Chapter Text
The wind whispered through the tall grass of the endless plains, carrying the faint scent of wildflowers and distant rain. Link sat atop his horse Epona, his small hands holding the reins in an experienced grip that belied his age. Physically, he looked no older than nine or ten; a boy with messy blond hair, pointed ears, and the same green tunic he’d worn since leaving the Kokiri Forest, what felt like lifetimes ago. But his eyes… his eyes were older. Far older.
He hadn’t stopped keeping time down to the second since he left Termina. It was yet another hard earned instinct he couldn’t turn off anymore. Yet another strange skill of his that he’d learned through his adventures that never seemed to leave him. He could still feel the weight of two worlds pressed on his narrow shoulders. First was his home land Hyrule that he had spent so long saving only to have it all undone while simultaneously being reduced to his child-body that no longer felt like his, all while losing all the friends and connections he’d made because it had never happened. And then there was Termina, where he’d been stuck repeating the same three days in and endless loop of desperation as he tried to gather all the tools necessary to save a city of people who he didn’t know but were far too similar to people he did know for his liking, while never being able to keep any of the relationships or progress he’d made.
Now he traveled alone again. Navi was gone—vanished without a word after he’d been sent to the past by future Zelda before Gandondorf rose. No one in the restored Hyrule remembered the boy who had saved them twice over. He was just the strange fairy-less kid from the woods who muttered about visions and bad men from the desert. So he had left, taking his ocarina, his horse, and the weight of his Adventures heavy on his shoulders. Then he’d found Termina, and all he had from that forgotten nightmare adventure was more memories, friends who didn’t know him, another fairy who abandoned him, and a bag full of masks, each one a reminder of faces he had failed helped, souls he had killed soothed, and the Fierce Deity mask that still hummed with power at the bottom of his satchel. And still, no sign of Navi.
He was bitter sometimes. Mischievous other times. And he was lonely more often than most. He hated when strangers patted his head and called him “little hero” or “brave boy,” yet part of him still craved the simple joy of chasing cuccos or playing tricks. He was a child who wasn’t a child anymore, trapped in a body too small for the weight of the experiences he bore.
Epona snorted softly as they crested a low hill. The sky above had been clear moments ago. Now it twisted unnaturally, a jagged tear of violet and gold ripping open directly beneath them like a wound in reality itself.
“What—?” Link barely had time to grip the reins tighter.
The ground vanished. Epona whinnied in panic, rearing violently and dancing sideways on ground that no longer existed. Link felt himself torn free from the saddle, his body weightless, tumbling down towards the roaring colors and howling winds of what had to be a portal. He reached desperately for Epona, but her mad dance of terror left him nothing to grab onto, and he fell into the void with that invisible force grasping him whole. Epona screamed in terror as her rider fell into the chasm that she could not touch. And Link fought his growing panic and dread as he watched his last companion and friend vanish above him.His ocarina bounced against his chest. His sword and shield on his back. The bag of masks slammed into his side. For a terrifying instant, he wondered if he was being drawn back to Termina, or perhaps that distant future in Hyrule. Doomed to repeat everything alone
Then the world spat him out.
He hit the ground hard, rolling across trampled grass and mud. The sounds of battle crashed over him immediately—clashing steel, roaring monsters, the thunder of magic and war cries. Smoke stung his eyes. He pushed himself up on scraped hands, heart pounding, and looked around.
This wasn’t his Hyrule. Or Termina. This was… war.
Hundreds of soldiers in gleaming armor fought against waves of monsters and dark sorcerers. Giant beasts lumbered across the battlefield. Portals flickered in the sky, spitting out more fighters from who-knew-where. In the distance, a massive castle loomed under stormy clouds.
Links hand instinctively drew his sword from his back, shield on his other arm in less than a moment. The sword and shield felt tiny in the face of the massive armies fighting in front of him, and until that moment he hadn’t missed the Master Sword and its power over his timeline all that much.
A shadow fell over him.
He looked up.
There was the Master Sword, gleaming in the hands of a tall young man in green. He looked older than the teenager Link had once been during his time as the Hero of Time; maybe seventeen or eighteen, broad-shouldered, with the same blond hair and blue eyes, the same determined set to his jaw, and a long blue scarf draped over his shoulders. He wore a captain’s insignia, wielded the gleaming Master Sword with effortless skill, and carried an aura of command that made the soldiers around him move with purpose. In the distance, other captains fought: a fierce Sheikah woman with white hair, a sorceress in flowing robes casting spells that lit up the battlefield.
The older Link, or Captain Link as most called him, had been cutting through enemies when the rift opened. He had seen the small boy tumble out and instinctively moved to protect what looked like a civilian child caught in the chaos.
