Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Underground Prison, Night

The cell was carved deep into red stone, its walls sweat-slick with heat and sand. Faint torchlight flickered against the jagged rock, casting dancing shadows across the two figures shackled to the far wall—arms stretched above their heads, iron cuffs biting into their wrists. Dust floated in the air, shimmering like ash in the golden glow.

Link shifted with a clink of chains, wincing as the movement tugged at bruised muscles. He glanced sideways at the figure beside him—equally chained, equally roughed up, but looking about as ruffled as a cat in the rain.

"Remind me again whose idea it was to 'sneak in quietly'?" Link asked, his voice dry, lips curling into a faint smirk despite the blood on them.

"I don’t recall you having a better plan," Sheik replied without turning his head, his voice as smooth and even as ever.

"Oh, I had plenty," Link said. "Just none that involved getting punched by six Gerudo at once."

"Seven," Sheik corrected calmly. "The last one kicked you in the ribs."

"Ah. So that’s what that was." Link gave a soft laugh, which turned into a cough. He winced again. "Good form. I'll give her that."

Silence stretched for a few seconds. From somewhere beyond the stone corridor came the faint echo of boots on sandstone and the low hum of conversation.

"You think they’re gonna feed us?" Link asked. "Or are we on the ‘die slowly’ schedule?"

"Hard to say," Sheik said. "Depends how much they like watching us suffer."

"Good," Link said. "I’m charming. I’ll win them over."

Sheik finally turned to glance at him, impassive. "We’re doomed."

+++

Hyrule Field, Two Days Earlier

The land stretched wide beneath a cloudless sky, a sea of green rolling toward the distant mountains. Wildflowers swayed in the breeze, dotting the grass with strokes of yellow, violet, and red. Birds wheeled overhead, their cries echoing softly across the open plain. To the east, the cliffs of Gerudo Valley rose from the earth like a jagged promise.

A blanket was spread over the grass near the edge of a babbling creek, and atop it sat Link and Sheik—boots off, weapons stacked neatly nearby, a small fire still smoldering beside them. The air smelled of smoke, wild herbs, and grilled fish.

Link leaned back on his elbows, chewing lazily on a skewer of freshly cooked trout. His eyes were half-lidded, face turned toward the sun, completely at peace.

Sheik, sitting cross-legged beside him, took small bites from his own meal, his posture far more composed. He glanced at Link without turning his head.

"You burned the tail again," Sheik said mildly.

Link opened one eye. "You're lucky I didn’t let it flip into the fire again."

"I would’ve salvaged it." Sheik set the skewer down and wiped his fingers with a cloth, precise as ever.

Link smirked and sat up slightly, flicking a fish scale at him. "Sure. Because you’re so good with fire."

"It obeys me," Sheik said coolly.

Link chuckled. "You glare at it until it gives up."

There was a pause—long enough for the breeze to carry the scent of wild mint through the air. A flock of birds burst from the tall grass nearby and soared skyward.

"You think the Gerudo will be cooperative?" Sheik asked, shifting his gaze toward the canyon beyond the field.

Link shrugged. "Define cooperative."

"They have information we need. They don’t usually give that away freely."

"Then it’s a good thing I’m charming," Link said with a grin, echoing the words he’d use again later—though neither of them knew that yet.

Sheik gave him a sideways glance, unreadable. "You keep saying that."

"And it keeps being true."

Another pause. The sun dipped slightly lower, bathing the field in gold. The tension was quiet, almost like a song between notes. Link looked over at Sheik for a second too long.

Sheik noticed.

"You’re staring," he said.

Link blinked and looked away, too quickly. "Nah."

"You were."

Link grabbed another skewer to cover the moment. "Just thinking. Wondering how you manage to eat fish without getting any sauce on your fingers."

Sheik arched an eyebrow. "Control. You should try it."

"Sounds exhausting." Link bit into the fish and spoke through it. "You like things clean, huh?"

"I like things done properly."

"Yeah? Bet you even fold your socks."

There was the faintest hint of a smile on Sheik’s face. "Do you even wear socks?"

Link held up a finger. "That’s classified."

They both laughed, quietly, the kind of laughter you share when you’re used to danger but it hasn’t found you—yet.

Their laughter faded into the hush of the wind moving through the grass. The warmth of the fire had softened to a few glowing embers. A dragonfly zipped past, catching the sunlight on its wings before vanishing into the reeds.

Sheik reached for his water skin and took a slow sip, then passed it silently to Link.

"Thanks," Link said, taking it. He drank and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then stared out across the field.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

It was Sheik who broke the quiet this time. "Do you ever think about stopping?"

Link looked over at him. "Stopping?"

"The traveling. The fighting. The saving people who rarely remember your name." His tone was casual, but the words had weight.

Link leaned back again, resting on his elbows. He considered it. "Sometimes," he said. "When I’m tired. Or when it's raining and I haven’t slept in a week."

Sheik nodded slowly.

"But then I think about what happens if I don’t keep going," Link added. "And that’s worse."

Sheik’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Because no one else will?"

Link gave a faint, lopsided shrug. "Because someone will. But they might not make it back."

The wind tugged at the edges of the blanket.

"I think about it, too," Sheik said after a moment. "What it would be like to… just vanish. Go somewhere no one knows me. Live quietly. No blades, no orders, no masks."

Link turned his head, watching him carefully now.

"But I’ve seen what happens when we’re not there," Sheik continued. "When the wrong people take the space we leave behind."

He looked away, toward the horizon.

"We keep moving so they don’t."

There was something in his voice—subtle, but fragile at the edges. Link sat up a little straighter. He wanted to say something, something that mattered, but the words clung stubbornly to the back of his throat.

Instead, he nudged Sheik’s boot gently with his own.

"You ever get tired of sounding like a poem?" he asked, grinning.

Sheik raised an eyebrow. "Do you ever get tired of pretending you’re not smarter than you let on?"

"Every day."

A comfortable silence settled between them again. The sun dipped lower. Shadows stretched long across the field. Somewhere, a wolf howled in the distance.

Sheik’s voice was quiet when he spoke again. "It’s dangerous… letting people in. On the road."

+++

The fire had burned down to a dull orange glow, casting long shadows across the clearing. Their bedrolls were set up under a cluster of tall trees, where moonlight filtered in through the leaves in pale, silvery streaks.

The wind had gone still.

Link thrashed suddenly in his sleep, a muffled sound escaping his throat—short, strangled. His brow furrowed, his limbs twitching beneath the blanket. Then—

He jolted upright with a gasp, breathing hard, sweat clinging to his temples.

Sheik was already watching from the edge of the camp, sitting on a large stone just beyond the firelight. His back was straight, legs crossed, eyes reflecting the faint light like a cat’s.

"You’re all right," Sheik said softly. "It’s just the dream again."

Link rubbed his face with both hands and let out a long, shaky breath. "Yeah."

A pause.

Sheik turned his gaze back to the dark horizon. "Haven’t seen much tonight. Some movement at the perimeter—probably wild animals. Nothing worth waking you for."

Link didn’t answer right away. He ran a hand through his hair, still disoriented, then looked toward Sheik. The sight of him—so still, so sure—seemed to pull the ground back under Link’s feet.

He pushed off the blanket and stood, stretching quietly before walking over to where Sheik sat. Without asking, he dropped down beside him on the stone.

Close. A little too close.

Sheik stiffened almost imperceptibly, his eyes flicking toward Link in the corner of his vision.

Link rested his forearms on his knees, fingers laced together. His shoulder brushed Sheik’s. He didn’t move away.

"Sorry if I woke you," Link murmured.

"You didn’t," Sheik replied. His voice was low, but not cold.

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the distant chirp of insects, the soft crackle of the dying fire.

"Same nightmare?" Sheik asked eventually.

Link nodded once. "Always the same. I can’t stop it."

He didn’t elaborate, but Sheik didn’t press. Instead, he shifted just slightly—enough to align his posture with Link’s, letting the closeness stand. A quiet offer of solidarity.

"Dreams are only echoes," Sheik said. "You don’t have to answer them."

Link gave a faint, humorless chuckle. "Tell them that."

Another pause. The moon peeked through the branches above, casting gentle light on both of their faces.

"You ever have nightmares?" Link asked, glancing over at him.

Sheik’s eyes stayed forward. "Not ones I remember. Or maybe I’ve just gotten used to them."

Link studied him for a moment. "That doesn’t surprise me."

Sheik smirked faintly. "Because I’m heartless?"

"Because you’re good at hiding things."

The smirk faded into something more thoughtful. "So are you."

Their eyes met for a moment, and Link looked away first, a flush of warmth rising in his neck despite the cool night air.

"You should rest," Sheik said gently.

"Not tired anymore," Link replied, though his voice was quieter now.

Sheik didn’t argue. He just sat beside him, still and steady, as the night stretched on. And Link stayed right where he was, shoulder to shoulder, until the stars above began to shift.

Chapter Text

The sky was just beginning to blush with the first hints of sunrise, casting soft gold over the dew-slicked grass. Mist curled low along the banks of the river, drifting like breath over the water’s surface. Trees stood tall and quiet nearby, their leaves catching the light in silence.

Link stood knee-deep in the river, shirtless, scooping handfuls of cold water over his chest and shoulders. The bruises from the last skirmish were fading, but faint outlines still clung to his skin. He tilted his head back and let the water run through his hair, a sharp exhale leaving his lungs as the chill hit him.

Behind him, Sheik knelt on a flat stone by the bank, pulling off his gloves with practiced ease. His suit lay folded beside him, neatly set with the rest of his gear. His body, lean and scarred, caught the morning light in clean angles. He didn’t speak as he dipped his hands into the river and splashed his face, his expression unreadable.

Link glanced back over his shoulder. “Didn’t think you’d actually join me.”

Sheik didn’t look up. “You smell worse than I do.”

Link smirked. “Not what your nose said last night.”

A pause. Sheik flicked water at him—quick, casual.

Link laughed, wiping his face with one hand. He watched as Sheik finally stepped into the water, slow and deliberate, his usual grace undiminished by the chill.

The river reached Sheik’s waist before he stopped, standing a few paces from Link. The silence between them was different now. Thicker.

Link’s eyes drifted down and away, catching the sharp contrast between sun-warmed skin and river sheen. He turned back toward the bank abruptly, brushing his wet hair out of his face.

“You gonna stare all morning?” Sheik asked coolly behind him.

“You’re one to talk,” Link muttered, a little too fast.

Sheik’s lips twitched—maybe a smile, maybe not.

Link dunked his head under the water, trying to burn the moment off his skin with cold. When he surfaced, Sheik was standing a little closer than before, watching him with that usual, unreadable gaze.

Neither of them moved.

The wind picked up, rustling the grass on the shore. Somewhere, a hawk cried overhead.

“You’re quiet this morning,” Sheik said softly.

Link met his eyes. “Trying not to say something stupid.”

Sheik didn’t blink. “That’d be a first.”

Link smirked again, but it faltered quickly.

Their eyes locked—too long. The moment stretched, breathless and taut, before Link turned away and sloshed toward the bank.

“We should get moving,” he said over his shoulder.

+++

Link rolled up the blanket and tied it tightly with leather cord, then slung it over his shoulder. Sheik was already stowing the cooking kit into his satchel, every item placed with exact precision.

“Don’t suppose you want to carry mine too,” Link said, nudging his bedroll toward Sheik’s feet.

“You’d just get lost without it,” Sheik replied without looking up.

Link grinned. “You think I’d get lost in Hyrule Field.”

“You’ve gotten lost in a village square.”

“One time.”

Sheik closed his satchel with a soft click. “Twice.”

Link made an exaggerated scoffing sound, then leaned down to tighten the straps on his boots. “Your memory’s too good. It’s suspicious.”

“That’s because I listen when people talk,” Sheik said, adjusting the strap across his chest. “You just nod and hope for the best.”

“Worked out so far,” Link muttered.

Sheik gave him a glance—one of those unreadable ones again—and Link pretended not to notice.

He kicked some sand into the remains of the fire pit, watching the embers hiss and die. “So,” he said. “Think the Gerudo are gonna roll out the welcome mat?”

“If by ‘welcome mat’ you mean spears pointed at our faces, then yes.”

“Sounds cozy.”

Sheik tightened the knot on his sash and finally stood still, surveying the clearing. “We’ll tread lightly. Ask the right questions. Keep our heads down.”

Link picked up his sword and strapped it across his back. “You saying I talk too much?”

“I’m saying your idea of diplomacy involves a smirk and a half-baked lie.”

Link smirked. “Worked on you.”

Sheik paused. Just a breath. “Did it?”

Link hesitated, hand tightening slightly on the strap across his chest.

“…Let’s go,” Sheik said, already turning toward the path.

Link followed, just a step behind, the teasing gone from his face now. The sun rose higher behind them, casting long shadows ahead—stretching west, toward the canyons of Gerudo Valley and everything waiting within.

+++

Link and Sheik moved at an easy pace along a dirt path that wound through a shallow valley. The air smelled like sun-warmed earth and distant pine.

Link walked a few steps ahead, whistling a low, wandering tune with no melody in particular. A lazy breeze tugged at his tunic. Behind him, Sheik was silent as usual, his gaze scanning the horizon with sharp, practiced intent.

Link turned slightly, walking backward now. "You always look like you're expecting trouble."

"Experience tells me to."

"Experience sounds exhausting."

"Only when I travel with you."

Link grinned.

But before he could fire back, Sheik held up a hand.

Link stopped. Instinct took over—he reached for the hilt of his sword without drawing it, and fell silent.

There, in the distance—just over the next hill—dark figures moved. At first it was hard to make them out, but then the distinct red and gold caught the light. Spears. Flowing sashes. Gerudo.

Link frowned. “They’re way south.”

Sheik nodded slowly. “Too far south.”

They crouched in the grass, the tall blades concealing them from sight as they watched. There were three patrols—at least eight warriors total—moving with intent. Not wandering. Not scouting.

"That’s not a normal route," Sheik murmured. "They usually hold position near the cliffs."

"You think they're looking for something?" Link asked.

"Or someone."

The patrols stopped briefly to speak to each other before splitting—one group heading east, another west. The third continued north, toward the canyon path.

"Whatever they’re doing," Sheik said, "they don’t want it seen."

Link glanced at him. "We going around?"

They walked in silence now, more cautious. Every bird call felt too sharp. Every gust of wind felt too still.

