Chapter Text
Power surged through the depths of his soul, teeth clenched as his wings pressed against his back. It pressed him to the endless ground, bound him there, magic a pounding drum in his head as a blinding headache muddled whatever sort of dream he was meant to see.
Its rage rolled as waves in a boundless sea, dragging him further and further into its roaring core as he barely curled into himself tighter.
He knew it would not hurt him. Even in the pain the magic brought it clutched him closely, cradling him within it. It whispered through its own pain, wonder and hope within the voices and thoughts he could not know for a moment drowning its own fury. For a moment distracting it.
It knew him, just as he knew it despite the eternal story written into its being, despite his short one that it had never been told.
"Link-"
Her voice was honey candy, like an old friend he had never known. For a moment he almost did recognize it, like an old song once that he’d heard in the late hylian Queen’s gardens when the sun shone exactly right. When he wasn’t in pain.
"Link, please! Listen!"
Fear than choked him, blinding light searing itself into his eyelids as something snarled beneath his skin, crawling up his arms, trying to escape the chains snapping at its weary bones.
It was ancient, he knew, created of the magic that coursed through lands, forged in fury and goddess ordained promises, one of the greatest creations of his people.
Stories danced at the edges of the light, burning as it curled closer around him, molten glass threatening a story to be formed anew.
And it shattered, a piece breaking off.
A spirit roared, or perhaps he had, as glass hit the floor in delicate sounds as the agony of the spirit crushed Link's being, reaching to him
A sobbing call for help that hurt and cut and broke.
Past his choked throat and pain he tried to force a sound, to call in return that it was not alone. To reach out and return the hold the tapestry of a soul had on him. It was him though, than, was it not?
"Just listen to me!"
The voice clawed at his heart, so familiar it hurt. He had rarely heard her this angry, this demanding, this desperate—
"I am your master," A voice hissed, "We will save them. We will!"
Zelda—
Silence cut in, pressing that sea of magic closer around him, that light drawing away for just a moment.
Than a sharp noise. The delicate sound of cracking that spread further and further until it was deafening. Anger and pain, unfamiliar and burning on his tongue as he struggled to breath through lungs that did not exist.
As a hand gripped his arm and dragged him close. That light, a different sort of light perhaps, burned behind his eyelids in the image of her face. He knew her so well. He could trace the anger in her frown and the pain in the way her brows pinched and the guilt in her eyes and knew, if only he could actually see and-
"Link."
Each movement brought more cracking glass, more pain, more pieces of himself threatening to break off. Old bones of glass awakening, a soul screaming as it tangled with his, each thread cutting his own, each hint of magic too much for him to even exist near, each time begging for it to not be alone.
It felt him, it knew him, it was him. It cradled his soul, or he cradled it's, turned away from its Captor as it hissed in words that he did not know but sunk into her with a fury he did not yet have but it dude. As it spoke and he strained to hear and still it was their words.
A warm hand grabbed their own. It stilled, the pain, the light, a gentle darkness as it moved to hold both of their face.
They could almost hear the orchestra of souls close to him, as the souls called to comfort, as the glass's cracking quieted and they heard where the threads of his soul began home calling for him, for it, for him to bring it home.
He would. They would go home—
"Don't you DARE listen to her!"
Everything shattered.
Hands wrapped around their neck, glass cracking in their throat as a screaming agony tore through them. They grasped at the chance for a breath, a chance to fight, to protect, to do anything.
But a sword spirit cannot hurt its wielder.
They clawed at the hands, voices screaming over their head as they wished to see, to understand why it hurt. Magic shifted and changed and where hope began and death ended they could not find as time rushed onward, pushing them farther and farther into a future and past as centuries of sleep pressed into them, as the contentment burned away into anger at those within their domain. Their home. Their curse pulled into being once more from where it’d been tied into their soul by the goddess’s hands.
