance over his shoulder, then toward the ridge above. Nothing moved. No glint of metal, no flash of red. Just wind in the trees and the distant cry of a bird. But the feeling didn’t go away.

He leaned back slightly and murmured from the corner of his mouth, “Link. I think we’re being watched. Just… act normal.”

Immediately, Link twisted around in the saddle like a meerkat on alert.

Quinn grit his teeth. “No—stop that. Forward. Keep looking forward. I don’t want them to know that we know.”

“Ohhh,” Link said, lowering his head in exaggerated understanding. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

Quinn exhaled through his nose. Internally, he face-palmed so hard it could’ve registered as a seismic event.

“You are the exact opposite of subtle,” he muttered.

“But I’m very charming,” Link whispered helpfully.

“Tell that to whoever’s up there tracking our every move.”

Link fell quiet, his posture stiffening slightly as he looked ahead, this time without turning his head. Quinn didn’t say anything more—didn’t need to. A single raindrop landed on his cheek, cold and sudden. He blinked it away. Another followed. Then another.

Within moments, the drizzle turned into a steady downpour, fat drops thudding against their cloaks and Apple’s mane. The wind funneled through the pass, cold and biting, carrying the scent of wet earth and stone. At least now they had a reason to ride faster—one that didn’t involve obvious paranoia. Quinn gave a subtle nudge, and Apple picked up her pace with a huff, hooves splashing in muddy rivulets that now trickled over the path.

Link ducked his head, pressing his face into Quinn’s back to shield himself from the rain. Quinn squinted through the downpour, the chill water running down his neck, soaking into his collar.

Through the rain-hazed curtain, he caught the faint amber glow of a shrine—half-hidden on a lower ledge across the river. Just great. He was thankful Link hadn’t seen it through the rain. If the boy had spotted it, they’d be scrambling down a slick cliffside to play with more glowing death traps in the middle of a storm.

Quinn kept his head low and pressed on.

The narrow pass began to widen. Ahead, the terrain opened up into a broad valley, though the storm blurred most of the view. Rolling fields and scattered trees unfolded beneath the shrouded sky, and in the distance—barely visible through the sheets of rain—another Sheikah tower pulsed with amber light atop a far cliff.

Closer, faint lantern lights flickered to the left, blurry in the mist but unmistakable. A stable. Quinn felt a small knot in his chest loosen. Shelter. Warmth. Walls. The road dipped toward a low wooden bridge spanning the river—a rickety, hastily-built thing barely above the rushing water.

As they approached, a female figure appeared—running from the woods toward the stable, cloak flapping behind her in the wind. She darted across the bridge ahead of them. She must have gotten caught in the storm while foraging.

Quinn nudged Apple onto the bridge, hooves clunking on wet boards. The stable grew more defined with each step: a large circular building, its central tower crowned with a carved horse’s head, banners whipping in the storm. As they made it halfway across the bridge, the cold water spray from the raging river seemed to intensify, thoroughly soaking them to the bone.

That’s when the traveler ahead stopped.

She turned slowly, her cloak heavy with rain, hair plastered to her face. Her posture was too calm. Too deliberate. The way she faced them—waiting—made every instinct in Quinn’s spine go rigid.

His hand drifted toward his weapon.

She smiled. But it wasn’t the kind people gave on stormy roads or outside warm shelters. It was too smooth. Too rehearsed.

“That’s a nice set of weapons you’ve got,” she said, voice unnervingly clear over the rain. “You look like you know how to use them.”

Quinn’s stomach dropped.

No ordinary traveler spoke like that.

“You’ve got a strong presence. Why don’t you join the Yiga Clan?”

Lightning cracked behind her, illuminating the soaked landscape for a heartbeat—just long enough to catch the glint of something sharp beneath her cloak.

Quinn’s breath caught.

So that’s who had been watching them.

His thoughts raced. They hadn’t said “Hero.” No mention of the Slate. Maybe this wasn’t a coordinated strike. Maybe it was just one scout taking a chance. Or maybe she had seen the Slate and was playing dumb. Either way, it didn’t matter.

They were made.

He tensed on Apple’s back, shifting slightly so Link’s weight pressed more into his back.

“Don’t move,” he murmured under his breath.