Then Link paused, one hand going up without a word.

Sheik halted beside him, following his line of sight.

Just ahead, half-sunken into the earth and hidden by overgrown vines, stood a shattered wooden cart. Its wheels were broken, its frame splintered. Supplies had been scattered—cracked jars, a torn satchel, bits of food left to rot. But there were no bodies. No signs of a struggle. Just… abandonment.

Sheik knelt beside it and ran a gloved hand over a deep gash in the wood.

"Clean cut," he said. "Sword or something sharper."

Link crouched nearby, lifting a strip of fabric that fluttered beneath the cart. He held it up—it was deep crimson. Not the kind of red you’d wear unless you meant to be seen.

“Gerudo colors,” he muttered.

Sheik’s brows drew low. "But this cart isn’t theirs."

"No," Link agreed. "Traveler? Merchant maybe?"

They stood together in the fading light, quiet again. The wind had stopped completely.

Then they both felt it—a vibration in the air. Faint. Almost like a hum.

Link turned slowly, scanning the surrounding field.

And then he saw them.

Symbols, carved into the stone near the cart—barely visible under moss. Ancient Sheikah script, so worn with time they were nearly illegible. Sheik stepped forward quickly, kneeling to inspect them, tracing the grooves with his fingers.

"These are old," he said, voice low. "Not just pre-calamity. Older."

"You can read them?"

"Some." He hesitated. “This one means ‘watch.’ This one… ‘bind.’ The last word is fragmented, but—”

A sudden rustle cut through the air.

Both of them turned in unison, hands on weapons.

But nothing was there.

Just grass.

Just dusk.

Just the heavy silence of something watching.

Link looked at Sheik. “We’re not alone out here, are we?”

“No,” Sheik said, rising slowly. “And I think whatever’s moving the Gerudo… didn’t start with them.”

Sheik's eyes stayed locked on the moving shadows in the distance. "We’re going quieter."

The last light of day clung stubbornly to the horizon as Link and Sheik stood still among the tall grass, backs to the shattered cart and half-buried symbols. The wind hadn’t returned. The world felt caught in a breath it refused to exhale.

Then—

CRACK.

A sharp, unnatural sound split the air—like a branch snapping, only louder. Heavier.

Both of them spun toward the noise, weapons drawn. Link’s sword gleamed silver in the dying light. Sheik’s dagger was already in hand, glinting with quiet menace.

From the shadows beyond the cart, a blur moved—fast, too fast to track. The grass shifted violently in its wake, parting as if something large had passed through it on all fours.

"Did you see that?" Link whispered.

"Only the motion," Sheik murmured.

Another snap, this time to the left.

They turned again—eyes scanning, hearts racing—but nothing. No form. No breath. Just grass trembling where nothing stood.

Sheik stepped in front of the cart’s stone, putting his back to Link’s without needing to speak. “This isn’t a monster,” he said softly. “It’s something else.”

Then—

WHUMP.

Something hit the ground between them.

They both jumped back, blades raised.

A bundle. Wrapped in cloth.

It hadn’t been there a second ago.

Sheik knelt and unwrapped it with precise fingers, revealing a handful of dried desert berries, some salted meat… and a Gerudo token—a bronze medallion etched with the crest of their elite guards. Blood clung to one edge. Not fresh. But not old, either.

“It was dropped,” Sheik said. “Or left.”

Link’s jaw clenched. "As a message?"

"Or a warning."

They scanned the fields again. Whatever had thrown it… was already gone.

But the wind had returned. Just barely. Cold now.

And for the first time in days, neither of them said anything clever.

+++

The stars were beginning to emerge, sharp and pale against a darkening sky. The field around them had gone eerily quiet, and even the insects seemed to have lost their rhythm. Link and Sheik stood over the strange bundle in silence for another long minute before Sheik finally spoke.

“There’s an outpost nearby,” he said, voice low. “Old Sheikah. Buried when the towers fell dormant. I passed it once years ago. No one uses it anymore.”

Link glanced at him. “How far?”

“Not far. Hidden. We’ll be there by moonrise.”

They moved quickly, quietly, sticking close together as they left the broken cart behind. The grass gave way to uneven hills and scattered boulders, and the faint glow of the moon lit their path in silver.

Eventually, Sheik veered off the trail and led them toward the shadow of a low ridge. Beneath a gnarled tree that looked half-dead, he knelt and pulled away a clump of brush—revealing a stone hatch.

“Seriously?” Link whispered. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“I don’t share everything at once,” Sheik replied coolly.

The hatch groaned as Sheik pried it open. A dark stairway yawned beneath, musty and stale.

Link peered down into the blackness. “Tell me there’s not a corpse waiting down there.”

“If there is,” Sheik said, already descending, “you can charm it.”

Link rolled his eyes and followed.

The stone chamber was cold and dry, lined with smooth walls etched in old Sheikah script. Dust covered everything—tables, shelves, a cracked lantern. But it was intact. Quiet. Safe.

Sheik moved through it like he’d been here before, checking the corners, wiping dust from a small torch sconce. With a click, soft blue light pulsed to life, casting the room in a cold glow.

Link let out a breath. “Creepy. But not the worst place you’ve dragged me.”

Sheik shot him a glance. “You say that like I’m the reason you’re always in danger.”

“You say that like it’s not true.”

They both cracked a small smile.

Link lowered his gear near one of the stone benches and leaned back against the wall, watching as Sheik set a few supplies out from his pack. Despite the tension of the night, there was a strange calm in the outpost. A feeling of something ancient watching—but not with malice.

More like memory.

“Think we’re safe here?” Link asked.

“For now,” Sheik said. “But I want to be gone before dawn.”

Link nodded, but his eyes drifted toward one of the walls—where a faded mural had cracked with time. A depiction of something… buried in shadow. Too faded to make out.

“What do you think they were running from?” he asked quietly.

Sheik didn’t answer.

Not yet.

The blue glow from the sconces pulsed faintly along the stone walls, casting long shadows that wavered as the light flickered. Dust swirled in the stillness like forgotten breath. Link sat on the edge of a stone bench, legs stretched out, arms draped across his knees.

Sheik knelt near a table, silent and precise as he checked the old structure for anything useful. Neither of them had spoken in a while.

Link exhaled quietly. “You ever get tired of being the one who always knows what’s going on?”

Sheik glanced over at him but didn’t reply right away.

“Because you always look like you’ve got everything figured out,” Link added, leaning back on his hands. “Even when we’re completely screwed.”

Sheik stood and crossed the room slowly. “That bothers you?”

“No,” Link said, smirking faintly. “I mean… sometimes I think you do it on purpose. Keep it together just to show me up.”

“I don’t need to try that hard.”

Link laughed under his breath. “Fair.”

Sheik leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed. He was watching Link now, still, steady.

“You’re good at hiding things,” Link said, quieter now.

“Old habit.”

“Bet you’re impossible to read on purpose.”

Sheik tilted his head slightly. “And you? You’re easy to read?”

Link shrugged. “Depends on who’s looking.”

He looked away for a moment, then back—too long, maybe, because when their eyes met again, his mouth moved before his brain caught up.

“You’re kind of—” Link started, then faltered. “I mean, it’s kind of unfair. That whole… quiet, mysterious, handsome thing.”

The silence that followed was instant. Dense. Electric.

Link blinked once.

Then, too quickly: “I mean—not that I’m—I just meant in a tactical way. Like, you could totally disarm someone just by looking at them. Interrogation advantage. You know.”

Sheik raised an eyebrow. Slowly.

“Right,” Link muttered, eyes flicking to the wall. “I’m gonna shut up now.”

Sheik didn’t say a word. He just watched him for a moment longer, gaze unreadable as ever.

Then, finally: “You’re terrible at interrogation.”

“Yeah,” Link sighed. “That checks out.”

They lapsed into silence again—but it had changed. Something in the air shifted. Not cleared, not named, but definitely felt.

Chapter Text

The blue sconces had long since gone dim, their glow swallowed by the creeping light of morning. A pale gold hue spilled across the cracked stone floor, touching the dust in soft halos. Outside, birds began to stir, their calls faint but persistent—reminding the world it was still turning.

Link was already up, rolling his bedroll with more focus than necessary. His hair was tousled from sleep, or maybe from restless thoughts. Sheik stood near the hatch, pulling his gloves on slowly, deliberately.

Neither of them had said much since waking.

Link stole a glance toward Sheik, then quickly looked away again when their eyes almost met.

“So…” he said, tightening the straps on his pack. “No mysterious midnight visitors. That’s something.”

“No signs of movement nearby,” Sheik replied. “At least none that weren’t four-legged.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Link muttered.

Sheik raised an eyebrow. “Still thinking about the cart?”

Link nodded. “Yeah. Just feels like something’s circling us. Like it knows we’re coming.”

Sheik finished fastening his sash and adjusted the hidden blade at his waist. “Then we stay alert.”

Link stood and slung his pack over his shoulder. “Right. Classic ‘you be the smart one, I’ll be the distraction’ plan?”

“It works.”

“I prefer the version where I don’t get stabbed.”

“No promises.”

They both cracked small smiles, but they didn’t linger.

As they made their way toward the hatch, Link slowed for half a second and glanced over his shoulder at the quiet outpost behind them.

“Kind of a shame,” he said. “This place is peaceful in a haunted, unsettling sort of way.”

Sheik looked back too. “It won’t stay that way for long.”

Link gave a single nod and followed him up the stone steps.

+++

The sun had just cleared the hills when they emerged into the open air, the grass glistening with dew. The wind was back—cool, steady, brushing against them like it remembered their names.

They walked in step, boots crunching softly against the earth.

A few minutes passed before Link spoke again, quieter this time. “Hey… about last night—”

Sheik didn’t stop walking. “Don’t.”

Link glanced at him, surprised.

Sheik’s expression didn’t change, but his voice softened. “You don’t have to explain.”

Link hesitated… then let out a breath and nodded.

They walked on.

The red cliffs of Gerudo Valley loomed in the distance, jagged and sun-soaked, casting long shadows across the dry earth. The air grew hotter with every step, the green of Hyrule Field slowly giving way to cracked soil and scattered desert brush. Even the wind felt different here—thinner, drier. Like it was holding its breath.

Link and Sheik moved in silence now, the weight of the morning—and the night before—settled quietly between them.

It wasn’t long before they noticed the first sign.

A campfire. Dead cold. Stones arranged in the Gerudo pattern, but the ashes had long since cooled. Several bootprints were stamped into the dirt around it—too many for a scouting party. All facing in different directions.

Link crouched and pressed his fingers into the dust. “At least a dozen,” he murmured. “No horses.”

“Odd for a patrol,” Sheik said. “Too large. Too exposed.”

They kept moving.

The second sign came a mile later: a silence that shouldn’t have existed.

No birds. No insects. Just the crunch of their boots and the low moan of the wind dragging across sand.

“Too quiet,” Link said, voice low.

Sheik didn’t reply. His eyes were scanning every rock, every ridge.

Then they found the third sign.

A shrine marker, half-buried near a canyon wall—one of the old ones, used by desert travelers to mark safe paths through the sandstorms. It had been knocked over. Cracked down the middle. A Sheikah symbol had been scratched into its surface—crossed out with something sharp.

Link stood over it, brow furrowed. “Why deface a guidepost?”

“To confuse,” Sheik said. “Or warn.”

They exchanged a look—uneasy, sharp.

The trail narrowed from there, hugging a long ridge that led to the canyon entrance proper. Red stone walls rose high on either side. Normally, there would be Gerudo sentries here—watching, arms crossed, sizing up every outsider with that unreadable desert gaze.

But today, there was no one.

No torches lit. No banners flying. Just dust blowing across empty stone.

Link’s voice was barely above a whisper. “This is wrong.”

Sheik nodded once. “Something’s happened.”

Link drew his sword slowly, the metal catching the sun. “Still want to tread lightly?”

Sheik’s blade slid free in answer. “Lighter than ever.”

The narrow path widened into a small plateau just before the mouth of the canyon—a place where caravans would usually rest, where guards would inspect incoming travelers. Link had been here before. It was never empty.

Now, it was silent.

They stepped into the space carefully, boots crunching on gravel, the sun glaring off the red stone like glass. The outpost was still there—flat-roofed stone structures half-built into the cliffside—but the doors were open, the inside dark.

Too dark.

No guards. No flags. No movement.

Sheik raised a hand and signaled for caution. Link nodded, moving toward the nearest structure while Sheik disappeared around the opposite side.

The inside of the small building was cool and shadowed. Link squinted in the dim light—there were benches. Water jars. A rack for weapons. Everything in place… except for the fine layer of sand coating it all.

Untouched.

Too untouched.

Link stepped inside and noticed something strange. A single cup of water on the table. Half-full. Not spilled. Not dried. Fresh.

His hand moved to his sword.

Outside, Sheik reappeared, silent as smoke.

“Stables are intact,” he said quietly. “Food stores sealed. Beds made.”

“No bodies?”

“No blood.”

Link gestured to the cup on the table. “Someone was here. Recently.”

Sheik's eyes narrowed.

They heard it then—a sound.

Faint.

Whistling.

No—wind moving through stone in a way that almost sounded like breath.

Link and Sheik both turned toward the canyon entrance at once.

At the far end of the plateau, scratched into the red rock—new, sharp, carved deep into the wall—was a symbol neither of them had ever seen. Not Sheikah. Not Gerudo.

It looked like an eye. Closed.

Beneath it, scrawled in Gerudo script:

"They come from below."

Link took a step back. “I don’t like this.”

Sheik didn’t answer.

Then, without warning, the wind shifted—hard and sudden, whipping up a stinging spray of dust. The half-full cup on the table shattered.

A signal.

Not a trap.

A warning.

And it had just been triggered.

Link and Sheik moved quickly now, heading back toward the path they'd come from. Their footsteps were swift, calculated—but not panicked. Not yet.

"Something's watching," Link said, eyes flicking toward the ridges above.

Sheik didn’t reply, but his grip on his blade tightened.

They reached the path leading out—only to find it… gone.

Not the land. The trail. Where once there had been worn steps and a narrow stone ledge leading back toward the Hyrule plains, there was now a wall of rock and dust, collapsed like it had always been there.

Link stared at it. “That wasn’t like that when we came in.”

"No," Sheik said flatly. "It wasn’t."

