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Sidon remembers, clear as crystal, the day he challenged Vah Ruta for… something.
He had been an adolescent—not as young as he’d been at Calamity’s onset, but not as old as he was now, either. He’d been full of anger and hurt then, too, finally old enough to understand what had really happened to his dearest sister aboard that wretched behemoth and sure as fire that he could do something about it.
When Calamity had struck and Vah Ruta had been seized, the Beast in its distress had wandered wildly around from its spot above the Zodobon Highlands down to the reservoir, where it had remained after the end of the world had been put on pause by the princess in Hyrule Castle, and until Link had defeated the shard of Ganon that had plagued it.
And it had been a stormy night some decades ago when Sidon had stood on the dock of the reservoir, a slightly too big Zora Spear clutched tightly in his hands and a rare scowl marring his face as he had stared down the inert machine, dark and silent.
Truth be told, if you asked him now, he would admit that he’d no idea what he had truly intended to do. Defeat the Beast? Pilot it himself?
Save his sister?
He was angry, and grieving, and had been possessed by the arrogance and audacity only found in young people who were too old to be considered a child yet too young to be considered an adult- those who believed they could take on the world and win.
He would also admit that he didn’t really remember much of the actual incident himself; trying to recall it is like trying to put together a broken record stone from half of its shards.
Diving into dark waters, freezing enough that they make the metal spear on his back feel warm-
Feeling a hum vibrate through the abyss, sinister and cold, sickly magenta lights flickering on as he gets close-
Pain, pain in his chest from his misjudged leap out of the water and onto the thing’s back, spear slipping out of its harness and plummeting to the depths below-
Falling into open space as the summoned shield disappears, a scream ripping from his throat-
A terrible trumpeting cry cutting through blackness, picking his head up from stone, metal skittering across ancient engravings-
Silver and pink and blue glittering before his eyes-
Blood in his gills and on his hands and floating around him as he sinks, sinks down into the deep, clutching it tightly, it’s not her but it’s the closest thing he has right now and he won’t let it go he won’t-
“It was cherished by Mipha; a memento of sorts. I would like you to have it as a token of our friendship.”
Sidon’s iconic smile does not waver even a smidgen as his father speaks. He doesn’t even feel any anger at the choice of words; if she could, to protect others, his sister would have laid down her weapon entirely in favor of her magic. As a healer, and a gentle soul, she had placed no strong value on it like a warrior.
Just a memento, now, he convinces himself. King Dorephan is likely trying to convince himself the same.
“…please take good care of it.”
The rest of the ceremony passes and ends much the same. Link is thanked profusely by the Zora King and by Sidon himself; despite all the warring emotions raging in his head, he truly means what he says and truly does feel all the relief and gratitude he expresses. The torrential downpour has stopped, the Domain still stands, his father is proud of him, and Vah Ruta and the spirit of his sister are both free once more.
It is all he could ever ask for, honestly.
He repeats this mantra to himself, grinning still as Link gingerly removes the Lightscale Trident from the chest at Muzu’s side, his eyes wide and shining with awe and shock. Muzu himself has a gentle, nostalgic smile on his face as the spear throws rainbow light around.
The Hylian’s face wrinkles into something between disbelief, grief, and solemnity.
That’s another thing Sidon is not used to; from what little he remembers of the knight before Calamity, he rarely can recall him so openly expressive and emotive. Was this what he was like before he had to wield the Sword?
What he says next is… unexpected.
“This…” he says, swallowing thickly as he holds out the trident towards Sidon, eyes shiny, “this is too much. I- I can’t take this.”
And slowly, Sidon walks over to him, once again lowering himself to a knee, pushing the offer back towards his dear companion.
“No, my friend,” he replies, fighting past the tightness in his throat. “She would have wanted you to have it.”
But Link shakes his head, still trying to push it away. “I can’t, Prince Sidon, please- I can’t have this, it should be yours-“
“Link-"
"I barely even- I'm not who she knows, I can't have this- I don't even remem-"
"Link."
The firmness of his tone silences the Hylian with a strangled noise, and the half-hearted fight he was putting up halts abruptly. Vaguely, he’s aware of his father emitting a sad sounding “hmm”, and Muzu shaking his head in sympathy, but he ignores all of that to focus on the wide blue eyes that stare at him desperately, glowing in the luminosity of the Domain’s crystal lamps.