That soul in the hand of another, trying to rip it out. They could feel the intention burned into her fingertips of just wanting their power but the threads slipped away and cut and snapped as she had no right nor magic to truly grasp at a soul. But they let her have what she so wanted.
That damnable curse.
They screeched in the agony of it all.
Until gentle hand grabbed the threads, grabbed the one it had twisted around and shoved so deeply into its tapestry, and pulled.
The divine burned.
He awoke.
The air of the early morning was cool on his skin as confusion dulled the anguish in his soul and sleep in his bones.
It took a moment, but easily the familiar hum of U'Eare Spiri'shor, his homeland, took hold. Its magic soothed his flailing heart and cradled his soul as he buried himself back into the mound of quilts that had overtaken his loft bed over the years.
His head pounded still, a far more familiar light softer against his eyelids as he tried to ignore the din of chimes that began filling his home. Many called to him in worry, others excited for the morning, a few frustrated that the others were being loud, as they attempted to shout over one another to be heard.
He was thankful when a louder note, a familiar and clear renspiri'u whistle cut through their chatter.
They settled, though the worry that churned through the spiri's was palpable enough to fully wake him.
"Lin'sha!" A call rang out, "I know you're awake up there! The tea is going to be ice by the time you get down here!"
He was afraid of exactly why she sounded so worried.
"Annan, just five minutes," he called back and laid back, taking in a deep breath of the cool breeze that always seemed to flit through his home. His soul settled back into his chest, the air of the Fogs, of its magic, healing it. He longed for it to be a dream but still his friend's voice screamed at him as an echo in his mind, and her hand pressed against his throat.
The spirit's calling mark threaded through his soul still, a plea for help. It could draw him back with the thread, he knew. If it was still so afraid, still alone.
Part of him wished it would. Than he would be reassured it was okay, it was safe, but part of him still hurt.
The spirie that had buried themselves in his quilts pressed closer, their wire and magic wings pressing against his skin a bit uncomfortably but the soothing warmth of life in their glass orb bodies grounding him to what existed than in that moment.
He could feel the strings of created life within each, most made by him and his grandmother. Their familiarity helped some, even when a few had decided between his wings was a good place to sleep.
"Five more minutes, he says," His grandmother whispered conspiratorially below and he stifled a laugh at her tone. "Iarta, I swear it was only a minute last week!"
"I'm afraid we're losing him already," Iarta whispered back.
"Spirits help us."
Link sat up fully, pulling himself to the railing. The quilts fell back behind him as the spirie called out in annoyance, tumbling to the actual mattress instead of himself. His wings fluttered as he debated for a second and failed said debate, before flipping over the railing and to the living area below.
Spirie zipped after, chiming as he landed with as much grace as he could muster.
"If you break your neck on your twenty-second birthday, I swear Lin'sha," his grandmother said, a frown on her face as she turned back to rifling through the cabinets. "I will drag you to your cousin's so she can set you straight."
The spirie that had followed him drifted off, some perching on random pieces of furniture and others to the perches built into rafters and walls just for them, their soft glow lighting the room more.
Iarta was perched at their little dining table, regal in the soft morning light as she usually was. She offered the usual amused smile to Link in greeting, "Malon finds Link's antics funny though, so I can't imagine she would do much to help you."
"Not when he destroys her chair!" Annan Terra emerged waving a butter knife vaguely in the air, before settling it next to four teaming mugs and finding her own chair. Link trotted over to fulfill his own morning duty, doling out milk and honey as his grandmother set oat small loaves from the bakery for the two of them who could actually eat.
The fourth mug was filled with a thick mixture of mostly honey and a dash of milk, the tea nearly an afterthought as Link placed it on the kitchen’s windowsill. Shiom'spirie, the fairies of fog and teeth that guarded his homelands, perched on the mug's lip. A few though, ignored the offering entirely and zipped to bury themselves in his hair. Their chattering thanks was quiet and reserved, and their thin claws dug into his scalp with tiny stings.