Link blinked behind him. “What’s wrong?”

His tone was enough to still Link behind him. “Nothing, I’ll take care of it,” he added. “Stay on the horse. Don’t get involved.”

“But—”

“If they don’t know who you are, we still have time. Stay quiet. Stay behind me.”

Link hesitated, tension in every line of him—but nodded.

If this really was the person who had been watching them earlier—and Quinn was almost certain now that it was—then this wasn’t a random encounter. But maybe, just maybe, the Yiga didn’t know who Link was yet. Maybe keeping him hidden for just a few more days would make all the difference.

Rain trickled down his cloak as he dismounted slowly, movements calm, deliberate. The bridge creaked underfoot as he stepped away from Apple, placing himself squarely between the figure and Link.

The traveler stood ahead, soaked hood pushed back now to reveal a too-smooth smile. Her eyes gleamed with something colder than the rain.

Quinn stepped forward slowly, cloak dragging in the wind. “What do you want?” he asked the woman, eyes never leaving hers.

The woman didn’t blink. “I already said. You’ve got a strong presence. Dangerous, even. The Yiga Clan could use someone like you. It’s not too late to make the smart choice.”

Quinn’s jaw tightened. His hand flexed subtly at his side, fingers drifting toward his weapon.

“And if I say no?” he asked.

Her smile widened unnaturally. “Oh, then I’ll assume you’re in our way.”

For a heartbeat, the world was still—just the roar of the rain, the soft whinny of Apple, and the faint flicker of torchlight from the stable beyond.

Then the Yiga agent dropped her disguise in a burst of red smoke.

Her cloak peeled away like burning paper, revealing crimson robes and a curved blade already drawn. Her white mask gleamed like polished glass—inhuman. The storm raged harder, wind whipping around them as if nature itself braced for the clash.

Quinn didn’t hesitate.

He stepped forward, cloak flaring as he raised his knives, gaze locked. “You should’ve stayed in the shadows.”

Then she vanished.

A burst of red smoke exploded behind him—and she was there, blades slicing for his ribs.

Quinn turned fast, knives intercepting with a jarring clang. Sparks burst off the contact. He shoved, pivoted, drove his elbow toward her gut—but she ducked and spun away, cloak snapping like a banner.

Her twin blades flashed again, silver arcs in the rain. Quinn dodged left—just barely. One edge caught his cloak and tore through fabric, grazing his flank beneath.

He hissed, gritting his teeth. His boots slipped slightly on the slick wood as he regained his footing.

Fatigue dragged at his limbs—slow and suffocating. He’d been going since the Stone Talus, since climbing down the Plateau, since Octoroks ambushed him before sunrise. He hadn’t slept.

And now his body was betraying him.

The Yiga woman pressed harder, laughing softly, blades carving the air with frightening grace. “Slower than I expected,” she taunted, her voice razor-sharp with delight. “Tell me, watchdog—how long can you last before you drop?”

Her next strike was low—targeting his knees. Quinn leapt back, breath ragged, water sloshing beneath his boots as he nearly slipped again.

He tried to retaliate—a high feint followed by a side sweep—but his arms were slower than they should’ve been. She twisted inside his guard and drove a knee into his stomach.

The air shot from his lungs.

He stumbled back, wheezing, vision narrowing for a heartbeat.

And she moved in for the kill.

He barely managed to bring his knives up in time. The impact slammed him into the railing. His back hit the wet wood hard—and the world tilted. For one terrifying second, he teetered over the edge.

Below, the river raged like a beast.

He caught himself just in time, pulling himself upright with a grunt.

That’s when it happened.

“Quinn!” Link’s voice rang out from behind—loud, panicked.

The woman halted mid-step.

Her head snapped toward the sound. She didn’t seem to look at his face.

She looked at his hip.

At the glowing blue rectangle of the Sheikah Slate strapped there.

“Well, well,” she breathed, her voice sliding into something far more dangerous. “Now that’s interesting.”

Quinn’s heart sank.

Her voice lit with cruel amusement. “I was wondering why you were so protective. That’s not just some random tagalong, is it?” She stepped slowly to the side, angling herself to keep both of them in view. “The Slate. Still functional. Still glowing. I thought the Hero was dead, but look at this… a lost relic hiding behind a tired old watchdog.”