Sidon firmly pushes the last piece he has of his sister directly into Link’s chest, where the Zora Scale armor gleams proudly upon it.
“She would have wanted you to have it,” he repeats firmly, leaving no room for debate. “Please, take it. You have done more for her—and us—than anyone else in the past hundred years; if there is anyone who deserves to wield it now, it is you.”
Link sighs, a weak smile creeping onto his face at the praise. Sidon grins in return.
“But now that it is yours, you must also promise me something.” A sudden, shocked nod answers him. Sidon grins wider, almost mischievously at him. “When you fight the Calamity again, get a couple of good stabs in on that swine with it, will you?”
And—slowly—Link grins widely in return, holding the Lightscale Trident firmly in his hands as he stands straighter.
“Will do.”
--
Gorons can live for a pretty long time, if nothing interrupts them. Being made of rock and all, they’re pretty sturdy and can really take a lot before they break down. According to legend (or tall tale? Who knows), they can even live for over a hundred years in times of peace if they live well and take care of themselves properly.
Unsurprisingly, the past one hundred years hasn’t exactly been permissible for that to happen. No one living now is over eighty at most.
Death Mountain had been all shook up by the Calamity, making mining ten times more dangerous with all the collapsing tunnels, increased lava flows, and ruined caves. Old mining maps had become useless as everything changed around, and ten times more caution was needed over the unstable stone that seemed to suddenly make up the entire peak.
Worst part had been that Divine Beast, Vah Rudania; when Calamity hit, it went haywire, causing all sorts of issues as it stomped around and slammed its tail into cliffsides and started wrecking Eldin into pieces.
Yunobo can only imagine the terror of watching what was supposed to be their greatest pride suddenly turn into their greatest fear, warped against itself. He’s seen it before like that, but knowing things could’ve been so much different, and then…
“It was terrible, son, just terrible.”
It’s one of those days that Grandpa Dagbo is much more present and lively than normal, meaning that for all of it, Yunobo has been sitting at his side, eagerly chatting away and cherishing every time the old boulder calls him his little pebble.
But today he’s also made a mistake- he’s brought up the Calamity, and that always makes Grandpa Dagbo sad.
“I’m sorry, goro!” he quickly stammers, reaching out to hold the elder’s hand in his. “I’m sorry, Grandpa. We don’t have to talk about it if-“
He’s cut off with a rough chuckle and a wave of a hand. “No, no. It’s been comin’ for a while now, I know,” his grandfather says tiredly. “Someone’s gotta remember just what happened back then, and my memory’s slipping away like rocks down a mineshaft these days.”
The little Goron quickly tries to reassure him that his mind is as sharp as ever, but he’s just as quickly rebuffed. Grandpa Dagbo won’t hear it, and torn between trying to make his grandfather happy while being hungry to hear the story he’ll tell, Yunobo reluctantly settles in to listen.
And it’s a long one indeed.
Grandpa Dagbo had just become an adult at the time when they saw Hyrule Castle vanish into smoke, and the guardians start to turn against them. All the warriors in the city had gathered to shut the gates against the monster hordes that had amassed at the foot of the volcano and were trying to make their way up, and fought hard to keep them that way.
“Yeah, things weren’t lookin’ so good,” Grandpa Dagbo mutters, smoothing his wild, white hair. He’s never grown a beard in all the years he’s lived, and Yunobo briefly wonders why. “We were all just tryin’ to hold out for my pa to return from Mount Lanaryu and kick that old lizard into gear.”
My pa; the Great Daruk! Yunobo tries not to grin, and instead nods seriously.
“Right, goro.”
Anyways, the sun had just begun to set and the moon was about to rise (red, Grandpa Dagbo says, a blood moon) when one of the brothers on the lookout post raised a racket, pointing towards the east, up at the volcano. Bouncing up the rock face at a frankly astonishing speed had been a familiar orange glow with a bright blue flash of color inside it, making its way up to the caldera where Vah Rudania sat unnervingly silent.
“And a couple of brothers, they helped me up on the highest platform we had—without getting me shot by a lizalfos, course—and I remember shoutin’ out: ‘Pa! Pa!’” Grandpa Dagbo waves his arms around as he mimics himself, and Yunobo tries not to giggle when he adds: “almost fell off, how much ruckus I was makin’. But I called out for him, and by some miracle I guess he heard me because he stopped moving and looked our way.”
“What-“ Yunobo blurts out before he can stop himself- “what’d he look like?”
