It always was a numbers game.

One.

One hero, alone against the darkness.

One, two.

The two of them, Zelda and Link, working together to bring back the light.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

Ten strangers who became brothers, whose shared soul shone all the brighter during the all-too-brief time when they were together.

Two, four, eight, sixteen.

Spirit used a drafting compass to mark out distance on the map, each step precisely measured.

It was too far. The relief units would never be able to reach the northern pass through Eldin before the enemy overran it.

He measured again, this time taking the eastern route. Still too far.

The river, then.

≠

They lost horses to the fording, and half their food supplies. A forced march on the other side, and morale was dangerously low. But they made it.

A thousand soldiers saved, by the cost of three hundred.

One hundred, two hundred, three hundred…

At the base of Eldin Mountain, Spirit and Impa stared up at the ragged slopes. Orange stone had been blackened by goron bomb powder, charred by spell lightning, and stained red with both hylian and monster blood. But the mountain stood as tall as ever, unmoved. Uncaring.

Impa spoke first. "A thousand lives saved," she said, almost in awe.

"Three hundred lost," Spirit replied.

The General shook her head. "We paid a price, Tactician. But don't let that undermine what we accomplished here. Those thousand were meant to be dead, and they knew it. No blame would have been levied on you — on any of us — if they had met their fate today."

Spirit shrugged, unable to speak. The dead were loud today. They pressed in around him, whispering and shouting and begging him to change what had happened.

He was too distracted to notice when Impa walked away.

≠

One hundred, five hundred, one thousand.

Impa strode into the strategy tent, clearly barely restraining herself from an undignified dash. "We've struck a bargain," she declared. "Thirty fairies will join us in exchange for the gifts we offer their Great Fairy."

Spirit stood from his seat by the table, hardly able to believe his ears. Before he could speak, the junior strategist by his side piped up. "Thirty fairies? This will make a huge difference! It will save so many lives!"

Impa couldn't contain her grin any longer. "This is a momentous day for us," she agreed. "We'll have to plan carefully where to deploy them, though. We're spread too far for the fairies to be flying between different units in an emergency."

The six strategists present all saluted their General. It would fall to them, then, to advise on where to send the fairies to save the most lives.

Spirit gnawed on his lip, considering travel distances and magical expenditures while Impa gave her orders.

"Now, go to the healers. I want reports on which units are coming back with the worst wounded. I believe that's where we'll want to concentrate our resources."

Spirit frowned slightly as the runner took off towards the healers' tents, notebook in hands. Something was tickling his thoughts, soft as eiderdown.

He let the other strategists take over the map in front of him while he sat back and thought. If his gut was telling him something was wrong, he ought to listen to it.

≠

One thousand. Two thousand. Three thousand.

The single lantern on the table illuminated only a small area of the General's tent and the two figures seated across it. Impa read the strategy team's formal proposal with a bit more tension leaving her shoulders with every word she read.

"Right," she said finally. "We'll send one fairy out with each of the front line sword units. They're the ones limping back from every battle, requiring the most aid and resources from the healers. It makes sense, they take the brunt of our forward assaults. We'll send half to the eastern front and half to the western…"

Spirit listened with half an ear as she spoke. Something was wrong. A note played out of tune with the rest. He could just barely hear it, in the corner of his mind…

Spirit looked at the numbers again. They added up correctly. So why did he feel like there was something missing?

He thought about his train. He thought about long hours spent doing repairs and patch-ups after harsh battles and harried escapes. He thought about the times when he hadn't been sure he'd be able to coax his poor, injured engine far enough to reach the next station.

He thought about reinforcing with wood and steel.

"Wait," he interrupted quietly. Impa immediately stopped talking, though her glare was fierce.

He turned to a page at the back of the stack. Not from the healers' reports, but from the medical units nonetheless. The roster of the dead.

Spirit felt like the truth was spiraling out of the page in front of him in golden fractals. But how could he explain it?

"Send fairies with the mage units. That will save the most lives."

Impa frowned and flipped through her report again. "Mages hardly ever appear in the healers' lists," she pointed out. "They don't need the support."

"That's wrong." Spirit was sure, now, that he understood. He needed to make the General understand, too. He leaned forward earnestly, his fingers tracing lines he only saw in his mind's eye. "The mages are the ones who, when monsters catch them, have no defenses and get slaughtered. They don't make it to the healers' tents. But fairies can save someone at the edge of death. They could be the difference between those mages being dead and them making it off the battlefield wounded."

Impa set the papers down and tapped the tabletop with a finger. In the darkness, her shadowed expression looked especially grim.

"Your advice is counter to the rest of the strategists," she reminded him. "If I do as you say, there will be consequences, whether you are right or wrong."

Spirit nodded. "I accept that," he assured her. "This is the best move. I'm sure of it. This will save the most lives."

"It will be hard to prove that," Impa pointed out. "It's difficult to enumerate a lack of casualties."

Spirit raised a single eyebrow. After a moment, Impa puffed out a breath of amusement. "Point taken," she admitted, shuffling the reports back into a neat stack. "I'll give the orders. I hope you know what you're doing, Tactician."

Spirit bowed his head respectfully and took his leave. Stepping out of the warm tent into the chilly, clear autumn night, Spirit took a moment to gather himself. His breath puffed as he stared up at the stars, sprinkled like jewels on a dark velvet cloth.

There would be costs.

He would be punished for defying the other strategists, regardless of the outcome of this choice. Socially, if in no other ways. And if he was wrong…

No, I'm right. I definitely am.

But even then, there would be a cost to their resources. More wounded meant more pressure on their already-strained healing capacity.

But fewer deaths.

"A soldier can live without a limb…" Spirit quoted. But they cannot survive without a head.

His heart hurt.

One thousand, ten thousand, a hundred thousand…

Spirit pushed himself up and started the chilly walk back to his own tent, his mind whirling with numbers.

Overhead, the stars wheeled in their slow dance, uncountable and invaluable.

≠