She drew another blade from beneath her cloak—curved, thin, made for speed.

“Does Master Kohga know you’ve been hiding him? I wonder how he’ll reward me for bringing the truth.”

Quinn surged forward, driven by instinct more than strength.

Steel clashed violently as he met her strike for strike, driving her back from the bridge’s center. His muscles burned, his body screaming in protest with each movement, but he pushed on, each blow fueled by desperation. She spun, vanished in a puff of red smoke, reappeared behind him—he pivoted, blocked, barely.

But she didn’t press the attack. Not anymore.

She grinned, eyes flicking once more toward Link.

Quinn charged, rage lending strength to his limbs. He slashed hard, cutting through where she’d just been—but she blinked away again, reappearing on the far side of the bridge.

“You’re brave,” she called over the wind. “But tired. Bleeding. Alone.”

She raised one hand. Red lightning crackled around her fingers.

“But not for long.”

The storm caught her cloak as she stepped onto the railing, balancing with unnatural ease. “Tell your Hero to run. The Yiga Clan knows now.”

She seemed to be smiling under her mask.

“And we’re very, very good at hunting.”

Crack.

She vanished in a burst of smoke and shadow—leaving only the scent of ozone and the hiss of rain behind her.

For a long moment, there was only silence.

Then Quinn sank to one knee, knives clattering beside him, breath heaving in ragged bursts.

Link ran to him, pale and wide-eyed. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to call out—I just—”

“She saw the Slate,” Quinn rasped. “Even if you hadn’t said anything.”

His shoulder, back, and side throbbed from the fight. His limbs shook.

He forced himself upright.

“We have to move. Now. I’m afraid… we won’t be able to stop at the stable tonight. We need to make it to Kakariko.”

The words came out tighter than intended, slurred slightly. Quinn tried to take a step toward Apple—but his knees buckled beneath him. He staggered, catching himself against a rock post, chest heaving.

Something was wrong.

A sharp, pulsing ache throbbed at his side, just beneath the ribs. He pressed a hand there and pulled it away, fingers slick with blood. Not much—but enough. Enough for it to matter.

The Yiga liked to coat their blades.

A pulse of burning heat radiated outward from the wound, like fire spreading through his veins. His limbs felt heavier by the second. His vision wavered.

“Hey—” Link’s voice broke through the haze. “Quinn, you okay?”

Quinn clenched his jaw and forced himself to stand straighter. “One of her blades must’ve nicked me… Poisoned.” He hissed through his teeth as another wave of pain crested. “We have to ride. Now.”

Link didn’t hesitate. He was already at Quinn’s side, looping one of Quinn’s arms over his shoulders and helping him toward Apple. The horse snorted, uneasy, but didn’t move as Link guided Quinn into her back.

Quinn sagged forward in the front position, barely upright. Link climbed up behind him, arms wrapping securely around his waist to keep him steady. He clutched Apple’s mane in one hand, guiding her with careful nudges of his legs.

“Come on, girl,” Link murmured. “I need you to be fast.”

Apple took off at a brisk gallop, hooves pounding against the rain-slick road. The wind tore past them, rain needling down in sheets, but Quinn could barely feel it. His world narrowed to the sound of Apple’s gallop, the pulse in his head, and the searing fire crawling through his body.

“Follow the road,” he mumbled. “Next fork… left. Over the stone bridge. Up the ridge—through the pass…”

“Got it,” Link said. “I’ve got you.”

“Just…don’t take any detours this time.”

Link let out a breath of startled laughter—just a huff—but it was strained. “No detours. I swear.”

Quinn’s grip loosened on the pommel. His hands wouldn’t close properly. His head lolled forward against the rain-soaked fabric of Apple’s mane.

“Ask for Lady Impa,” he whispered, voice fading. “Tell her… tell her…”

He couldn’t finish. The words crumbled before they left his mouth.

Link’s arms tightened around him.

“Quinn?” he called, voice strained. “Hey—stay with me. We’re almost there. Just hang on—okay? You’re gonna be fine. We’re gonna make it, I promise.”

The sound of Link’s voice echoed, distant and muffled.

Then the darkness surged up to meet him.

And Quinn knew nothing more.