Grandpa Dagbo doesn’t mention the fact that the city’s started to turn half the cliffside above it into a monument to the Champion, or maybe he’s forgotten that, because he describes the Great Daruk anyways, and in such a way that Yunobo knows no one else could.
Big and strong, with giant muscles and tufts of white all over them that stuck out from under the metal bands he’d wrapped around his arms. He’d had a wild beard and mustache that’d blended with his hair, and a big bright smile that could put anyone at ease. But also…
“He always knew just what to say when a situation called for it,” his grandfather murmurs softly, a wistful tone in his voice now with all his old-man indignance gone. “Always reached a hand out to anyone he thought he could help, even those that didn’t want it. And he was gentle, too—every kid in Goron City loved him.” He snorts a laugh. “Terrified of dogs, though. Wanted to be exactly where one wasn’t at all times; told me that’s how he awakened Protection, but that’s all he’d give them.”
After Yunobo stops laughing at the (frankly ridiculous) idea of the Great Daruk, Goron Champion and protector of Eldin, being scared of puppies, Grandpa Dagbo returns to his tale.
The Great Daruk had stopped, and then given a huge smile and pounded his chest with one fist, before pointing at Yunobo’s grandfather. Then, he’d continued on his way up to the volcano’s summit, disappearing over its edge where Rudania had begun to move.
“That was the last time I ever saw my pa.” Grandpa Dagbo’s free hand tightens shakily on the armrest of his stone chair, and Yunobo gasps. “Clear as day I knew he meant ‘see ya later’ with that point, but that damned lizard turned pink, started wanderin’ around like a headless ostrich, and I never saw him again. Held out hope he’d come back to us until I found the Boulder Breaker almost smashed in half a week later on the other side of the bridge.”
Yunobo’s heard this next part of the story before, but the way his grandfather tells it makes him shiver and feel cold inside. He knows how Grandpa Dagbo went searching for a way up to the Divine Beast all by himself, and had come back with the Champion’s weapon, a scrap of blue fabric, and a half-melted crest. Two out of three of those things he knows are in their house right now—both the blue scarf and the crest (repaired ages ago) are shut away in a chest somewhere in the basement.
He thinks it’s because Grandpa Dagbo hurts thinking about them.
Grandpa Dagbo had died years ago, a couple months after that day they had talked.
He hopes its not weird, in a way, to hope that finally getting all that off his chest allowed the old boulder to go the way he did—peacefully in his sleep. As far as he knows, Grandpa Dagbo never told anyone else what happened during Calamity; everything Goron City knows now about it is from older warriors who left long before he did, or secondhand retellings and gossip.
But he also can’t help but wonder, as he watches Link give the Boulder Breaker an experimental swing as he grins widely, Boss Bludo huffing a begrudging laugh of approval behind him, just how his grandfather would feel to know his pa’s spirit is safe and free.
We’ve got another shot at making things right, Grandpa, Yunobo thinks, absentmindedly adjusting the crest and sash around his shoulders. Ganon’ll get what’s coming for him, and your pa’ll make sure of that.
He’s still terrified of the very idea of seeing Calamity for himself, but he feels more confident and brave matching Link’s grin, and then accepting the Hylian’s fist bump in celebration of their victory.
--
He knows that Link is not some descendent or second coming of the Hylian Champion, no matter what Kaneli says, or Saki believes. He can’t explain it, but he knows it to be true the second he pulls the Great Eagle Bow from the chest the Rito Elder presents to him and watches his entire demeanor change.
He’s not a very talkative boy in the first place, this mysterious warrior, but now he completely clams up, face going flat and mouth shutting as he holds the massive weapon cautiously in both hands like it’ll shatter if he holds it too tightly. There’s no need for that—for the past century, the Rito have painstakingly cared for and maintained Master Revali’s favored weapon, and after all this time it’s in the exact same condition as it was when he wielded it.
But it’s the look in his eyes as he gently moves one hand to brush against the scrap of blue fabric tied to its top that finally puts the pieces together for Teba.
Grief and guilt—and more of the latter than the former.
And when both of them step outside to let Elder Kaneli rest after such a taxing day, he can hear it bleed into his voice.
“How did you find it?” Link asks quietly, his voice rough with disuse. “How’d you get it down from Medoh?”
Teba shakes his head. The story of it in Rito Village is that it had been recovered in a battle during Calamity by Kaneli’s great-great-aunt, Elder Menali, who strung up in the Champion’s roost as a memorial.