Link stepped forward and touched the rock. The dust was already dry. No sign of a fresh fall. No noise. No tremor. Just... as if the earth had shifted behind them without a sound.

He turned to Sheik. “Do you think it’s magic?”

“Worse,” Sheik said. “It’s deliberate.”

From high above, a sound echoed through the canyon—a low clang of metal, rhythmic and distant.

Then another.

And another.

Link turned, scanning the canyon rim. “That’s not wind.”

Sheik stepped beside him. “Signals.”

Shadows moved along the cliffs—brief, flickering—shapes too fast to be natural, too slow to be birds.

They were being watched.

And herded.

“Sheik,” Link said, voice tight now. “We need to move.”

But Sheik was already in motion, sprinting along the canyon wall, eyes searching for another path out. Link followed close, his heartbeat pounding in rhythm with his boots.

They ran past another outpost—this one completely collapsed. Just a tangle of broken beams and red stone. Fresh claw marks were gouged into one of the walls. Three lines. Deep. Too clean.

Something wrong had been here.

And it wasn’t gone.

Ahead, the canyon turned—a sharp bend.

Sheik paused, gesturing for silence. Link slowed beside him.

The air was too still.

Then—

Voices.

Gerudo.

Multiple. Closing in.

But not from the front.

From behind.

They both turned at once, weapons drawn, just as the first figure stepped into view—red armor, golden spear, sharp eyes and a face covered in a desert veil.

Then a second. A third. A whole patrol.

Surrounding them. Silent. Unreadable.

Link raised his sword.

Sheik didn’t.

He was watching them carefully, his eyes moving between their stances, their formation.

“They’re not here to kill us,” he said, barely above a whisper. “They’re here to take us.”

Link didn’t lower his blade. “Doesn’t make me feel better.”

The Gerudo leader raised a hand—and they moved.

It happened fast.

Too fast.

The patrol moved as one—silent, practiced, efficient. Blades drawn. Spears leveled. No one shouted. No threats were given.

They didn’t have to.

Sheik’s dagger flashed from his hand before the first step was even taken—striking a shield edge with a sharp metallic crack, redirecting a blow meant for Link’s side.

Link was already moving, blade whistling through the air as he ducked low and swept one Gerudo’s legs from under her, then twisted and blocked the follow-up strike from another. He grunted with effort, eyes scanning for openings, breathing through clenched teeth.

“Left!” Sheik called.

Link pivoted instantly, bringing his sword up just in time to deflect a spear thrust aimed at his ribs.

Sheik moved like smoke—fluid, precise, brutal. He didn’t overpower; he outmaneuvered. One by one, he turned each Gerudo’s strength against them, using narrow dodges and glancing strikes that sent them stumbling into each other. A ghost in the middle of fire.

But there were too many.

Link ducked another blow, slammed the hilt of his sword into an attacker’s stomach, then spun and caught Sheik’s eye across the chaos.

“Exit plan?” he shouted.

“Working on it.”

A spear grazed Sheik’s arm—first blood. He winced, but didn’t slow.

They regrouped back-to-back, breathing hard, surrounded on all sides now.

Dust swirled at their feet, kicked up from boots and motion and falling rock. The Gerudo weren’t reckless—they were coordinated. Containing. Pressing in.

“Sheik—” Link started.

But a flash of light cut him off.

A concussive blast erupted at the canyon wall behind them—Sheikah tech, repurposed and unstable, glowing blue just before detonation. The ground buckled, rock cracked, and the force sent them sprawling.

Link hit the dirt hard, head ringing, vision blurring for half a second too long.

Through it, he saw Sheik stumble to one knee, a Gerudo warrior driving the butt of a spear into his shoulder—not to kill. To subdue.

Link tried to get up—only for two sets of hands to grab him from behind, pinning his arms.

He thrashed. Snarled.

“Sheik—!”

Another impact. A blur of movement.

Then—

Darkness.

Chapter Text

Stone walls. Flickering torchlight. The scent of heat, sweat, and blood clinging to the air.

Chains creaked softly as Link stirred, wrists bound above his head, body slumped against the cool wall. Bruises bloomed across his arms and ribs—newer ones layered atop old. His lip was split. His temple ached.

A low groan escaped his throat as he tilted his head to the side.

Sheik hung beside him. Awake already. Still. Alert.

"You’re finally up," Sheik said, voice calm despite the situation.

Link blinked a few times, winced. "Was hoping it was a dream."

"No such luck."

The chains shifted again as Link tested them. No give.

“Well,” he muttered, voice dry, “at least they didn’t kill us.”

“They went through a lot of trouble not to.”

Link gave a crooked, pained smile. “I must be charming.”

“You were unconscious.”

“Still counts.”

Sheik’s eyes scanned the cell—noticing the cracks in the stone, the pattern of the torches, the sound of guards shifting just outside the door.

“This is deeper than any cell I’ve seen before,” he said. “Below the canyon. Maybe further.”

Link followed his gaze, trying not to grimace as his shoulder pulled against the cuffs. “What do you think they want?”

“Information. Leverage. Or maybe… just time.”

Link leaned his head back against the wall and exhaled. “You know, Sheik…”

“Yes?”

He paused, lips twitching upward.

“I liked it better when we were naked in the river.”

A beat of silence.

“…You were naked,” Sheik replied flatly.

“Not the point,” Link murmured.

Sheik didn’t respond.

But the corner of his mouth pulled ever so slightly.

And despite the chains, despite the bruises, despite the deep and dark unknown waiting for them just beyond that door…

+++

Time passed slowly in the cell. The torches barely flickered. There was no window to judge the sun, no rhythm to the guards’ footsteps. Just the sound of their own breathing, the faint clink of chains, and the ever-present hum of stillness.

Link slumped forward as far as the cuffs would allow, chin resting on his chest. Sweat clung to his skin, and his wrists ached. But his voice was steady when he spoke.

“You think they’re going to feed us before or after the dramatic threats?”

Sheik didn’t look over. “Depends how theatrical they’re feeling.”

Link snorted. “If they throw in some monologuing, we’re definitely skipping breakfast.”

A beat passed. Then another.

Link shifted, slowly rolling his shoulder against the wall with a quiet groan.

“I hate waiting,” he said.

“I know.”

“I’m not good at sitting still.”

“I know that too.”

Link glanced sideways. “Is there anything you don’t know?”

Sheik finally looked at him. “How to keep you out of trouble.”

That drew a soft laugh from Link, though it dissolved quickly. His voice was quieter when he spoke again.

“…You didn’t have to come with me, you know.”

Sheik raised an eyebrow. “And let you waltz into Gerudo territory alone?”

“Would’ve made more sense.”

“Since when have we ever done the sensible thing?”

Link let his head fall back against the wall. “Yeah. Good point.”

Silence settled again—but it wasn’t as easy this time. Link swallowed, then said, carefully:

“When we were walking into that canyon… part of me knew it was a trap. I could feel it in my gut.”

Sheik didn’t respond.

“I should’ve said something,” Link continued. “But you were calm. Focused. So I just… kept going.”

“You didn’t trust your instincts?”

“I didn’t trust myself not to mess it up in front of you.”

That did it. Sheik turned his head, his expression unreadable—but his eyes had narrowed, just slightly.

“You think I’d care if you were wrong?”

Link gave a faint smile. “You hide it well if you don’t.”

Sheik’s voice dropped, barely above a whisper. “Link.”

Link looked at him—directly this time. “I guess what I’m saying is… you being there makes it harder.”

A pause.

Then he added, too quickly: “Not bad hard. Just, like—distracting. In the sense that I—” he caught himself, coughed. “You know what? Forget it.”

Sheik was quiet. Watching him.

Link shifted uncomfortably, chains rattling as he turned his head away. “I’m sleep-deprived. And probably concussed. Don’t listen to me.”

“I always listen to you.”

That pulled Link’s gaze back.

Another beat of silence passed between them, heavier now.

Then the iron door groaned.

Footsteps.

Someone was coming.

But the words they hadn’t said yet hung in the air like the next breath they were too afraid to take.

The air shifted.

Bootsteps echoed beyond the iron door—measured, deliberate, growing louder with every second.

Sheik straightened, his posture tightening in preparation. Link didn’t move. He was staring at the floor now, jaw set, fingers twitching slightly where the chains bit into his wrists.

“Sheik,” he said suddenly, voice sharp and low.

Sheik turned his head just slightly, watching him from the corner of his eye.

Link’s chest rose with a breath that sounded too much like surrender. “Before they come in here and potentially kill us…”

He paused.

Sheik waited.

“I just—” Link’s tongue stumbled for a beat, then steadied. “I need you to know I care about you.”

The words dropped between them like a sword point—sharp, heavy, irrevocable.

Sheik’s eyes widened just a fraction. Barely noticeable. But to Link, it was everything.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Then—

The cell door groaned open.

A tall figure stepped inside, flanked by two armed guards. The torchlight flared behind her, casting her in silhouette. Red veil. Bronze armor. Piercing eyes beneath her helm.

Gerudo. High-ranking. Unamused.

“Well,” she said, her voice low and cool. “Which one of you wants to talk first?”

Link didn’t look at her.

He was still watching Sheik.

And Sheik—expression calm as ever—was finally, finally, looking back.

They were led down a long corridor carved from red stone, their wrists still bound, but no longer chained above their heads. The guards didn’t speak. The only sounds were boots on stone, the distant crackle of fire, and the steady hum of something beneath the prison—something mechanical and ancient, thrumming faintly in the walls like a hidden heart.

Link walked with a limp. Sheik’s hands were scraped raw from the cuffs. But neither showed fear. They’d been through worse.

Probably.

They were separated at the end of the corridor.

“Wait—” Link started, twisting in his guard’s grip.

“This one can handle himself,” one of the guards snapped.

Link’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t resist.

+++

Link sat in a stone chair bolted to the floor. His hands were shackled again, this time to the arms of the chair. A brazier crackled in the corner, casting wavering light across the walls. The Gerudo interrogator stood across from him, arms folded, face hidden behind a crimson veil.

She watched him like a hawk might study a snake—expecting venom. Unafraid of it.

“You’re not our enemy,” she said. “And yet you trespass. You carry weapons. You approach from the north with no declaration, no escort.”

Link didn’t answer. His eyes drifted toward the brazier.

The woman stepped forward. Slowly.

“We found your trail days ago. Watched you for miles. You walk like a scout. Fight like a trained sword. But you smell like someone who’s trying to be more than that.”

Still, Link didn’t speak.

She stopped in front of him. Close.

“You’re protecting something,” she said. “Or someone.”

Link finally met her eyes. “If this is the part where you ask what we’re doing here,” he said, voice low, dry, “you could’ve just asked nicely. Saved everyone some bruises.”

She smiled beneath the veil, though it didn’t reach her eyes.

“We know why you’re here,” she said. “The question is: Do you?”

Link blinked. “That’s vague. And kind of ominous.”

She turned away from him then, hands clasped behind her back, pacing slowly. “We’ve had... disturbances. Unnatural ones. Travelers disappearing. Patrols returning without memories. Symbols carved into the rock no one remembers drawing.”

Link’s attention sharpened. He sat up slightly.

The Gerudo stopped pacing. “And you two show up. Right on time.”

“We didn’t cause anything,” Link said. “We were investigating.”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “Then why were you heading toward the sealed tomb?”

Silence.

Link’s mouth opened.

Then closed.

“…What tomb?” he asked.

She stepped back toward him, slow and deliberate.

“You don’t even know,” she said. “That’s the part I find most dangerous.”

Link’s pulse thudded in his ears.

Then—

The door opened again.

Sheik was brought in by another pair of guards. He looked tired. Blood on his sleeve. But his face was unreadable, calm.

The interrogator turned to him. “We’re done pretending. You’re not here by accident. Something’s waking beneath our sands, and you’ve brought it closer.”

She looked between the two of them.

“You have until tomorrow to tell me what you’re really looking for. Or we start peeling back your secrets, one by one.”

She turned and left, her cloak brushing the floor like a whisper.

The guards followed, sealing the door behind them.

Silence.

Then Link, still shackled, looked at Sheik.

“Well. That was friendly.”

Sheik gave him a sideways glance.

“You said you care about me,” he said, almost casually.

Link stared at him.

“…Now you want to talk about that?”

Sheik’s lip twitched. “Just making sure you remember.”

+++

They’d been returned to the same cell, arms no longer shackled above their heads but wrists still bound with iron cuffs chained to the wall behind them. The torches burned lower now, their flames whispering against the stone. Shadows danced between them, flickering with every shift of breath.

Link sat with one leg drawn up, chin resting on his knee. His expression had shifted from snarky to sharp—thinking. Calculating.

Sheik leaned back against the wall, eyes half-closed, but alert.

“You know,” Link murmured, “I’ve escaped worse places than this.”

Sheik didn’t look at him. “You were once stuck in a fishing net for three hours.”

“That was different,” Link grumbled. “It was knot work. Very advanced.”

A pause. Then:

“We can’t wait for tomorrow,” Sheik said quietly.

Link nodded. “Agreed. They think we’re here for something we don’t even know about. That’s a problem.”

Sheik’s voice dropped lower. “If they’re right… if there is something beneath the sand, we need to find it before they do. Before it wakes.”

Link tilted his head back against the wall. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Tunnel system beneath the prison.”

Link perked up. “Ah. Yes. Escape through ancient, dangerous, probably cursed catacombs. Classic Sheikah plan.”

“It’s better than waiting for them to interrogate us again.”

“I mean, I could handle it,” Link said. “You saw how into me she was.”

“She wanted to set you on fire.”

“Hot is hot.”

Sheik exhaled slowly. “We need keys. Or a way to break the chains. There’s a weak point in the stone behind you—likely hollowed. I could use it, if we had—”

Click.

The sound came from the door.

Both of them froze.

The torchlight dimmed as a figure stepped inside—alone. Cloaked, hooded, the fabric deep blue, not Gerudo red. They moved without sound, closing the door behind them without a word.

Link and Sheik tensed, ready to strike if they had to—but the figure raised both hands, showing they held no weapon.

Then they reached up.

Lowered their hood.

It was a Gerudo. But younger. Sharper. Eyes like sandstorms and lightning.

"You don’t belong here," she said quietly, eyes flicking between them. "And if you stay until sunrise, neither will your minds."