Bonus—Link’s POV

The rain had been coming down for a while now, soaking through their cloaks and plastering Link’s hair to his face. He didn’t mind much—it reminded him of something, maybe, though the memory never quite surfaced. But Quinn had grown quiet. Not the normal kind of quiet, either. The kind that meant danger.

Link had felt the tension in his shoulders. The way Quinn’s posture had stiffened, the way he kept scanning the cliffs above.

Then he saw the traveler ahead of them stop.

She turned slowly, her cloak dripping with rain, face shadowed beneath the hood. Something about the way she stood—so calm, so still—made Link’s stomach clench.

And then she smiled.

It wasn’t a nice smile. It wasn’t a “hello” kind of smile. It was the kind of smile wolves showed right before they pounced.

“That’s a nice set of weapons you’ve got,” she said. “You look like you know how to use them.”

Link’s fingers tightened on the edge of Quinn’s cloak, something deep in his gut twisting.

“You’ve got a strong presence. Why don’t you join the Yiga Clan?”

Quinn stiffened like a pulled bowstring. Link didn’t know much about the Yiga Clan—only what Quinn had muttered in disgust now and then. But he knew enough to know this was bad.

Worse than bad.

He felt Quinn tense. “Don’t move,” Quinn murmured, voice low. “Stay on the horse. Don’t get involved.”

“But—”

“If they don’t know who you are, we still have time.”

Still have time.

Time for what?

The woman shed her disguise in a crackling burst of red smoke. One second she was just some cloaked traveler. The next, she was all blades and crimson robes and danger.

Link froze, hands clenched tight as Quinn stepped forward into the rain.

The fight started fast. Faster than Link could have anticipated. Steel sang against steel, sharp and vicious. Quinn moved like he had a map of the fight in his head—but even Link could tell something was off. His steps were slower. His dodges just a beat behind. He was exhausted.

And the Yiga woman knew it.

She laughed. Taunted. Blades flashing like lightning.

Link wanted to help. Every instinct screamed at him to jump in. But Quinn had told him to stay put. That if they didn’t know who he was, they might still be safe.

So Link sat on Apple, fists clenched and eyes wide, watching every step, every breath, every misstep. Quinn was getting pushed back. Cut. Cornered.

And then—he almost fell.

Quinn teetered at the edge of the bridge, just inches from the churning river below.

Link couldn’t stop the cry that tore out of him. “Quinn!”

And that was it. The woman’s attention snapped toward him. Not at his face.

At his hip.

At the glowing Sheikah Slate.

Everything changed in a heartbeat.

Her grin sharpened like a blade. She knew.

She said things—about the Slate, about “the Hero,” about Master Kohga, whoever that was. But Link barely heard her. His heart thundered. His breath caught. This was his fault. He gave them away.

Quinn surged forward again, desperation driving him. But Link could see the exhaustion now. Every move cost him more. His arms trembled. His footing faltered.

And then, the woman vanished—flickered away like a dying ember.

Gone.

Quinn sagged to one knee, soaked and shaking. His knives clattered to the wood.

Link was off the horse in a second. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—I just—”

“She saw the Slate,” Quinn rasped. “Even if you hadn’t said anything.”

Link’s stomach churned. His voice caught.

And then Quinn swayed.

Link caught him just in time, panic rising as Quinn muttered about moving. About poison.

Poison.

That word rang louder than thunder.

Link got him on Apple’s back, holding him upright from behind, arms locked tight around him as he steered with urgency. The wind whipped at them. The rain was endless. The path blurred in the storm, but Quinn whispered instructions—directions he could barely finish. Link listened like his life depended on it. Because it did.

So did Quinn’s.

“Just… don’t take any detours this time,” Quinn slurred.

That earned a breathy, half-hysterical laugh from Link. “No detours. I swear.”

But Quinn was slipping fast. His weight grew heavier, his words fainter. And then he slumped forward.

“Quinn?” Link whispered. Then louder. “Quinn!”

No answer.

The pounding of Apple’s hooves was the only sound left between them. Link’s grip tightened. His heart pounded.

He didn’t know what kind of poison it was. He didn’t know how much longer Quinn had. But he knew one thing.

He had to make it to Kakariko.

He had to save him.

Even if the road ahead swallowed him whole.