But he knows better.
He remembers reading the excerpts from the journal of her’s Kaneli had given to him when Vah Medoh had started stirring up trouble.
“Perhaps you might learn something from it,” the old Rito had said.
And he had.
Gusty today, and cloudy. Not a good omen on the princess’ birthday, and especially the one that marks her coming of age. There’s been a strange feeling on the wind lately, and it has the village on edge, though I cannot explain what is causing it.
That stubborn chick seems to be feeling it more than anyone else, yet he is moving full speed ahead anyways; he’s replenished his hoard of arrows so that they’re practically spilling out of the eaves of his roost and every other time I have seen him today has been him neurotically restringing and wiping down his bow. “I must be prepared to act at a moment’s notice,” he says, and then shoos me out like I’m merely a troublesome pest and not the elder of the village, or the Rito that’s practically raised him since the egg. It seems he still has not gotten it through his thick skull that to be prepared at a moment’s notice also includes being well-fed and hydrated as well; what will it take for him to realize that pushing away the meals I drop off is only hurting him? How asinine of him to
He's leaving without it. He’s leaving without the Great Eagle Bow! All he has on him is a Feathered Edge! He’d be leaving without anything to eat as well if I didn’t sneak some extra chicken into the satchel he’s taking with him!
“Trust that I’m just as unhappy about this as you, Elder, but it will only weigh me down,” he told me. “Do you truly expect me to make a cross-continent flight and to Kakariko in time for the ceremony with it? I may be the best flier our people have seen in millennia, but such a journey is pushing it.”
Idiotic, arrogant fledgeling! Fool of all fools—does he have feathers in his brain instead of smarts? To leave himself unarmed, he better send all the prayers he can think of to Valoo that he’s got clear skies there and back in more ways than one.
I will go to see him off, and make sure he knows just how displeased I am at this whole debacle. How will he protect the princess? How will he protect himself? Revali… I will beg you to be cautious if I must.
That entry had been dated the day of Calamity, Princess Zelda’s seventeenth birthday. The entry after had been dated two weeks later, and nearly broke his heart.
He’s gone. That damned machine and that damned title killed him just like I knew it would. May that king and his soul never rest for what he did to him.
Should’ve made him take the bow. Don’t know if it would have made a difference, since no one knows what really happened up there, but I should’ve made him stop for it. All for nothing, those arrows were. And all that damned maintenance too—for nothing.
The beast is gone. Vanished somewhere into the mountains. Tola wants to put together a force to go find it, but they won’t. Good riddance.
My boy is gone. It was raining and dark when he left. He always hated both.
He’s gone.
Link nods solemnly when Teba tells him what he knows and repeating Kaneli’s insistence that the bow is better off in his hands than anyone else’s. He leaves out the part about the rain and the darkness, but the Hylian’s eyes begin to shine anyways, and he breathes in and out heavily before hooking the Great Eagle Bow onto his back; it nearly dwarfs him with how big it is.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
Teba’s seen this before, in other warriors. They lose something—someone—and afterwards feel the weight of that loss on their shoulders like a mountain. Link has that look about him now; he can almost see the gears in the boy’s head turning, starting to plan just where he’ll stick an arrow into the Calamity with Master Revali’s weapon.
He doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t ask him how he survived, what happened to him, why Calamity wasn’t sealed a hundred years ago. Instead, he only says:
“Always, Link.”
--
Mauva’s old, no question about it. She’s the lonely old vai who takes care of Her Grace by the southeast gate, and she honestly quite enjoys it. There’s no one better to keep company than with someone alike to yourself.
She feels even older as she watches Mr. Cute Voe himself fly into the courtyard out of the corner of her eye, and hurriedly tuck himself to sit away in a corner behind a crate out of view of everyone else but her. He’s still wearing that pretty blue and green sirwal/top combo, as well as its companion veil, and Mauva chuckles when he snatches it off his face as he sets his curious little rectangle thing down on the stone in front of him.
Her eyes widen with wonder (and more amusement) as he struggles to remove the heavy, sheathed sword from his back, alongside its matching shield, and set both down in his lap as he pants heavily.
“Well, well, well,” she says, grinning as poor little Link jolts in surprise, big blue eyes wide with shock. “How’d you get your hands on the Scimitar of the Seven and her Daybreaker friend, boy?”
He shoots his hands up like he’s surrendering to her, and she barks out a laugh she abruptly quiets as he winces and looks around for wandering eyes.