She stepped closer, slipping a small cloth pouch from her belt. It jingled softly—metal inside.

She held it out.

Keys.

“I’m not with the others,” she said. “And I don’t have time to explain why. But you need to go. Now.”

Sheik’s voice was cool but cautious. “Why help us?”

The woman’s jaw tightened. “Because I’ve seen the tomb. And I know what’s beneath it.”

Link stared at her. “What is it?”

She hesitated. Then answered:

“Something that’s already dreaming.”

Chapter Text

The Gerudo defector pressed the pouch of keys into Sheik’s hand, her fingers brushing his briefly—urgent, deliberate.

“You’ll have one chance,” she whispered. “The patrol shifts change in less than ten minutes. If you’re still inside after that…”

She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to.

Sheik nodded once, sharp and wordless. Link gave her a long look—half suspicious, half grateful.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

The woman pulled her hood back up. “You don’t need it yet.”

And then she was gone.

The door clicked shut behind her, and the cell fell silent again—except for the sound of Link’s breath picking up.

“You ready?” he asked.

Sheik was already unlocking the shackles.

+++

They moved like shadows.

The halls were carved deep into the cliffside, lit only by dying torches and the pale glow of sunstones embedded into the walls. Link walked barefoot to keep quiet, swordless but sharp-eyed. Sheik moved ahead, keys tucked into his belt, every step measured, every breath counted.

They passed two guard posts—empty.

Too empty.

“Where are they?” Link murmured.

“Elsewhere,” Sheik answered. “By design.”

They slipped through a side corridor and down a narrow flight of stairs. The deeper they went, the cooler the air became. The stone walls changed—less smooth, more ancient. The smell of sand gave way to dust and damp earth.

“Is this the tunnel system?” Link asked.

Sheik nodded. “Old escape routes. Mostly forgotten. Only Sheikah and high Gerudo ranks know the paths still exist.”

Link gave him a look. “You have a knack for knowing the right ruins to run into.”

“Comes with the mask.”

The passage opened into a low-ceilinged chamber. Roots twisted down through the cracks in the stone. Strange old carvings lined the walls—symbols they couldn’t read, faded into age and shadow.

They crawled. The tunnel was cramped and stifling, but forward was the only option. They moved in silence, their breath loud in the close air, the weight of the earth pressing down from all sides.

Then—

A faint glow ahead.

An exit.

They emerged, filthy and sweating, into a collapsed ruin, half-buried beneath the canyon cliffs. Moonlight streamed through a crack in the ceiling, dust hanging like snow in the air.

Link pulled himself out and turned to help Sheik through.

They collapsed beside each other, breathing hard, the night air cool and clean against their skin.

Link looked up at the stars.

“Still alive,” he murmured.

“For now,” Sheik replied.

Then a voice—soft, familiar, not alone.

“I told you to be gone by sunrise.”

They turned.

The Gerudo defector stood at the edge of the ruin, watching them with wide eyes.

“You didn’t just pass through the old tunnels,” she said. “You passed into something else.”

She paused.

And then: “Now you’ve woken it too.”

+++

The ruin was half-swallowed by time—pillars cracked and leaning, sand piled in corners, vines creeping in from the outside world. Moonlight filtered through the broken ceiling, cool and pale, casting everything in silver and shadow.

Link sat on a flat stone slab, arms resting on his knees, chest still rising and falling with exertion. His hair was damp with sweat, face streaked with dirt, and he looked like he’d just barely made it through a war.

Because he had.

Sheik stood a short distance away, examining one of the walls—his fingertips tracing faded carvings. His movements were slower now. Not from pain, but thought.

The Gerudo woman stayed near the entrance to the ruin, her hood down now, watching them both. She didn’t speak yet.

Finally, Link broke the silence.

“Well,” he said, voice hoarse, “that went great.”

Sheik didn’t turn around. “You said you hated waiting.”

Link smirked tiredly. “Didn’t mean I wanted the express route to a haunted tomb.”

He looked at the Gerudo, eyes narrowing slightly. “You want to tell us why the ground back there felt like it was breathing?”

She stepped closer, her expression grim. “Because it was.”

Sheik turned toward her now, arms crossed. “You said you’ve seen the tomb. What exactly did you see?”

She hesitated, then answered. “Only the edges. There are places beneath the valley even the sand refuses to touch. Rooms that hum. Air that stings when you breathe it. And there’s something in the dark—a presence.”

Link’s face hardened. “Why did the Gerudo build a prison on top of that?”

“They didn’t know what it was,” she said. “The old stories were forgotten. Buried with the Sheikah. But the deeper they dug to build their cells, the more things started… happening.”

She paused. Then added: “Not all of the prisoners came back out.”

That landed hard.

Link leaned back on his hands, staring up at the sky again.

“We didn’t come looking for a curse,” he said.

“No,” Sheik murmured. “But it might’ve been waiting for us anyway.”

The wind shifted, brushing through the ruin like a whisper. The stars above burned quietly, as if watching.

“Rest,” the Gerudo said. “You’ll need it. What lies ahead isn’t just stone and shadow.”

She glanced at the cracked symbol on the wall—an eye, carved long ago, now scarred with time.

“It’s memory,” she added. “And memory doesn’t stay buried forever.”

The Gerudo woman had moved off into a far corner, resting with her back to the wall, eyes half-lidded but alert. Sheik and Link remained near the center of the ruin, seated on opposite stones, not speaking right away.

The silence wasn’t strained.

Just full.

Link picked at the dried blood on his sleeve, then glanced at Sheik.

“You doing okay?”

Sheik nodded once. “You?”

Link tilted his head. “We escaped a fortified prison, found out something ancient might be chewing through the foundation of the desert, and I might’ve told you I care about you in front of our captor.”

A pause.

“Yeah. Doing great.”

Sheik didn’t smile. But he didn’t look away either.

“You meant it,” he said.

Link’s throat tightened slightly. “I was concussed.”

Sheik raised an eyebrow.

Link exhaled and scrubbed a hand down his face. “I meant it.”

Sheik studied him for a long moment. “I know.”

That was all.

But it felt like enough.

The moment passed between them like the wind—soft, unspoken, and real.

Then Sheik rose to his feet. “We should go.”

Link stood too, stretching stiffly. “Into the definitely cursed catacombs under an abandoned ruin built over a possibly sentient tomb?”

Sheik glanced back at him. “Unless you’d rather go back to prison.”

Link sighed. “I’m coming.”

The Gerudo woman stirred, meeting them near the shattered archway that led deeper underground.

“There’s a hidden stair beneath the altar,” she said. “Buried when the ruin collapsed, but it’s still there. I’ll show you.”

She stepped ahead and swept debris away from a circular slab half-swallowed by sand. Beneath it, a stone spiral stair spiraled into darkness—black as ink, the air rising from below cold and still.

Link stared into it. “We’re really doing this.”

“We have to,” Sheik said. “If something’s waking, we need to see it before it sees us.”

Link sighed, tightening the strap across his chest. “You know, I liked it better when we were just catching fish and making terrible jokes.”

Sheik gave a rare half-smile. “We could still make terrible jokes.”

Link stepped beside him, looking down the stair. “Yeah, but now we’ll have to whisper them.”

Together, the three of them descended into the dark.

Sheik stopped. His fingers brushed the wall.

“This wasn’t just a prison,” he murmured. “It was built over something.”

Link stepped up beside him. “The tomb?”

“Maybe. Or maybe something older.”

Behind them, a sound echoed up the tunnel—a low vibration. Metal clinking. Footsteps.

“They’re coming,” Link said.

Sheik pulled a hidden lever in the wall. A panel of stone ground open, revealing a narrow crawlspace beyond.

“Go.”

Link hesitated for half a second. “Are we sure this doesn’t lead straight to the tomb full of horrors?”

“No.”

“…Perfect.”

They ducked inside, one after the other, and the panel sealed shut behind them.

The stairwell spiraled down like a drill into the earth, narrow and uneven, chiseled by hands long turned to dust. Dust clung to the walls like old breath, and the stone beneath their boots was slick with condensation—not the dry air of the desert, but something older, colder, untouched by the sun for centuries.

None of them spoke.

Their footsteps echoed. Just enough to make them feel like they weren’t alone.

The deeper they went, the more the silence changed. It didn’t just settle—it listened. The kind of silence that pushed against your eardrums, like pressure. Like depth. Like memory trying to claw its way back into the present.

Link adjusted the grip on his blade, not because he needed to—just to do something. The tension in his shoulders hadn’t loosened since they started down.

Behind him, Sheik moved quietly, eyes constantly scanning the walls. The carvings had returned—faint and half-eaten by time. Sheikah script. Some he could read. Some he couldn’t.

The Gerudo woman led them without hesitation. But even she seemed… smaller now. Like the stone had closed in around her.

“I don’t like this,” Link muttered.

“You’re not supposed to,” Sheik said, voice low.

They passed a small archway—collapsed. Beyond it, a glimpse of a mural still clinging to one crumbled wall: figures standing in rows, eyes covered, arms raised to a black sun.

Sheik slowed.

“What is it?” Link asked.

“This place… wasn’t a tomb.”

He stepped closer to the mural.

“It was a prison.”

The Gerudo woman stopped and turned. “A prison for what?”

Sheik looked at the black sun in the mural. The paint had been scratched away in long, jagged strokes.

“I don’t think anyone remembered.”

Link ran a hand along the nearby wall. The stone felt too warm now.

Ahead, the stairs ended in a heavy door—half-sunken into the stone, ringed in tarnished gold, cracked and sealed with melted metal. The air spilling from beneath it was cold. Wet.

Link stared at it. “We’re not opening that, right?”

No one answered.

The door pulsed.

Just once.

Like something on the other side had just taken a breath.

+++

The three of them stood frozen before the door, its heavy frame humming with the weight of something old. Not magic. Not quite. But wrong. As if it had been closed not to keep people out… but to keep something in.

Link took a step back. “Sheik?”

“I know,” Sheik said, already scanning the wall beside the sealed door, his gloved fingers moving along the surface with practiced precision.

There were markings here—faint, shallow, hidden in the imperfections of the stone. Not Sheikah script. Not Gerudo, either.

A pattern. A path.

Sheik stepped back, then to the side. The wall curved slightly inward here, almost unnoticeable. A trick of shadow and time.

“There’s another way,” he said quietly. “Someone carved an exit.”

The Gerudo woman furrowed her brow. “From inside?”

Sheik nodded. “They weren’t let out. They escaped.”

He knelt, brushing away layers of dust and debris until his hand found a small depression in the floor—hidden between two worn carvings. He pressed into it. There was a soft click. A thin seam along the wall trembled.

Then, with a low groan, the stone panel shifted inward, revealing a narrow corridor, choked with dust and thick air.

Sheik pulled a torch from the wall and stepped through first, his silhouette swallowed by the passage.

The Gerudo followed.

Link hesitated only a second longer.

Then he ducked inside, and the stone closed behind them.

The air was colder here.

Not in a natural way—but as if it had been locked away, preserved. Time hadn’t touched this corridor. The walls were lined with smoothed obsidian, and along the floor were dozens of small, circular indentations—like footprints that had been burned in, and never cooled.

They walked in silence.

Sheik’s torch flickered once, then burned blue for a moment.

He slowed.

The tunnel opened into a small chamber—round, empty, with a pedestal in the center.

Upon it sat an old stone mask, cracked down the center. Half Sheikah. Half… something else.

Link stepped forward, staring at it.

“What is that?”

Sheik didn’t move. His voice was tight. “A key.”

“To the door?” the Gerudo asked.

Sheik shook his head.

“To a memory.”

And the mask pulsed.

Just once.

Then the chamber went dark.

The blue torchlight sputtered out in an instant, snuffed like a breath.

Total black.

Link’s breath caught. He could hear his heartbeat—his own, and Sheik’s, close. The Gerudo woman exhaled sharply nearby.

Then—

Light. But not from the torch.

From the mask.

It lifted, though no hand touched it. It rose slowly above the pedestal, cracks glowing faintly gold. The light flared—

And the room was gone.

+++

They stood now in a vast canyon bathed in an alien sunset. The cliffs were wrong—twisted and redder than they should be. The sky was a bruise. The wind screamed through empty towers shaped like eyes.

Figures moved below. Dozens. Hundreds.

Sheikah.

In rows, arms raised, eyes bandaged with crimson cloth.

A voice echoed—not from above, not around, but within them.

“We built the prison not to contain a monster... but a memory.”

The scene shifted.

A great vault, buried deep. Inside, a pulsing black sun, suspended by chains and carved rings of runes. Its surface was cracked—leaking not fire, not smoke, but names. Whispered. Endless.

“What we tried to forget... it remembers us.”

Link staggered back. The vision twisted again.

Now: a figure alone in the dark. Wearing the mask. Standing before the sealed door. Their voice shaking.

“If it wakes... we become it.”

The mask cracked in the figure’s hands.

And the light shattered.

+++

The three of them gasped as if surfacing from deep water. The torch relit on its own—blue again, flickering violently.

The mask dropped back to the pedestal with a heavy thud.

Silence.

Link was the first to speak, his voice hoarse. “What the hell was that?”

Sheik didn’t answer. He was staring at the mask. Frozen.

The Gerudo took a step back. “You said it was a key.”

“I was wrong,” Sheik whispered. “It’s a vessel.”

The mask pulsed again.

This time, it turned—facing Sheik.

No sound. No movement. But the air shifted.

Like it had chosen him.

“You remember me,” a voice whispered inside Sheik’s mind.

His breath caught.

“Then you will carry me.”

Sheik stood in front of it, motionless.

Link watched him from a few feet away, one hand on his knee, the other gripping the hilt of a dagger he'd borrowed from the Gerudo woman. He wasn’t sure why he was holding it. It just felt like something he should do.

“Sheik?” he said quietly.

No response.

Sheik’s eyes were locked on the mask. Not with fear. Not even with suspicion.

With recognition.

The Gerudo woman stayed by the wall, silent, watching—tense but smart enough not to interrupt.

Then Sheik spoke, his voice distant.

“You remember me.”

He didn’t blink.

“But I don’t remember you.”

Link straightened. “Who are you talking to?”

Sheik slowly extended a hand toward the mask, fingers hovering just above its surface. Not touching.

“You want to be carried. But why me?”

The mask pulsed in answer, the cracks glowing brighter for a moment, like a heart skipping a beat.