They decided to remain tangled in his hair even as he returned to his seat. Both the tea and the magic of the shiom'spirie soothed something in him, though he could feel where his joints met that the magic shiom’spirie was attempting to cling more than it usually did out of fear.
"Everyone is worked up today," Annun Terra sighed, though she focused her golden eyes on him in that sort of intense stare he had yet to master. "But I would think you’d be up and ready for the day more than anyone. What's haunting you today, Lin'sha?"
Link hesitated, "An Asasham'mor Spiri reached out. It needs help, desperately. But that’s not what’s wrong with everything else I’m guessing?"
His grandmother and guardian spirit shared looks, before Annan Terra reached into the clutter on the counter and held up a piece of parchment, rushed gerudo making up its contents. The seal of the Gerudo Royal Family stood prominent on it, and panic once again gripped at his soul.
"I, for one, don't exactly like ruining birthdays," Annan Terra started, worry wrinkling her brow as her mouth was pulled in a pained frown. "But it seems that yours was already ruined. The Geru'sho are at war with Hyrule, not of their own choice."
Link started forward but Iarta held up a hand before he could demand answers. "The prince is fine but the Rit'sho have already reported hylian armies within the Desert. They stepped foot on Geru’sho lands a good two days ago. Yes, the elders agreed you’d be allowed to go."
"What of the caravan there?" Link looked between them both and his only relief was the lack of grief on their faces.
"The group is fine, Imene is keeping them in Vai'vafi," Annan Terra made a dismissive motion, faith in the Gerudo always sure. "She's called for us to remain in the Fogs though as a precaution.."
"And there's something else," Link guessed.
Iarta and his grandmother shared a look, before Iarta pointed at her with a sad smile, "You read the letter first."
"That is not how this works. You’ve been pulling that since I was a child," Annan Terra grouched and turned to him anyway. “Your Princess Zelda the Third has declared herself queen of Hyrule. Pissing on her mother’s grave it seems…"
Several emotions warred in his chest, and the fairies in his hair hissed in response, angry at a threat that did not exist in the room with them.
Iarta watched his face and tilted her head, "You aren't surprised."
He wasn’t. Link just stared down at his tea, pressing his wings against the back of his chair so they didn't flutter in worry. "I heard her, with the great spirit. She'd done something but I didn't know what."
"Yeah, well she's killed her father for one," Annan Terra sighed, heaving herself up before going off to bustle in her office and bedroom. Link stared after. It was not surprising though. If he were being honest, and on any other day he'd say the king of Hyrule had earned it. “We also have reason to suspect her sisters are either imprisoned, or… well with the fate of her father you can guess the rest of that.”
That one he didn’t believe. Zelda had envied them, he knew, but never hated them. She always voiced exactly who she did not like after all, at least to him and Ganon.
"Do you think it was the hylian asasham'mor spiri calling to you?" Iarta asked quietly and Link nodded
He had only ever seen the hylian's great soul spirit from afar. Hyrule Castle was not a place he'd ever liked being, and as such had made it his goal to never be part of any stuffy event or ceremony they performed. He'd been there a few times as his grandmother checked the spirit, and a few other times during events Zelda had asked him to attend, and had only seen it properly during the late queen’s funeral.
He remembered a sword made of stained glass, of colors filtering through the air from the glass that domed the chamber and cascaded across the ground, as if trying to hide what splendor it could cast itself. He remembered the magic in the air, ambient and asleep, curling across his shoulders and nudging his soul before Iarta had batted it away so he wouldn't have to lay down from so much power.
He ached as if still made of cracked glass begging to not shatter completely.
"Yes. It had to be the Chirech'ashimbas," he said softly. "The magic and glass motif said so at least, but it was… broken? Cracked? Either way it asked for help."
"Well that won’t be your first stop!" his vision was engulfed in green as fabric hit him in the face. He sputtered, holding the fabric away from him before he realized exactly what it was. "Get ready for a journey, Lin'sha. Its time you introduce yourself to the other asasham'mor spiri."