She waves a hand dismissively. “Ah, don’t be so jumpy. If you’d stolen them, half the chief’s guard would already be on you, and I never pegged you to be the thieving type in the first place.”
She chuckles more as he wilts like a flower in the desert heat, shaking his head as if to agree. No, he’s not that type of person. It’s funny, the way types and labels work, Mauva thinks as Link dares to take his eyes from her and gaze back down at the pair of weapons in his lap.
She’s been made into the crazy old vai who insists on maintaining a statue that no one cares about anymore, and he’s been made into some great, grand hero with the power to crush evil singlehandedly.
But sitting here, she’s really just a tired, lonely elder far past her prime, and he’s just a quiet little boy fighting some internal battle he won’t share, barely older than the chief herself, who is a whole other story.
“She must trust you a great deal,” Mauva continues quietly after a pause, “to give you such precious heirlooms. I’m not sure if you know their story, but they would not be relinquished so easily to just anyone.”
Link raises his head, and then his hands, and though Mauva’s knowledge of Hylian sign is sorely lacking, she still gathers: ‘What story?’
She shrugs back. “The Lady Urbosa took them with her to fight Calamity, you know, a hundred years ago. Great symbols representing the best of our history and culture, used to combat the visage of one of the greatest mockeries that had ever been made out of us.”
Link nods.
“When she disappeared into Naboris and didn’t return, her younger sister—that is, Chief Riju’s grandmother—took on her mantle as the leader of our people.” Mauva remembers well her own grandmother telling her this story as a child. “They say Lady Ribara scoured the desert dusk to dawn every night for weeks for any sign of our Champion, going out in the blazing heat, the freezing night, and the biting sandstorms without rest in her grief.”
Link nods again, frowning with pity, one hand absentmindedly brushing against the golden handle of the scimitar.
“Eventually, her advisors convinced her to stop her searching, worried as they were for her health. But on that very night she promised them she would, she snuck out of the town one last time—all by herself.”
Mauva settles comfortably into the story-telling routine she once had so many years ago, when children would crowd around her to hear the tales of her many adventures, back before she’d found her place by the southeast gate. It makes her nostalgic, grinning as Link perks up, intrigued.
“They say one of the worst sandstorms since Calamity kicked up just as Lady Ribara got past the desert outpost, but that it did not discourage her. She trekked out into the Eastern Wastes with nothing on her back but a spear and a shield, calling out for her sister.”
Mauva had no siblings, but she can only imagine the pain such a loss can carve into one’s heart. Her own mother had been distraught and nearly comatose for weeks after the death of her own sister, a strong vai who Mauva had gotten her wanderlust from. She nearly made her daughter promise to stop adventuring herself to try and help her avoid the same fate.
…Link’s sad hum drags her back to the story she’s telling.
“When her disappearance was discovered the next morning, the entire town was in a riot over it. Her advisors were panicking, the townspeople were already grieving, and the lack of order in the square made it look more like a circus than a courtyard. That was when, of course, she sailed right back up to the front gates driving a sand seal, covered in sand and sweat and completely rumpled up.”
Link raises his hands to ask a question, of which Mauva only understands half. ‘… sword, shield? … whole?’
“Yep, carrying the very same weapons you hold there,” she responds, gesturing to them where they glitter and shine, still in perfect condition. “Never said how she found them, but the town’s blacksmith confirmed they were the real deal, and from then on they’ve remained in the Chief’s House, untouched by anyone. Well, except you, now.”
She doesn’t tell him that her grandmother had shared a secret with her when telling her this story as a young vai, a secret she only knew due to her work serving in the Chief’s House and bad habit of eavesdropping.
She doesn’t tell him that Lady Ribara claimed that in the storm, she had met a heavy figure cloaked in all red with a white face like the moon, silently picking up her sister’s weapons from where they laid half-buried in the sand.
And she doesn’t tell him that the then-chief had drawn her weapon despite her exhaustion, and demanded this figure to return them to her, or taste the steel of her spear. That the figure had turned to face her, named her and her relationship to the Champion, and then gave her his condolences for her loss. Or that he had tossed both sword and shield to her feet, saying that he knew what it was like to lose one so close to you (as he tightened his grip on the longsword by his side that didn’t seem to fit him), and then remarking that the Lady Urbosa had been a valiant warrior and enemy, and he was sorry the Gerudo had lost her before vanishing into thin air.