“Because I can hold it?” Sheik whispered. “Or because I can’t look away?”

Link stood now. “Sheik—talk to me. What is it?”

Sheik’s voice shook—not much, but enough. “It’s not just memory. It’s will. It’s… reaching.”

He stepped back from the pedestal.

Then forward again.

Every part of him was quiet—his body still, but his breath unsteady.

“I don’t know if I can stop it,” he said softly.

Link crossed the room, eyes sharp. “Then don’t try to hold it alone.”

Sheik looked at him now, really looked. “If I take it, I’m not sure who I’ll be when I give it back.”

Link didn’t flinch. “Then I’ll remind you.”

A long pause.

Then Sheik turned back to the mask.

Chapter Text

The light from the mask flickered, brightening in a soft burst as Sheik’s hand finally brushed against it.

He didn’t mean to touch it.

But it wanted him.

And in the moment his fingers made contact, the world shifted.

+++

Sheik stood in a place that felt like breath and warmth and something painfully gentle.

A green field. Hyrule. But not the real one.

The wind was warm here. The sky soft, streaked with lavender and gold. The kind of sky that never really existed—only in dreams and old paintings.

He looked down and realized he wasn’t in his armor. No mask. Just simple, loose clothing. Bare feet in grass.

He turned—

And Link was there.

Smiling.

Unburdened.

Laughing at something Sheik hadn’t said yet.

They were sitting on a blanket, sunlight catching in Link’s hair, a plate of grilled fish between them, and Link was holding out a skewer, waving it teasingly just out of Sheik’s reach.

“C’mon,” Link said, voice rich with amusement. “You’re always so serious. Eat before it gets cold.”

Sheik blinked. “What is this?”

Link grinned. “Lunch. Obviously.”

Sheik opened his mouth to argue—to question—to wake up—but the wind shifted, and Link leaned a little closer.

“You always look at me like you want to say something,” he said. “But you never do.”

Sheik swallowed hard. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I…” He paused. His voice was thin now. Fragile. “Because it’s easier to protect you if you don’t know.”

Link’s expression softened. He reached out, fingertips brushing Sheik’s wrist.

“But I do know,” he whispered. “I’ve always known.”

And Sheik wanted to lean into it. Into him. The curve of Link’s smile, the softness in his eyes. He wanted to press their foreheads together and say everything he’d never dared to. Wanted to—

The sky cracked.

A black sun bled into the clouds above them, swallowing the color.

The field shriveled underfoot.

And Link… changed.

Still smiling.

Still warm.

But watching him now with eyes that weren’t his. Gold. Endless.

“You could stay,” the mask’s voice whispered through Link’s mouth. “Stay in the world you want.”

Sheik took a step back, heart racing.

“This isn’t real.”

“It could be.”

Link—not Link—stood, arms open like invitation. “Why run from what you already feel?”

Sheik shook his head. “Because I haven’t earned this.”

The field burned around them. The sky trembled.

“Then carry me,” the voice said. “And I’ll make it yours.”

+++

Sheik’s eyes snapped open.

He staggered back from the pedestal, gasping, shaking—his hand still half-gloved, now marked with a faint gold sigil across the palm.

Link was in front of him instantly. “Sheik—what happened?”

Sheik’s gaze was wild for a heartbeat, then narrowed, control pulling tight like a wire.

“I saw something.”

Link stepped closer. “What did it show you?”

Sheik didn’t answer.

Not out loud.

He looked down at the mark on his hand.

Then at Link.

“I need to go deeper.”

The tunnels grew narrower as they descended—stone shifting from smooth, ancient masonry to jagged rock and long-forgotten seams. The torch flickered against walls carved with symbols neither Sheik nor the Gerudo woman could read. There was no map. No path. Only instinct. And Sheik’s mark, glowing faintly through the fabric of his glove.

He led them now.

Faster. Quieter.

And Link followed, watching the set of Sheik’s shoulders, the tension in his silence.

Something had shifted.

He could feel it.

He didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

The memory—the dream—still lingered behind his eyes. The way Link had smiled. The way he’d leaned in. The way he’d said, “I’ve always known.”

Sheik clenched his jaw.

It hadn’t been real.

But it had felt real.

And worse—it had felt right.

He had trained all his life to be unreadable. Untouchable. Purpose over person.

But now, every step beside Link was agony.

The way his hand brushed against Sheik’s when the path narrowed. The way he kept looking back—checking. Not asking questions. Just there.

It was too much.

Too close to the thing he’d just seen and could never have.

He had told himself for years that his care for Link was tactical. That the bond made them stronger. That closeness was a shield.

But the mask had shown him the truth.

He wanted more.

Not just the fight. Not just the mission.

He wanted time. A future. The kind of softness he’d buried so deeply, he almost believed it didn’t exist.

And now that he’d seen it—even a twisted reflection of it—he couldn’t unwant it.

They reached a chamber deeper still, where the walls curved and the air was so still it felt wrong.

In the center stood a stone dais—half sunken, surrounded by symbols that pulsed faintly as Sheik stepped closer.

The mark on his palm glowed.

The dais responded.

Link touched Sheik’s arm lightly. “You okay?”

Sheik turned to him—too fast, too sharp.

And stopped.

Their eyes met.

Too long.

Too close.

Link’s voice softened. “You’ve been quiet since the mask.”

Sheik swallowed. “I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

Sheik looked away. “It showed me something I didn’t want to see.”

Link’s hand stayed on his arm. “Or something you did want?”

The words hung between them like a blade.

And Sheik—so used to control—couldn’t deny it.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t nod.

Just stepped away before he said too much.

Back toward the dais. Toward the mystery. Toward anything but Link’s eyes.

The chamber was colder than the others. Not airless, but close—like the room itself had been holding its breath for centuries.

Sheik stood before the stone dais, the sigil on his palm glowing brighter with every step.

The dais looked like a slab of obsidian wrapped in cracked rings of ancient gold, barely touched by dust. Around its edges, faint grooves shimmered with buried light—shaped like a sun split in two.

Link and the Gerudo woman watched from behind, silent, tense. Even the torch flame seemed hesitant.

Sheik reached forward.

His hand hovered over the center.

The sigil pulsed.

And then—

The dais opened.

It didn’t move. It didn’t crack. It simply shifted—as though the stone remembered it wasn’t supposed to be solid.

A spiral of light erupted from the center, casting long, swirling shadows along the walls.

And in the air above the dais, a projection formed—not magic, not quite technology, but something older than both.

A map. But not of land.

Of rooms. Chambers. Levels.

Endless.

Beneath the canyon. Beneath the prison. Beneath the desert.

Link stepped forward. “What the hell is this?”

The Gerudo woman stared in awe. “This was never a tomb.”

“No,” Sheik said softly. “It’s a city.”

The map pulsed again—and zoomed inward to a chamber far below.

A single symbol burned bright.

A second mask.

Then words formed in ancient Sheikah script, scrawled in a circular path around the projection. Only Sheik could read them.

He spoke them aloud, voice quiet.

“To remember is to awaken. To awaken is to return. To return is to be chosen.”

Link’s voice was low now. “Chosen for what?”

The light flickered.

And in a deep, layered voice—both distant and inside them—came the answer:

“To finish what was sealed.”

The dais went dark.

The chamber trembled.

And far below, somewhere in the depths…

Something moved.

The air felt different now. Thinner. Charged. The ground underfoot had stopped trembling, but it was as if the stone itself was listening, waiting for a decision.

The dais had gone dark. The map was gone.

But none of them had moved.

Link broke the silence first.

“That wasn’t just a city,” he said. “That was… massive.”

His voice echoed slightly in the vaulted space, swallowed by the silence.

The Gerudo woman crossed her arms, brow furrowed. “There were more chambers than I could count. And two masks.”

Sheik remained still, staring at the dais. “It’s a network. A sealed labyrinth beneath the valley. And it’s not just ruins. It’s alive.”

Link looked at him. “How do you know?”

Sheik’s fingers flexed, still faintly glowing beneath the glove. “Because it answered me.” His voice was low. Tight. “It knew my name.”

That landed heavy.

Link stepped closer, his expression a mix of worry and sharp attention. “Then you’re part of this.”

Sheik didn’t look at him. “I didn’t ask to be.”

Link paused. “But you’re not saying no.”

Sheik glanced over then, finally meeting his eyes. “Would you?”

Link didn’t answer.

The Gerudo woman shifted, stepping toward the dais. “We always thought the prison was built on cursed ground. But this… this is older than the Gerudo. Older than Hyrule.”

She turned to them both. “Whatever’s beneath this place—it wasn’t buried. It was hidden.”

Link’s jaw clenched. “And now it’s waking up.”

The torch flickered again.

Far above them, a sound echoed faintly—distant, metallic. Like something shifting through ancient stone. A warning.

Or a door.

Sheik finally stepped back from the dais, his voice calm but certain. “We have to go deeper.”

Link stared at him. “You’re sure?”

“No,” Sheik admitted. “But I don’t think it’s going to wait for us.”

The Gerudo woman nodded grimly. “Then let’s not make it come looking.”

They turned as one toward the tunnel that branched downward—narrower, darker, colder than before.

And began to descend again.

The tunnel narrowed and twisted, the walls shifting from stone to a strange, smooth black material—almost metallic, almost organic. The further they went, the colder it became, as though the warmth of the surface world had never reached this deep.

Their torchlight dimmed unnaturally, shrinking back against the shadows.

And then… it opened.

The tunnel spat them out into a massive, circular room—a quiet, yawning expanse just wide enough to make them feel small. The air was still. Dust hung suspended like it hadn’t moved in centuries.

The floor was smooth and dark, carved with swirling patterns that glowed faintly beneath their feet, as though reacting to their presence.

At the center stood a massive stone basin, shallow and dry, surrounded by six pillars.

Each pillar bore a different symbol—some familiar, like Sheikah runes. Others were alien, curved in a way the eye didn’t want to follow. One pillar had fallen. Shattered. As if struck.

Sheik stepped into the room slowly, eyes sharp.

“This was a ritual chamber,” he murmured. “A place where the chosen prepared before entering the inner sanctum.”

Link walked to the basin and peered in. “Prepared for what?”

Sheik didn’t answer.

The Gerudo woman circled the room’s edge. “Some of these markings… they’re in our oldest scripts. Pre-Gerudo. Pre-everything. My grandmother told stories about places like this. She called them echo-rooms.”

“Why?” Link asked.

She placed a hand on one of the standing pillars.

And whispered: “Because they remember.”

The room pulsed.

Softly.

Faintly.

Like the last breath of a sleeping god.

Sheik stepped beside Link and stared into the basin. There was something carved into the stone at its center. A phrase.

He read it aloud.

“To walk further, you must unburden.”

Link blinked. “Unburden what?”

The torchlight flickered violently.

And suddenly, the room wasn’t still.

The basin began to fill—not with water, not with sand.

But with light.

Memory-light.

And in it—reflections.

Of themselves.

Of what they carried.

Of what they were afraid to lose.

Then the light shifted—and focused on Sheik.

His breath caught in his throat.

He couldn’t move.

The basin stilled.

And in it, he saw—

Sheik stood at the edge of a training courtyard, younger, smaller, sharper-edged with purpose. His arms were bandaged from a session gone too far, and his face was blank—but his eyes were tired. He watched as two Sheikah elders argued in the background, their words muffled by time.

"Emotion leads to failure."

"Attachments unravel the mission."

The younger Sheik didn’t speak. Didn’t look away.

Just listened.

Accepted.

Behind him, another figure stood.

Not part of the memory.

Just watching.

Link.

Not the Link. But a vision. A presence shaped like him. Soft in a way Sheik had never let himself see. The wind moved through his hair as he watched Sheik with something close to sorrow.

“You wanted so badly to prove you could do it alone,” the not-Link said. “But you never wanted to be alone.”

Sheik flinched. “You’re not real.”

“Neither is the person you pretend to be.”

The younger Sheik turned in the memory, looking toward the edge of the courtyard—where something had been waiting. A note, slipped under his door. A question not answered. A hand not taken.

The scene blurred.

Link’s voice followed: “You never stopped choosing the mission. Even when it stopped choosing you.”

And then the basin pulsed again—bright, gold.

The light vanished.

Sheik staggered back from the basin, breath shallow, hand gripping his side as if something had struck him there.

Link was beside him in a heartbeat. “Sheik—what did you see?”

Sheik didn’t answer at first. His jaw was clenched. His eyes full of something he couldn’t name.

Then, softly:

“…Myself.”

Link watched him carefully. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Sheik said. “But I think that’s the point.”

The room had gone still again.

The basin, however, still shimmered faintly.

Waiting.

Link stepped closer.

“Guess it’s my turn.”

Chapter Text

The basin shimmered again.

A ripple passed across its glowing surface, and then the light deepened—shifting, folding inward, becoming not just reflection, but remembrance.

Link stepped forward. He didn’t hesitate.

But as he looked down into the basin, his breath hitched—just slightly.

The chamber pulsed, and the world bent.

+++

Not a battlefield.

Not a castle.

Just a stretch of forest in early spring. Birds calling. Trees waking. A campfire crackling low.

Link sat cross-legged on a blanket, younger, clothes dusty from travel. His sword leaned against a tree nearby, but he wasn’t watching it.

He was watching Sheik.

Across the fire, Sheik was sharpening a dagger with slow, deliberate strokes. Calm. Precise. The firelight made his hair glow gold at the edges. His face was focused. Beautiful.

Link didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

He just watched.

And smiled.

A small, secret thing. Like a laugh he never said out loud.

And then—

In the memory, Link looked down at his hand.

He was holding something small. A simple flower. Blue. Crushed slightly from his grip.

He looked like he wanted to give it to Sheik.

But he didn’t.

He tucked it away into his pack, unseen.

The fire cracked louder. The moment passed.

Then another memory—

Later, maybe weeks. Link and Sheik walking through a ruined temple. Side by side. Tension in the air.

Sheik reached for Link’s arm to pull him back from a trap.

Held it for a second too long.

In the memory, Link’s eyes closed. Just for a moment. Just to feel it.

Then it was gone.

+++

The basin pulsed one last time—then went still.

Link blinked hard, stepping back like he’d been punched.

Sheik stared at him, eyes searching.

“What did it show you?” he asked softly.

Link gave a tight smile.