Donning his traveling clothes was easy and familiar, from his tunic to his belts to his bracers. He traveled more often than most of his people would in three lifetimes, but it never stopped the slight ache in his heart already starting from having to leave home.
He did not hesitate to wear red cord belt that signified his friendship with the Gerudo royal family, anchored with the green and gold one signifying his own family and their role among the Fogs by their family’s sigil.
He was already made a bigger target that day for being the head Renspiri'mor, or head Smith of Souls. Adding a physical declaration of his side in a war wasn’t much worse, even if his heart ached at who he had thought was a friend.
Technically though, most would assume he was siding with the Gerudo, as his people, the Sheno'spirish, tended to do.
His annan looked over him, pride in her gaze before she grabbed the green fabric and shook it out.
It was the cape of a Renspiri'mor. Mossy green, with the front shorter to free his arms and the back just long enough to hide his wings. The borders were decorated in embroidered blooming flowers and vines, among which golden spirie and blue shiom'spirie fluttered and danced. It was nothing like the many heavy cloaks his people wore while traveling, though he'd never worn many of those anyway once he was free of childhood.
The layers were meant to protect their wings from fairy hunters, though the Renspiri'mor was always lighter as they possessed U'Shiom'spiri Tas, unlike the rest of his people. The warrior's soul, able and trained to fight.
“Us elders took turns with the stitching," Annan Terra said quietly. She threw it over his shoulders and pinned it in the front, the magic imbued in it settling around him like one of his own quilts. "Protection, well wishes, warmth. Honestly you could probably spend hours studying it and find something new each time. I haven’t had the time to bring it to a Shiom Ris’mor quite yet, but it will do."
She looked over him, and there was something deeply sad in her gaze.
"It is the very least that we can give you, Asa soru'sho."
It was a nickname he hadn't heard in a long time, but it rang true all the same. His soul had never fixed itself like the elders had thought it would, like how most of his people’s did when they grew old enough to not rely on the magic of the Fogs to keep them alive. They’d long since agreed and acknowledged that his own soul would absorb whatever magic was around him, for never or for worse, for his entire life.
"You are the Renspiri'mor now," his annan continued on. "You are to check on the great spirits, so they will regard you as their new caretaker. Though one of them already has without you trying." She played up the annoyed tone for a moment, though it fell quickly back to loving pride. "You're a damn Terra, Lin'sha, so you're gonna wear this with pride and bring life to the spirits."
"Of course, Annan," Link let himself laugh, though when his grandmother turned to grab something else he was distinctly reminded with the thinner cape about how nearly no one in his family could keep their wings on their backs. Her scars were always hidden, but he remembered the stories well, and his own ached in turn.
Iarta helped him with the sheath for her blade, and the Tashbas'ris Zen'spiri was a familiar weight on his back once more, wings pressed into himself almost reassuringly.
He would have to be okay.
His grandmother turned back, a traveling hat in hand, the edges embroidered to match his cloak. She tucked the braids among his curling hair into it. The shiom'spirie hissed lightly for a moment before realizing they were trapped where they wanted to be, and it was an easy escape either way. Link smiled as his grandmother tutted and poked one of their wings until it was within the cap properly and secure.
Zelda had always called the one he used to wear his hero’s hat and Ganon his windsock, but he was just glad his grandmother had thought to make him one.
His other would've been the wrong shade of green and both of them knew Iarta would complain about it forever because he refused to travel without it. It might’ve just been stories about it being good luck to make sure children kept their pink hair covered, but he still held the idea close.
"Technically, Lady Imene said that all of us had to stay within the Fogs," Annan Terra said idly as she pushed and pulled hair in and out of the cap and straightened his cloak just to fuss. "But considering you left before you heard of such a thing, its perfectly reasonable you can continue on and check on the great spirit there."