But she does tell Link that he better take above-and-beyond care of the Desert Tempest’s weapons and eventually give Calamity Ganon a good stab with them, or face the Gerudo’s wrath.
“We’ve spent too long hurt by all those legends of him once being one of us, and you better make him pay for that, boy!” she exclaims, grinning at her reward of a small smile from him. “Now that Lady Urbosa isn’t here to do it herself, you’re going to have to do it for her, got it?”
He smiles wider, and stands up as he does. He gently uses his weird rectangle thing to… absorb? Store? both the Scimitar of the Seven and Daybreaker away, and then makes a sign that Mauva finally recognizes without thinking too hard.
‘Thank you.’
She waves him away dismissively.
“Don’t sweat it. Go on and go save the world, kid.”
--
It’s a couple weeks after the world’s almost ended the second time when gravity finally wins against the Boulder Breaker and its mount on the wall in his dining room.
Link dives to catch the weapon as its holder snaps, but it’s too heavy and he’s too far away—it crashes to the ground with a terrible racket that makes Zelda, who’s outside in the yard surveying around (sometime about wanting to find a nice spot out there for a well), call out to ask him if everything is alright.
He hisses as the weight of it digs into his fingers (he forgot how heavy it really was). “Everything’s fine!”
“… Are you sure?!”
“Yeah!”
“… Alright! Let me know if you need anything!"
"Will do!"
But as he picks up the massive thing, leaning it against the wall before stooping back down to pick up the metal bracket and the shards of wood it yanked from the wall, he sighs.
The gifts he’d been given had faded away not long after Calamity had been sealed away for good. They’d faded away rather quickly, and he’d no longer see the forms of their creators when he’d used them, but he appreciated them sticking around just long enough for the world to get settled and peaceful once again, a place where he wouldn’t need them.
But he’d held onto their weapons.
And now, staring Daruk’s armament of choice in the face, he feels… guilty about that.
He’d promised himself that he’d return them where they belonged after his fight was over, but like everything during that final battle (except, of course, the Master Sword), they’d gotten damaged and worn. The Great Eagle Bow in particular had nearly shattered in his hands with the amount of use it had gotten firing arrows left and right into Calamity’s horrific spider-body—he hoped Revali was proud of that.
He couldn't return them in their current state. That would be embarrassing, and disrespectful to boot.
So he’d hung them on his wall in his house in Hateno, slowly trying to fix up each weapon to the best of his ability, and there they had stayed until now.
He spares a glance at the line up, moving to throw the splinters out the nearest window and the hook into a nearby drawer.
After all his work, they’re not in so rough shape now, he acknowledges proudly.
The Lightscale Trident is perhaps in the best shape out of all of them; the points are scored and rotted from where he stabbed it into a malice-covered leg, and some of the shine on its handle and gems has faded, but it’s nothing Dento in Zora’s Domain can’t fix.
The Scimitar of the Seven’s got similar rot along the edge of its blade, but it’s more severe and along the blade’s entire length. There’re some spots along the pommel too, but the handle’s in perfect shape, and that’s what really counts. Daybreaker, on the other hand, poses more of a problem—miraculously, none of the jewels are missing, but there’s a deep score across its entirety from a slash with the mimic of Fireblight’s weapon that nearly took his head off. Link is sure it can be repaired, but it’ll just take more time.
The Great Eagle Bow is the worst off, no question about it. The wood needs to be restored and fortified, and the string is fraying; it was in wonderful shape when he received it, but keeping something made from organic materials in prime condition over a hundred years, plus all the vigorous activity it’s been put through, is not easy. He wasn’t able to work on it much outside of storing it properly to prevent further damage out of fear of breaking it.
The Boulder Breaker’s main issue is its handle, and the solid metal that makes up the very end of the blade. Close range, slow fighting ensured a spray of malice chewing through the connections, and a wearing down of the other designs across its surface. With some refortification, it should be alright.
And he knows that Zelda’s been missing the world outside of the quiet life they’ve been building in Hateno, changed as it is.
… he should really start planning a getaway. The two of them are definitely overdue for one.
Who knows? Link thinks as through a window, the setting sun casts a warm glow on the wall. Getting out for once could probably do all of us a whole lot of good.
Let’s see… he’ll have to check the stores in the back shed, but it’s a good time of year for travel, so they shouldn’t really need to carry too much… where’d Zelda leave the paper, again?