“Everything I never said.”

The basin dimmed.

The room quieted.

And the chamber waited—no longer blocking them. The passage forward had opened, just beyond the sixth pillar.

But both of them stood still, side by side in silence.

Not just changed.

Seen.

The passage ahead lay open now, waiting.

But Link didn’t move.

And neither did Sheik.

They stood in the lingering quiet, the basin dim behind them, the air heavy with memory—too heavy to ignore. The visions still clung to them like dust.

Link’s voice came first, low and careful.

“That memory… the one with the flower.”

Sheik turned to him.

Link shrugged one shoulder, looking anywhere but Sheik’s eyes. “I forgot I even remembered it.”

Sheik studied him quietly. “You looked… peaceful.”

Link gave a faint smile. “Doesn’t happen often.”

A pause.

Then Link added, voice lighter than it should’ve been, “You know, you’ve always been kind of a mystery. Serious. Focused. All those long pauses and unreadable stares.”

Sheik raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying I’m difficult?”

“I’m saying you’re… hard to stop thinking about.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. Not a confession. Just a flicker of light.

Sheik didn’t flinch. But he was quiet for a long time.

Link rubbed at the back of his neck. “Anyway. That was a long time ago.”

“Was it?” Sheik asked, voice unreadable.

Link blinked. “What do you mean?”

Sheik didn’t answer. Just looked at him with that same calm gaze, as if reading every word he didn’t say.

Link laughed under his breath. “You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make me feel like I’ve already said too much.”

Another long pause.

Then Sheik said, softer, “You didn’t.”

Their eyes met for just a beat longer than they should have.

And then Link looked toward the tunnel.

“You think it gets easier from here?”

Sheik’s voice was dry. “No.”

Link muttered. “Just checking.”

But as they moved toward the passage together, side by side, something between them felt lighter.

Not finished.

But understood.

+++

The tunnel narrowed as they moved forward, the light from Sheik’s torch casting elongated shadows along the curved walls. The stone beneath their feet had changed again—smoother now, laced with veins of pale blue crystal that pulsed faintly as they passed, like a heartbeat beneath the earth.

The Gerudo woman walked slightly behind them, her steps light, eyes sharp.

None of them spoke.

Then the tunnel opened.

And they saw it.

The chamber was enormous—larger than anything they’d passed through so far. The ceiling arched impossibly high, supported by blackened columns etched with spiraling runes. Blue light trickled from cracks in the walls, reflecting off a massive pool of water in the center.

And there—hovering just above the water’s surface—

The Second Mask.

Not cracked like the first. Not dormant.

It floated motionless, pristine, radiating a soft, constant glow. Deep silver. Elegant and sharp.

But something about it felt… wrong.

Even the air around it vibrated slightly, like the room was trying to hold its breath.

Link stepped forward, slowly. “That’s it?”

“No,” Sheik said. “That’s not it.”

He walked forward too, until they stood at the edge of the pool.

“The first mask carried memory,” Sheik murmured. “This one…”

He trailed off.

The mask turned—rotated slowly in the air—as if reacting to his voice.

And then it spoke.

“Memory has been passed.”

“But now, the vessel must choose.”

The light from the pool deepened. A symbol flared beneath the water—the same mark glowing faintly on Sheik’s palm.

Link tensed. “It’s calling to you.”

“I know.”

The Gerudo woman stepped forward, cautious. “What does it mean, choose?”

But the chamber was silent again.

Sheik stared at the mask, his heart pounding in his chest—not from fear, but from certainty.

He could feel the mask’s pull. Not a demand.

A summons.

It didn’t want to control him.

It wanted to become part of him.

To fuse with the memories he carried. The truths he had touched.

To awaken.

Sheik stood at the edge of the water, the second mask hovering before him like a question.

Everything was still.

The only sounds were the quiet lap of water and the slow rhythm of his breathing.

Link hadn’t moved. He was watching Sheik closely, like the world might shift the second he reached out.

The Gerudo woman stood near one of the pillars, her hand resting lightly on a blade she hadn’t drawn yet.

And then—

A noise.

Low.

Metallic.

From above.

The ceiling—high and domed—began to tremble, dust drifting down in soft streams.

Link’s head snapped up. “What was that?”

The mask suddenly dimmed, as if retreating.

Then—

Stone cracked.

And the ceiling opened.

A shape dropped from above—huge and fast—a blur of motion and shadow and wrong.

It hit the ground hard, sending a shockwave through the floor that knocked all three of them back. Water sloshed violently from the pool, soaking their boots.

When the dust cleared—

They saw it.

Not a creature. Not quite a person. Something in between.

Its body was wrapped in tattered remnants of Sheikah robes, but its skin was cracked obsidian, glowing with deep red veins. Its face was hidden behind a twisted version of the same mask—but fused to its skull, half-melded, half-rotted.

It didn’t breathe.

But it watched.

And then it spoke.

Not with words—but in echoes.

“The second vessel was never meant to wake.”

“The first failed.”

Its eyes—two burning gold lights—locked on Sheik.

“You are the second.”

The creature stepped forward—slow, deliberate, each movement unnatural, like its limbs had forgotten how to be human. The red veins across its skin pulsed with sickly light, leaking heat and memory into the air.

Link drew his sword. “We’re not ready for this.”

“No,” Sheik agreed. “We’re not.”

The creature raised a hand—fingers curled like claws, energy building in its palm.

Sheik turned.

“Run!”

The mask—still hovering above the pool—flared bright once more, then sank into the water, vanishing beneath the surface.

The chamber began to shake.

A low groan echoed through the vault as a section of the far wall peeled open, revealing a narrow corridor leading down into pure black.

The creature shrieked—not a sound, but a wave of pressure, like grief and rage wrapped around bone. It lunged forward.

Link grabbed Sheik’s arm and shoved him toward the exit. “Go!”

The Gerudo woman was already ahead, pulling a hidden blade from her belt to slash down a thick strand of binding cloth that had unfurled from one of the pillars. “Move!”

They ran.

Behind them, the vault collapsed in bursts—columns falling, the pool boiling, light pulsing from the cracks in the floor.

The tunnel ahead was steep, slick with old moss and dust, the air damp and sharp. They slid, half-running, half-falling, deeper and deeper beneath the city’s heart.

No one spoke.

There was only the sound of breath, boots on stone, and the ever-fading roar of the thing they’d left behind.

+++

They collapsed into a small stone alcove—barely large enough to stand in—sealed from above by a hidden mechanism triggered by the Gerudo woman’s quick hands.

Silence.

Darkness.

The sound of the vault collapsing behind them became a distant rumble. Then nothing.

Link leaned against the wall, catching his breath. “You good?”

Sheik nodded—but didn’t speak.

He was still staring into the dark.

Still feeling the mask.

Its presence.

Its warning.

Its invitation.

You are the second.

+++

The stone passage ahead was narrow, damp, and uneven. The walls pulsed faintly with the same dull-blue veins they’d seen earlier, but dimmer now, as if the vault’s collapse had drained the energy from the city itself.

Link lit a small torch from the last embers of the one they carried, the flame low and flickering. Its light only reached a few feet ahead.

They walked in silence.

No one said anything about what had just happened.

No one had to.

The mask’s voice still echoed in Sheik’s mind.

“The first failed.”
“You are the second.”

His hand twitched against the hilt of his blade. Not from fear.

From certainty.

Link glanced at him now and then but said nothing. His presence was quiet, steady. A grounding weight beside him.

The Gerudo woman walked behind them, eyes sharp, watching the walls. “These markings,” she murmured. “They’re deeper now. Older. This layer wasn’t meant to be reached.”

Link frowned. “What does that mean?”

She didn’t answer.

Because she didn’t know.

They stepped through a low arch and into a narrow corridor lined with what looked like altars—small stone slabs, each with a different symbol carved into it. Sheikah. Gerudo. And others, barely decipherable.

There were offerings on some of them.

Old things.

Rusted blades. Empty vials. Masks made of wood, long since split down the middle. A dried flower. A burned scroll.

The air was heavy with meaning.

Sheik slowed, his fingers brushing one of the altars.

“This wasn’t a city,” he whispered. “It was a sanctuary.”

Link looked around. “For what?”

Sheik glanced over his shoulder.

“For people like me.”

At the far end stood a set of stone doors—taller than anything they’d seen so far. Carved with two mask-like sigils, locked in mirrored positions. One cracked. One whole.

The doors were sealed by a mechanism—Sheikah in design, but damaged.

Sheik stepped closer.

The mark on his palm pulsed.

The mechanism responded—barely.

A hum. A flicker of light.

Then: silence.

“It’s not enough,” he said. “I don’t have what it needs.”

Link came to his side. “Then what do we do?”

Sheik stared at the twin sigils.

And something in him whispered:

The answer isn’t outside. It’s what you’ve carried all along.

He looked at Link.

Then at the door.

And pressed both hands to the stone.

The chamber hummed.

Low at first.

Then deeper.

A vibration ran through the floor, up their legs, into their bones.

Link stepped back, hand on his sword. “Sheik…”

The doors did not open.

Instead—

The light pooled between the twin sigils. It gathered, spiraling outward into a perfect circle of gold, then cracked like glass.

And something stepped through.

Not from behind the doors.

But from beneath the stone.

The ground split open at the threshold, dust exploding upward as a figure rose—not walking, but lifted by something unseen. It was tall. Wrapped in fragments of armor and dark cloth. Its face was a mirror-mask—shimmering, shifting, showing flickers of Sheik’s face, then Link’s, then something neither of them recognized.

It opened its arms.

Not in greeting.

In judgment.

The Gerudo woman gasped. “That’s a shadow vessel.”

“A what?” Link asked, already moving to stand between it and Sheik.

“A guardian. A reflection of what the vessel could become. If they lose themselves.”

The creature's mask shifted—back to Sheik’s face. His own eyes stared back at him.

And it spoke—a dozen voices, layered and broken.

“To go forward, you must know your end.”

“You must face the version of you that forgets who he fought for.”

“Who he loved.”

The air went sharp. Cold.

Sheik drew his blade, slowly, carefully.

And whispered, “I remember.”

The shadow vessel lunged, blade in hand, its face still flickering with Sheik’s reflection—but wrong. Too sharp. Too cold. A version of him carved down to purpose and nothing else.

Sheik stepped forward to meet it.

But before Link could move with him, a wall of light surged up between them, cutting the chamber in half.

Link slammed into it, hard. “Sheik!”

“Sheik!” the Gerudo woman shouted from behind him. “It’s a trial—!”

Sheik didn’t turn.

He only drew his blade and stepped into the circle of light surrounding the creature.

The doors loomed behind them.

The trial had begun.

+++

The world dimmed at the edges. Everything outside the circle faded into blur and silence. Just him. Just the shadow.

Just the version of himself he never wanted to become.

It stood tall, mask flickering with cold eyes. It moved like him. Held its blade like him. But when it smiled—there was nothing behind it.

“You fight for him,” it said.

Sheik’s pulse jumped.

The creature circled him.

“You followed him. Chose him. Longed for him.”

It struck—blindingly fast.

Sheik barely blocked. Sparks rang out as their blades clashed.

“But you never said it,” the shadow spat. “Because you feared it would make you weak.”

Another strike—harder. Sheik stumbled, catching his balance again.

“You let him guess,” the voice mocked, low and echoing. “You buried your heart behind missions and masks.”

Their swords met again, crackling with energy.

“You think devotion is strength. But it’s a leash.”

Sheik struck back now—fluid, sharp, precise.

“No,” he hissed. “It’s a choice.”

The shadow grinned with his own face. “And what happens when he dies? What happens when you’re too late, like you always are?”

Sheik faltered.

The blade caught his side—just a graze, but enough.

The shadow pressed in close.

“He’ll never know how much you loved him.”

+++

Link pounded his fist against the barrier. “Let me in!”

“Sheik!” he shouted. “Don’t listen to it! You’re not—you’re not that!”

But the light held.

And all he could do was watch.

+++

Sheik’s breath was ragged now. Sweat beading down his brow. His blade trembled slightly in his hand.

The shadow raised its weapon again.

“Tell him,” it whispered. “Or die never having said it.”

Sheik’s grip tightened.

And this time—he stepped forward first.

He struck fast and clean, knocking the shadow’s blade wide.

“I don’t have to say it,” Sheik said through gritted teeth. “Because he already knows.”

He slashed across the shadow’s chest.

Another strike. And another.

He plunged his blade into the shadow’s chest—

And for the first time, the creature looked surprised.

Then—

It shattered.

The barrier of light vanished.

Link stumbled forward just as Sheik fell to one knee.

“Sheik!” he caught him by the shoulders.

Sheik looked up at him, panting.

“I’m okay,” he whispered.

Link didn’t speak. Just gripped his arm tightly.

Behind them, the twin doors opened with a soft hiss, revealing a dark stair descending into silence.

The next layer.

The final layer.

Chapter Text

The twin doors creaked open, stone groaning under ancient weight. Beyond them, a spiral staircase disappeared into a black so deep the torchlight dared not follow.

The air felt wrong—too still. Too final.

Sheik stepped back from the threshold, chest still rising and falling from the battle he'd just won. The ghost of his shadow still lingered in his limbs, in his breath, in the shake he wouldn’t let anyone see.

He barely had time to blink before—

Link grabbed him.

Arms, shoulders, him—Link barreled into Sheik like he couldn’t hold it in one more second.

And then—

He kissed him.

Hard.

Not careful. Not slow.

Like he'd been holding it in for days—years.

His breath was fast, chest heaving. His hands gripped Sheik’s shoulders tight, grounding himself.

Sheik froze, just for a moment.

But only a moment.

Then he returned it, anchoring them both in that kiss, in that silence, in the moment they’d both needed.

When they broke apart, Link’s voice came out rough and low, barely more than a whisper:

“I thought I was going to lose you.”

Sheik’s hand came up slowly, steady, brushing against Link’s jaw.

“You didn’t.”

“I know,” Link said. “But gods, Sheik—watching you go in there alone…”

He trailed off.

And Sheik, always quiet, always calm, leaned in again—not for another kiss, but just to press their foreheads together.

“You’re not going to lose me,” he said softly.

Not a promise. A vow.

Link let out a breath. He still hadn’t let go.

After a long, quiet moment, he finally stepped back—but only slightly.

Their hands brushed as he turned toward the stairs.