Link made a face when she rubbed the nonexistent dirt from his cheek but didn’t complain, "What about Chirech'ashimbas? Its in pain and I…"
Iarta's chime of anxiety was enough to stifle that thought, which was doubled down on as his grandmother scowled deeper than he’d ever seen before. "Hyrule is a war zone, Lin'sha. Until Lady Imene or King Nereus declares it safe for you to be snuck in, I'm not risking my annran. I am sure the hylian's Spirit would agree if it understood the situation."
Link just nodded and his annan's face softened. She reached out and nearly folded him into her arms, warmth and care weighing the cloak down comfortably as he buried his face into her greying pink hair.
She held him for a moment longer so he felt just how deep her pride and grief went, before she released him and they shared a knowing look.
Both of them shared the same sort of warrior’s soul, and it is that spirit that led him out the door without more thought or waiting.
The foglands expanded before them, a land of mist that swirled and hid and quieted the world beyond their fence line. Lights from homes and shops shone in the vague but never too far distance, clustering where the center plaza of their town sat. The closest lanterns that hung from the crooks of the adults shone with the light of their spiri, shone a bit through the fogs as a reminder of life within the Fogs, same as the spirie that danced and chased the children they were assigned to love and watch. He could spot a group of them running to one of the elder’s homes for lessons, their laughter drifting on the somber wind as chimes sang back to them.
Comforting magic thrummed at the base of his soul and surrounded his core, draping across his shoulders and kissing his ears as he stepped onto the pathway, worn away as it was.
Neither had ever been ones for goodbyes. His grandmother had once said those were only for death or leaving the past behind, never for something you were sure to return to. He had never argued other wise, and so he only waved just before his view was swallowed and he was left in the misty lands, nearly alone.
The fog swirled around his feet with each step as mist clung to his clothes and skin.
A few spirie zipped around him, twirling and chiming as their glass bodies glowed a warm gold against the cool backdrop. They dipped in and out of the fog, their wire framed wings strong against the light breeze that swayed the limbs of lantern strung trees.
Their chiming laughter was a comfort, Iarta humming quietly in the back of his mind.
He'd have to ask them to stay in Vai'vafi, keeping the fairies of the fountain that Ganon maintained company. They wouldn’t be pleased, but he’d already let the few follow him into potential danger.
Many of the spirie he made lived with others, as was the purpose of a spiri to gain magic through experiences and life, but there were some that he could never bear to part with. The feelings were returned in kind, just as they never could bare to lose him.
It was one of those times he was glad, as their familiarity helped some with the growing, sickening worry of what was to come.
The fog bank broke him from his thoughts, the path ending to the outskirt of a hollowed giant log, long since felled and overgrown by trees that twisted around it and ivy that hung in sheets. The flowers that grew around it glowed through the thicker fog that cloaked the area, glinting of charms and wreaths left there by the travelers that frequented often.
Malon had once said that the log was so tall a dragon could squeeze through, and sometimes he thought that among the magic it held, he could feel traces of the great being. Her own thank you, from when she first used the fog bank, still hung among the branches. A twisting dragon made of cloth, still a fiery red even as so many years had passed.
He could no longer see his own thanks, but flowers tended to get stolen by the winds and fog or by the new growth.
Shiom'spirie peaked out as he approached, bright shouts sounding before they circled him with joy in their chattering voices, those in his hat escaping to join. They greeted him as they always did, sounding more like a symphony as the older fairies kissed his nose and ears and left him laughing and the younger began tugging with their small but strong grips on his cloak, pulling him into the log.
The sudden silence, free from wind and chimes, pressed around him. It was familiar, but always managed to be just a tad jarring. The magic it held thrummed in time to his own heartbeat, as he stared at the hollow path that extended to a fog cloaked infinity.
A shiom'spiri tugged at his ear as a few others perched on Iarta's pommel and cross guard, their curious whispers quiet against the murmuring of magic as they settled into fluttering around him or resting peacefully.