“This isn’t the end,” he said.

“No,” Sheik agreed. “But it’s close.”

The stairs spiraled down forever.

The stone beneath their feet grew colder with each step, slick with dampness and threaded through with those familiar glowing veins—only now, they pulsed steadily, as though syncing with a heartbeat.

A heartbeat that wasn’t theirs.

No one spoke.

There was no need.

Their hands brushed now and then as they walked. A small, steady contact in the dark.

After what felt like hours—or minutes—they reached the bottom.

The staircase opened into a chamber unlike anything above it.

It wasn’t stone anymore.

It was obsidian—polished, black, endless. The walls shimmered like water, rippling faintly as if reacting to their presence.

The ceiling curved like a dome, impossibly high.

In the center of the room was a pedestal.

Floating just above it—

A third mask.

Unshaped.

Incomplete.

But pulsing.

Not with memory.

Not with power.

With will.

Sheik stepped forward, slowly, eyes locked on it. The mark on his palm glowed brightly now, casting light up his sleeve.

Link stayed close, one hand resting near the hilt of his sword, the other at his side—open. Ready. Whatever came next, he wasn’t letting Sheik face it alone.

The Gerudo woman stopped just behind them, her breath catching.

“This isn’t a city,” she whispered. “It’s a vessel.”

Sheik reached the pedestal.

The mask hovered higher now, rotating slowly, glowing gold and silver and something darker at the edges.

Then a voice filled the chamber—not from around them, but from within them.

“The vessel endures.”

“The memory is passed.”

“The will remains.”

The mask flared.

“Sheik of the Hidden. Do you accept your role as the final vessel?”

Link took a step forward, heart pounding. “Wait—what does that mean?”

But Sheik… didn’t answer.

He stared at the mask.

At the reflection in its surface—not just his face.

“Sheik of the Hidden. Do you accept your role as the final vessel?”

The light in the room pulsed once—like a held breath.

Link stepped closer, eyes darting between the mask and Sheik. “Sheik…”

But Sheik didn’t look at him.

He stared into the mask.

He saw himself in it. His own reflection twisted and warped by everything he’d been trained to be. Everything he’d been afraid to want. His silence. His obedience. His sacrifice.

And for the first time, he felt furious.

Not at the mask.

At the story it was trying to force him into.

His voice, when it came, was calm. Clear.

“No.”

The mask flared violently, golden light shattering outward like cracking glass.

“You must.”

Sheik took a step forward.

“I don’t.”

“You were shaped for this. Forged to carry what others could not.”

“I’m not a container,” Sheik said, louder now. “I’m not your memory. I’m not your silence.”

He looked over his shoulder.

At Link.

And for the first time in his life, he let the choice show on his face.

“I’m mine.”

The chamber shook. The obsidian walls rippled violently now, rejecting his answer.

The mask’s glow surged, unstable.

“Then you break the cycle.”

“You end the memory.”

“You end us.”

Sheik stared at the mask, still and unshaken.

“Good.”

He reached out—

And closed his hand around it.

The mask shattered in his grip.

Not into pieces.

Into light.

A burst of gold and silver and shadowless white surged through the room like a flood, knocking them all back.

Link hit the ground hard, breath gone.

The Gerudo woman shielded her face with her arm, staggering.

And in the center of it all—

Sheik stood.

No voices.

No echoes.

Just Sheik, breathing hard, staring at where the pedestal had been.

Link rose slowly and crossed the space between them. “You did it.”

Sheik didn’t answer at first. He turned to him.

And smiled—just a little.

The mask’s light had vanished, gone like it had never existed.

The pedestal crumbled.

Silence fell like dust.

And in the center of the chamber—Sheik stood alone, shoulders heaving, one hand open at his side, glowing faintly before dimming out. He wasn’t moving.

Just breathing.

Slow.

Heavy.

Still.

Link didn’t wait.

He ran.

Boots echoing across the obsidian floor, heart pounding harder than it had even during the trial. All he could think was he’s standing but that doesn’t mean he’s okay.

“Sheik!”

He reached him and caught his arms—gripping tight, steadying him.

“Sheik—look at me. Are you—are you with me?”

Sheik blinked slowly, as if coming back from somewhere far away.

His gaze found Link’s.

And the tension dropped from his shoulders all at once.

“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m still here.”

Link’s grip tightened. “You scared me.”

“I scared myself.”

And suddenly, Link just pulled him in—arms wrapped around him tight, fierce, grounding.

Sheik didn’t hesitate.

He let himself lean in, let his hands find Link’s back, let the weight of the decision, the history, the choice, melt into that embrace.

No mask.

No prophecy.

Just warmth. And heartbeat. And Link.

“You’re really okay?” Link asked again, quieter now, like he didn’t want to let go until he was sure.

Sheik nodded, forehead resting against Link’s shoulder.

“I am now.”

The chamber was still, hollow now, like an ancient breath had finally exhaled for the last time.

Sheik pulled away from Link slowly, fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. His expression was calm now—but softer. Freer.

The silence was deep, but no longer oppressive.

Behind them, the Gerudo woman stepped forward, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

"You destroyed it,” she said. Not a question.

“I ended it,” Sheik replied. “The cycle’s broken.”

She studied him for a long, quiet moment. Then nodded.

“Good,” she said. “It was time.”

Link tilted his head, frowning. “You always knew more than you said. Why help us?”

She looked at him now—really looked. Then, without a word, reached up.

And pulled back her hood.

She was younger than she seemed. No older than them, really. Her hair was braided in the old way—silver rings at the ends. Her face was marked not just with the traditional Gerudo tattoos, but with one unfamiliar sigil above her brow.

A Sheikah eye, half-crossed.

“My name is Aresh,” she said. “I’m not just a soldier. I was raised by both bloodlines.”

She glanced at Sheik. “You and I are rarer than we know.”

She turned, nodding toward the dark tunnel. “Come. It’s a long way up.”

The journey back was quieter.

Aresh led them with quiet confidence, moving through hidden paths and patrol lines with ease. When they reached the edge of Gerudo territory, the guards didn’t challenge her.

They bowed.

When they arrived at the prison once more—this time from the front—the interrogator was waiting.

She looked older in the sunlight. But no less sharp.

“You returned,” she said, arms folded. “With answers, I hope.”

Aresh stepped forward.

“They did more than that,” she said. “They stopped what we forgot. And they deserve to be heard.”

The interrogator looked between them—then nodded slowly.

“Then speak,” she said.

The sun had dipped behind the canyon walls, casting the whole valley in deep gold and flame-orange light. The Gerudo stronghold—once grim and closed-off—now pulsed with music, movement, and the smoky scent of grilled meats and sweet spice.

Torches lined the paths. Silk banners snapped in the breeze. A firepit roared at the center of the courtyard, where dancers spun to the rhythm of drums and flutes. The sky above was cloudless, stars just starting to break through the dusk.

And at the center of it all—

Link and Sheik.

No chains.

No shadows.

Just victory, and the heat of celebration.

Link had shed his armor for lighter clothes, desert-toned and sleeveless. He leaned back on one arm, a drink in hand, watching the dancers with a crooked grin. A half-eaten plate of food balanced precariously beside him.

Sheik sat nearby—closer than necessary. His posture was relaxed for once, cloak thrown over his lap, one boot propped up on a worn stone. He hadn’t touched the drink in his hand. Not really. He was watching Link.

Link caught him.

“What?” he said, a faint laugh in his voice. “You’re staring.”

Sheik didn’t look away. Not this time.

“Just thinking how much easier this would’ve been if you weren’t so reckless.”

Link smirked. “And boring, if you weren’t so uptight.”

Sheik hummed. “Mm. You kiss like someone who doesn’t plan ahead.”

That shut Link up for a beat.

He blinked.

Then flushed, just a little, and looked away toward the fire, trying to hide the grin spreading across his face.

“Oh,” he said, low. “So that’s how we’re playing it.”

Sheik tilted his head, lips curving into a small, dangerous smile.

“Just saying,” he murmured, “next time, let me lead.”

Link nearly dropped his drink.

“You’re feeling bold tonight.”

“I’m alive,” Sheik said simply. “And with you.”

The noise of the celebration swelled around them—laughter, clapping, music—but it all faded for a moment into something slower, quieter, warmer.

Link looked at him, really looked.

“You know,” he said, voice rougher now, “if you’re not careful, people might start thinking you like me.”

Sheik leaned in slightly, his voice barely audible beneath the drums.

“Let them.”

The feast had dwindled into soft laughter and low conversations. The fire still crackled in the courtyard, casting long shadows against sandstone walls, but most had drifted off to rest. The stars above were sharp and clear.

The interrogator—kinder now, respectful in a way she hadn’t been before—had offered them private rooms in the guest wing of the stronghold. Cool, spacious, and quiet. A gift.

Link’s room was simple: a low bed layered with woven blankets, a table with dried fruit and water, a basin of cool rose-scented water for washing. It should have felt peaceful.

It didn’t.

He lay on his back, one arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling. The adrenaline had long since worn off, but his thoughts hadn’t slowed. Not since the mask. Not since the kiss. Not since the way Sheik had looked at him tonight like everything had changed.

Because it had.

Link exhaled slowly.

Then got up.

Sheik's door was shut, but unlocked.

Link hesitated for a heartbeat.

Then pushed it open.

Sheik was awake. Sitting on the edge of the bed, still half-dressed, one boot off, the other forgotten. His hair was loose around his shoulders, his head tilted slightly like he’d been listening to something only he could hear.

He looked up when Link stepped inside.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t speak.

Link shut the door behind him.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said simply.

Sheik gave the faintest smile. “Neither could I.”

Link took a few steps forward. The room was smaller than his, darker. It smelled like desert wind and sage. Safe.

“Wasn’t sure if I should come,” Link added, quieter now.

Sheik looked at him fully, calm and steady and a little softer than usual.

“Were you hoping I’d say no?”

Link paused.

Then shook his head.

Sheik stood.

Slowly.

And walked up to him, stopping just a breath away.

“You came anyway.”

Link swallowed. “You want me to leave?”

“No.”

A pause.

Then—deliberately, carefully—Sheik reached up, fingers brushing the edge of Link’s collarbone.

“Stay.”

The candles had burned low.

The desert wind whispered faintly at the window, brushing through the sheer fabric curtains like a ghost just passing through. The room was quiet—warm with layered shadows and the soft rise and fall of breath.

They lay on the bed, skin to skin.

No armor. No cloaks. Just the heat of the night air and the steady, grounding weight of each other.

Link was on his side, one hand beneath his head, the other resting gently against the dip of Sheik’s waist. His eyes were half-lidded, relaxed in a way that didn’t come easily. Not even after battle. Not even after victory.

Sheik lay facing him, close enough to feel each exhale. His fingers lightly trailed up Link’s back in slow, absent strokes. Not trying to soothe. Not trying to tease. Just… there.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Sheik murmured.

Link’s voice was quiet, sleep-warm. “I was already halfway down the hall before I convinced myself to hesitate.”

A soft huff of amusement.

“You always hesitate,” Sheik said.

“Not when it matters.”

Silence fell again—but it was a good silence. A full one.

Sheik leaned in just a little closer, his nose brushing the curve of Link’s cheek.

“You’re warm,” he said.

Link smiled, eyes still closed. “So are you.”

Another pause.

Then Sheik whispered, voice almost shy beneath the strength of it:

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Link opened his eyes, soft and steady. “You’re not.”

And then—very gently—he leaned in and kissed Sheik again.

Slower this time. Less heat. More weight. Like something sealing itself in place.

When they finally broke apart, neither pulled away.

Sheik rested his forehead against Link’s.

And together, beneath the stars, wrapped in quiet and breath and each other, they drifted into sleep.

Sunlight spilled softly into the room, filtered through the woven curtains and catching on the edge of the sheets like gold-dusted warmth. The heat of the day hadn’t arrived yet. It was still quiet—the kind of quiet that only comes after something has ended.

Link stirred first.

His eyes blinked open to a curtain of pale hair against his shoulder, a soft breath at his throat. Sheik had shifted in the night and was now curled into him, one arm slung loosely across his chest, one leg tangled with his.

Link didn’t move.

Didn’t want to.

For once, there was nothing pressing. No urgent task. No voice whispering destiny in his ear.

Only this.

Only Sheik.

He brushed a hand lightly down Sheik’s back, slow and absent, until he felt the slightest shift of breath—a soft, sleepy inhale.

“You’re staring,” Sheik murmured, voice thick and drowsy.

“You’re warm,” Link replied, echoing last night’s words with a half-smile.

A beat passed and Sheik gave up, relaxing into the bed with Link.

Their bags were packed. Supplies loaded. The sun now fully risen over the canyon walls. Heat shimmered across the sand, but the wind was kind.

Aresh stood waiting near the stone archway that marked the outer gate.

She wore her cloak again, hood drawn low, but she pushed it back when they approached. Her expression was calm—measured, as always—but there was something else in her eyes now.

Something softer.

Sheik stepped forward first. “You saved us. More than once.”

Aresh shrugged lightly. “You did most of the work.”

“Still,” Link said, coming to stand beside him. “Thank you.”

Aresh looked between them for a moment. Then smiled.

“I’d say it was an honor,” she said, “but I think the honor was watching the two of you finally get your act together.”

Link blinked. “Wait—”

“You’re subtle,” she added, “but not that subtle.”

Sheik, to Link’s utter betrayal, didn’t even deny it. He just let the faintest smirk tug at the edge of his mouth.

Aresh stepped forward and placed a hand briefly on Sheik’s arm.

“You broke the cycle,” she said. “Don’t let anyone ever pull you back into it.”

“I won’t,” Sheik said, quietly. “I’m not alone this time.”

They nodded to each other—something heavier and more permanent in the gesture than words could carry.

Then Aresh stepped back.

“The desert owes you,” she said. “Travel safely.”

Link gave her a two-fingered salute and Sheik lingered for one more second—just long enough to glance back at the stronghold, then at Aresh—and then joined Link without a word.

Chapter Text

The golden grass of Hyrule Field stretched endlessly before them, rippling in the breeze like the surface of a great, sunlit sea. Wildflowers dotted the slopes in small bursts of purple and yellow, and the skies above were open and impossibly blue.

Link and Sheik rode side by side.

No rush. No map. No whispers from beneath the earth.

Just quiet.

The good kind.

The kind they hadn’t known in a long time.

The kind they’d earned.

Link had his boots out of the stirrups, reins held loose as he leaned back slightly in the saddle. He looked content—relaxed in a way Sheik had never really seen before. His shoulders weren’t braced for impact. His hands weren’t twitching toward his sword.

It made Sheik smile.

“You’re in a good mood,” he said, tone light.

Link tilted his head toward him. “We’re not being chased, cursed, interrogated, or haunted. Feels like a win.”

Sheik hummed. “Kakariko’s only half a day away. Should be there before sunset if we keep this pace.”

“Good,” Link said, nudging his horse a little closer. “I want a bed that doesn’t feel like sandpaper.”

“You mean you want one you don’t have to share with me?”

Link turned to him, eyes gleaming.

“Oh, I didn’t say that.”

Sheik huffed softly through his nose, shaking his head—but he didn’t look away.

The wind picked up for a moment, warm and soft, brushing through Sheik’s hair, tugging at Link’s tunic.

And then, in a voice just above the breeze, Link said, “You’re different now.”

Sheik’s gaze flicked toward him.

“How so?”

“You let me see you.”

Sheik didn’t answer right away. Then:

“I think I was waiting for someone who’d actually look.”

Link grinned.

“Guess you’re stuck with me now.”

A pause.

Then Sheik reached out—carefully—and rested his gloved hand over Link’s.

Just for a second.

But long enough.

“No,” he said. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

The fields stretched wide around them, golden with late sunlight, the wind moving through the tall grass in lazy waves. The sky above was clear and endless, the kind of blue that made everything feel a little easier, a little lighter.

Link and Sheik walked side by side along the dirt path.

No rush. No looming threat. Just the sound of their boots brushing the road, the occasional chirp of birds, and the quiet comfort between them.

Their cloaks fluttered behind them, the weight of travel still in their bones—but it no longer pressed down on their shoulders. Now it just moved with them.

Link was a step ahead, hands tucked behind his head, a lopsided smile tugging at his mouth as he looked out over the horizon.

“You’re in a good mood,” Sheik said, glancing sideways at him.

Link grinned. “We’re not being chased, cursed, interrogated, or haunted. I’d say that’s cause for celebration.”

“Mm.” Sheik looked ahead again. “Kakariko’s not far. Should reach it before sunset.”

“Perfect,” Link said. “I want a bath. And a bed. And a plate of something I didn’t cook over a fire with a stick.”

Sheik smirked. “Spoiled.”

“I saved the world again,” Link shot back. “I’ve earned it.”

Their hands brushed as they walked.

Just a little.

And neither of them moved away.

After a while, Link spoke again—quieter now. “You’re different.”

Sheik didn’t turn, but his posture shifted, listening.

“How so?”

Link shrugged, then looked over at him. “You let me see more of you. Not just the part that fights. Or hides.”

Sheik’s voice was quiet. “I think I was waiting for someone who wouldn’t look away.”

Link slowed.

So did Sheik.

Their eyes met.

And Link reached out—fingers brushing, then finding Sheik’s hand. Their palms pressed together, warm and steady.

The village was calm beneath the mountain shadow, its winding paths lined with lanterns that swayed gently in the breeze. The scent of cooking fires and fresh herbs drifted through the air, mingling with the sounds of villagers going about their day—talking, working, laughing.

Link and Sheik sat outside the local tavern on a low stone wall, a small spread of food between them—warm flatbread, skewered vegetables, grilled meat, and a little clay pot of something spicy that Link had already declared a personal triumph.

Sunlight poured down gently, filtered through the overhang of ivy-covered roofs. Somewhere nearby, a child was laughing. A dog barked twice, then fell silent again.

They ate without urgency.

Link tore off a piece of bread with his teeth, chewing lazily, boots kicked out in front of him. He nudged Sheik lightly with his elbow.

“This is better than salted fish and trail dust.”

Sheik nodded in agreement, picking at a skewer. “And the view’s improved.”

Link looked at him, then grinned. “Talking about me?”

“No,” Sheik said dryly. “The mountain.”

Link snorted and tossed a grape at him. Sheik caught it, effortlessly.

They settled back into the warmth, the breeze brushing through their hair.

There was nothing waiting. No one watching. Just the easy rhythm of a quiet day in a village that had no idea what they’d survived.

Link leaned back on his hands, eyes closed. “We should stay a few days.”

Sheik didn’t answer right away.

Then: “We can stay as long as you want.”

Link turned his head, looking over at him.

“You mean that?”

Sheik met his gaze. “You’re not the only one who’s tired of running.”

A pause.

Then Link smiled—soft, real, and a little bit awed.

He looked back out over the village.

And for the first time in a long, long while, he didn’t think about what came next.

The outdoor bathhouse was tucked behind the tavern—simple, but clean and quiet, nestled between tall hedges and shaded by a canopy of linen cloth strung from wooden poles. Steam drifted up from the heated stone basin, and buckets of warm water sat nearby for rinsing.

It wasn’t exactly private, but it was peaceful.

Link had gone first.

Sheik sat on a bench just outside the shower area, drying his hair with a cloth and trying not to look too obviously smug when Link emerged, dripping and shirtless, toweling off with slow, lazy movements that definitely weren’t for practical reasons.

Link caught him staring and raised an eyebrow.

“Admiring the view?” he asked, voice low and teasing.

Sheik didn’t flinch. “Just evaluating.”

“Oh yeah?” Link slung the towel around his neck, water still glistening down his chest. “And what’s the verdict?”

Sheik stood, calm as ever, stepping close as he passed by to trade places. He paused just long enough to lean in and murmur near Link’s ear:

“More freckles than I expected.”

Link sputtered, flushing, and Sheik—absolutely pleased with himself—disappeared into the steam.

“You’re impossible,” Link called after him.

“You’re the one who forgot to bring a second towel,” Sheik called back.

A beat.

Then Sheik poked his head out again, eyes gleaming just slightly.

“You could always join me.”

Link froze, halfway through toweling his hair.

“…You’re joking.”

“Am I?”

Link stared at him, completely thrown off balance, until Sheik ducked back behind the curtain with a faint, maddening smile.

Link blinked at the curtain.

Then grinned.

The rest of the day passed with little fanfare.

No one stopped them in the street. No ancient stones called out. No messengers arrived with news of doom.

Just quiet.

The kind that settled into the bones.

After the bath, they wandered through the village—barefoot, slow, relaxed in a way neither had ever allowed themselves to be. They bought fresh bread from a baker who didn’t know their names. Split fruit from a market stall. Watched the lanterns flicker on, one by one, as the sun slipped behind the mountain.

They didn’t talk about what came next.

Didn’t need to.

Their shoulders bumped occasionally as they walked. Sheik stole a bite of Link’s bread without asking. Link elbowed him gently in return and got a rare smile for it—small and real.

They sat near the stream for a while, boots in their hands, letting the water rush cool over their feet. The stars came out slowly overhead, quiet witnesses to a day that asked nothing of them.

At some point, Link leaned back on the grass with a contented sigh.

“You know,” he said, “we could stay.”

Sheik didn’t answer immediately.

He didn’t have to.

He just laid down beside him, one arm folded behind his head, the other brushing lightly against Link’s.

And together, under a sky that no longer demanded anything from them, they let the day slip into night.

Still.

Soft.

And entirely their own.

The village slept below them—quiet and still, wrapped in the hush of mountain wind and flickering lantern light.

But on the flat rooftop of the tavern, where the stone still held the warmth of the sun, Link and Sheik sat close.

Too close for anything to be casual.

The stars burned above in brilliant silence, but Link wasn’t really looking at them. He leaned back on his elbows, letting the breeze wash over him, breathing slow, eyes half-lidded. He was tired—but not enough to miss the way Sheik was watching him.

Not the quiet glances from earlier.

Not shy.

Hungry.

Sheik sat cross-legged, close enough their thighs almost touched. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were sharp, fixed on Link like he was memorizing the way the starlight traced across his skin.

“You’re staring,” Link said, a little breathless already.

Sheik didn’t flinch. Didn’t play it off.

He leaned in—just slightly.

“I know.”

Link blinked.

Then Sheik moved.

Smooth. Controlled. Deliberate.

He shifted onto his knees and came closer, one hand bracing near Link’s hip as he leaned over him. His other hand—bare—slid up Link’s chest, slow and open-palmed, tracing the line of muscle through the soft fabric of his shirt.

Link exhaled, sharp and quiet.

“Sheik—”

Sheik silenced him with a kiss.

Not tentative.

Not waiting.

Bold.

Full of every word he hadn’t spoken until now.

Link’s hand gripped Sheik’s arm as he kissed back, lips parting, meeting heat for heat. His pulse thudded in his throat, and still, Sheik didn’t pull away.

When he finally did, it was just far enough to speak against Link’s mouth.

“I’ve wanted this,” he whispered, breath hot against Link’s lips. “Every time you looked at me like you were too scared to want me back.”

Link swallowed hard. “I wasn’t scared.”

Sheik smirked, barely.

“No?”

His hand moved lower, down Link’s side, slow and confident.

“Then stop holding back.”

Link let out a soft laugh—half-strangled, full of disbelief. “Who are you right now?”

Sheik kissed the corner of his mouth, then his jaw.

“Still me,” he murmured. “Just done waiting.”

Link reached up and pulled him in again—harder this time.

And the stars above turned on, distant and cold.

But down here, on the rooftop, it was all heat.

And no space left between them.

They barely made it down the stairs.

Their hair was mussed, lips red, shirts untucked. Boots half-laced. Hands not where hands should be—not when trying to walk straight. Sheik’s cloak was hanging off one shoulder, Link’s belt was somewhere between undone and forgotten.

They stumbled into the tavern’s side entrance, quiet and dim, pressing into each other like gravity had reversed—like the space between them had never been real.

By the time they reached the door to their shared room, Sheik had Link pressed against the frame, breathing heavy against his neck.

Link found the doorknob with one hand.

The other was curled tight in Sheik’s shirt.

The door creaked open.

They didn’t stop.

They kissed through the threshold—off balance, laughing breathlessly between lips and touches—until the door swung shut behind them with a muted thud.

It was dark inside, moonlight streaming in through the window. Peaceful, once.

Now: not so much.

A boot hit the floor. Then another.

Blankets were kicked aside. One of the pillows made a quiet thump as it hit the far wall. A low laugh. A hiss of breath.

Link had Sheik pinned now—against the side of the bed, hand in his hair, the other at the small of his back, dragging him close with the kind of slow confidence that came from finally, finally having permission.

Sheik didn’t pull away.

Didn’t hide.

Didn’t hesitate.

Link kissed him like he meant it—deep, messy, sure.

They didn’t speak.

They didn’t need to.

The room filled with heat and the sounds of rustling fabric, shifting weight, the scrape of wood, and the kind of tension that doesn’t ask permission.

Link's hands found Sheik’s waist, pulling him in, and their mouths met again—hotter now. Less careful. Less patient.

Sheik pushed Link back, guiding him until his knees hit the bed. Link sank down, breath catching, eyes wide and dark.

Sheik stood above him, just long enough to yank off his shirt and toss it somewhere unseen. Link’s gaze dropped—his throat worked once.

“Is this the part,” Link murmured, “where you act in control?”

Sheik leaned in, bracing a knee on the mattress beside him, lips brushing his ear. “I’ve been in control all night.”

Link shivered.

And then pulled him down with a grin that burned.

They hit the bed together, a tangle of limbs and half-whispers and desperate mouths. The mattress groaned beneath them. The blankets were no match for what they were doing to each other.

Clothes vanished piece by piece, somewhere between kisses that turned into gasps, and fingers that knew where to go.

It was fire.

It was weightless.

It was the kind of heat that made memory blur.

The room became a storm.

The bed shifted against the wall. The sheets hit the floor. One of them sent a lamp spinning and had to pause just long enough to laugh through a breathless, stunned grin before being pulled back into another kiss.

Link’s hands roamed.

Sheik’s teeth scraped.

Everything was touch and breath and the kind of tension that had simmered for so long, it snapped loose and took everything with it.

The window was open now, and the night wind brushed cool across their skin. The moonlight stretched across the sheets—what was left of them.

The room was a disaster.

Boots in opposite corners. Clothes inside-out on the floor. A pillow near the window. The water basin half-spilled.

And in the middle of the bed, tangled together, Link and Sheik finally lay still.

Their legs were a mess of knots. Link’s hand rested over Sheik’s chest, his thumb tracing lazy circles across warm skin. Sheik’s fingers were tangled in Link’s hair, light, slow, grounding.

Neither of them spoke.

Not at first.

Because there was nothing they needed to say.

Eventually, Link whispered, almost sheepish, “You’re going to gloat about this, aren’t you?”

Sheik exhaled a soft laugh. “Only when you deserve it.”

“I never deserved this.”

Sheik turned his head, kissed Link’s temple.

“You did.”

The sky turned from indigo to peach as the sun crested the mountains, casting long, golden fingers across the rooftops. Light spilled through the open window of their room, catching on the curve of Link’s shoulder where it peeked from under the blanket.

The mess of the night before was still there—boots, clothes, the tangle of sheets—but it had settled into stillness now. Like the room itself was content to rest.

Sheik lay half on his side, one arm draped over Link’s waist, his face relaxed in a way few had ever seen. No tension. No mask. Just breath, soft and even.

Link stirred first.

Not abruptly—just enough to shift, stretch, and let out a low sigh that came from the kind of sleep he didn’t get nearly often enough.

He turned his head and smiled.

Sheik was already watching him.

“Morning,” Link murmured.

“Mm,” Sheik replied, voice rough with sleep. “It is.”

They didn’t move.

Didn’t need to.

Outside, the village was just starting to wake. A merchant’s bell rang softly in the distance. A bird sang somewhere near the well.

But inside—

They were in no rush.

Link reached up, brushing a bit of Sheik’s hair away from his face. His fingers lingered at his temple, then trailed down along his jaw.

“Do you think it’ll always be like this?” he asked.

Sheik closed his eyes for a second. Then opened them again.

“No,” he said honestly. “But I think we’ll always come back to this.”

Link smiled. “That’s enough.”

They lay there a little longer, wrapped in the golden hush of morning.

And when they finally rose—stretching, dressing, stealing one last kiss—they did it not because they had to.

But because the world was waiting for them.

Together.