"I need to go to Hililaan'Geru'Sho, if that's okay," he asked of them, though he really did not need to speak where he wanted to go. It was his usual request, after all.
Still, a curious chime asked, voice made of hissing tones curious and sweet, "Will you not go to the Chirech'ashimbas? It called."
"It screamed."
"It reached and reached."
"You were with it than though, were you not, Asa soru'sho?"
Their chatter quieted as he sighed, eyes forward, one foot in front of the other or he'd trip and the fairies would swarm and barely let him leave. He might’ve been an adult, head of the soul smiths, but to them, he was their child, just like how they saw every member of his people.
"There is war there now, and until it is safe I cannot go."
"Perhaps we shall join," The one on Iarta's pommel hissed..
"Perhaps we shall tear," Another cheered from his shoulder.
"Perhaps we find shiom'ris to guide you," A softer voice quieted them, one of the older shiom'spiri who landed on his shoulder, one of her wings ripped and her form barely holding together from drifting into mist. "They guided other children from the forests and fogs. Other warriors before you."
Their chatter grew as did their excitement, and Link couldn’t help but start nodding along to their plans, conviction stirring the fogs around them.
Iarta's voice cut through the din, sounding so similar to the fairies Link almost forgot she was sword spirit for a moment. "The renspiri'ashim fears he will fall in aspiribas."
The fairies did not quiet at the word as his people did, and instead hissed in fury at the mere idea.
Aspiribas was not a word he heard often. Total destruction and death of the soul, nothing remaining of who it was. To his own people, and some who knew the word from them, known as a fate worse than death. The soul and its magic could never return home to the Fogs, never rest.
For Iarta to use it meant many things, and it sunk a greater anxiety into his stomach that not even the worry and chatter of the shiom'spiri could fix.
They let him continue on in his own silence, clutching him closer just in case, even as they hissed and sung their promises that they would not let such a thing occur. Their reaches only went so far though, and even if he were to use a crook to summon them he knew that few would be able to answer the call.
But it would be fine, Iarta was with him and soon he’d have Ganon to watch his back if need be. He still let some of the shiom’spiri rest in his hands, held close to his chest as if they could stay there forever.
Eventually, far longer than he knew it took for them to bring him to the fog bank of the Gerudo Desert, they had to let go. One by one they fluttered off as the fogs gave way and soon the edge of the log came into existence, bringing with it the bright light and sprawling landscape of the Gerudo Desert.
☆ "Sucho e'ars u'sha t Link." - "You must save it, Link." RETURN
☆ "Link! Spero e'ars!" - "Link! You must wake up! RETURN
☆ renspiri’u - soulsmith's (crafters and weavers of souls, the 'u making it possessive) RETURN
☆ Shiom Ris’mor - great fairy RETURN
☆ Asa soru'sho - literal "our loose magic" RETURN
☆ Tashbas'ris Zen'spiri - The Soul Thief (Great spirit of the foglands (easy term for link's home), in honor alone and power but not function.) RETURN
☆ "Raeshu e'ars shucho'e." - "You must promise you will be safe."
"Reashu'i t anna'sha." - "I promise, grandmother." (anna’sha is a nickname for grandmother, like saying my nanna) RETURN
☆ Hililaan'Geru'Sho - The Gerudo's Flower (Name for Gerudo Desert RETURN
☆ Shion'ris - gentle fairy (the more common fairies who can heal) RETURN
☆ spiri (plural spirie) - Meaning soul/spiri, but here and when in general use (AKA not titles/spoken Fog) means 'soul creature' or 'crafted soul'. They are small, renspiri created souls contained within small glass bodies. MORE INFO HERE! RETURN
☆ U'Shiom'spiri Tas - The Fog Fairy's Gift (a warriors spirit gifted by the fogs so that they might be able to fight for their people, held by the head soul smith's family near exclusively) RETURN
Post Explanation of Language for this chapter.
Fog Fairy or Shiom'spiri reference!