Their eyes met.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The older hero’s gaze flicked over the boy’s green tunic, the pointed ears, the blond hair and blue eyes, and the unmistakable stance of someone who had seen too much fighting. He didn’t like those implications.
At the same time, the younger hero studied the Young man in front of him and couldn’t help the pang of jealousy and longing. He saw his teenage self staring back at him: tall, strong, capable, battle-ready, confident, respected. And yet the sight stirred a deep conflict within him. It was a painful reminder of the childhood stolen from him, the world he’d saved, the friends he’d made, and the confidence he’d earned—only for it all to be ripped away from him. The Young man standing before him moved like someone whose body, mind, and spirit actually aligned. A feeling Link hadn’t felt since before he left the Kokiri forest.
Then someone nearby, a Hylian soldier, shouted, “Oh Hylia, is that a child?”
The Young man in green lowered his sword slightly, staring. “You… you look like me. Who are you, kid?”
Link, with his small, travel-worn, magic bag of all his possessions slung over his shoulder, stood up straight. He refused to look as young and lost as he felt in that moment. His voice came out steadier than expected. “I’m Link. From… the forest. Who are you?”
A ripple went through the nearby fighters. Whispers spread like wildfire.
“Link? Another one?” a soldier muttered mid-parry.
“Look at his hand!” another exclaimed. “It’s the Triforce! And it’s glowing!”
A soldier glanced over and did a doubletake. “He’s wearing a green cap and tunic, just like the Captain!”
“They look so alike!”
The Captain’s eyes widened. He sheathed his sword for a moment and stepped closer, kneeling so they were closer in height. He trusted the soldiers around them to protect them both from danger for a moment. “Another Hero of Courage…? I’ve heard the legends of past chosen heroes of courage saving Hyrule from all sorts of threats. But I never thought I’d ever get to meet one of them. Especially not… one so young.”
Link frowned, glaring around at the soldiers and covering the triforce on his hand with his other hand. “How in Din’s bones do these tin cans know about the triforce?” He paused, looking at the kneeling Soldier in front of him. His voice quieted to a near whisper and his glare melted to reveal his inner turmoil. “Legends? Heroes of Courage?... Am I really not the only one?"
He had never heard such tales. In his Hyrule, he had been the first to stand against Ganondorf. The idea that there were other heroes chosen to save Hyrule made his head spin. He wasn’t the only one? The weight he carried wasn’t unique? Was that a good thing? He didn’t know, and it made him feel smaller than ever.
Captain smiled faintly, a mix of awe, sympathy, and sadness in his expression. “I’d wager you don’t have such stories. Which makes me think you must be long before my time. Either way, yes there are other heroes like us. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Link. And yes, the triforce is a bit of common knowledge for us.” He cleared his throat a bit, studying the younger boy in front of him intensely. “ But you’ve clearly been through a lot, judging by those eyes. What’s your story, little brother?”
Link bristled at “little,” but something in the older hero’s tone eased the knot in his chest. No one but the Gorons back in Hyrule called him brother, and this felt very different from that.
Before he could answer, a swarm of dark monsters surged toward them, drawn by the rift’s lingering magic. Captain rose, drawing his sword again. “We’ll talk later. For now, stay behind me if you need to. This battlefield is no place for—”
“I can fight,” Link said indignantly. He almost reached into his bag and pulled out the Fierce Deity Mask, but hesitated. No. Not that one yet. Instead, he gripped his small sword and shield tightly, the ones that had served him through both Hyrule and Termina. “I’ve fought worse.”
The Older Link studied him for a beat, then nodded with respect. “Alright then. Stay close.”
Young Link leapt into action before the elder had a chance to finish his statement, taking down a monster that had been about to club the young man over the head from behind in one well-aimed powerful strike.
Captain Link stared in amazement at the young boy for only a moment before leaping into action himself.
They fought side by side.
The small boy moved with a maturity and precision that belied his size: dodging, striking, using the battlefield’s chaos to his advantage like he had been fighting enemies twice his size for years. The Captain was a whirlwind of power and leadership, his strikes clearing paths for soldiers. When a particularly large monster charged, Link put on his blast mask without hesitation, ramming it face first with a blast of force and stunning it long enough for Captain to deliver the finishing blow.
Several times during the battle, a soldier would call out for Link’s help, expecting their Captain to respond only to find the child had as well. Several times it almost got someone killed.
So a soldier called out, “We need to tell you apart! Two Links on the same field is causing too much confusion!”
The Older Link laughed between swings. “True. They already call me Captain Link around here, but you…” He glanced at the boy’s bomb mask as it was quickly replaced with a yellow Fox mask, which the boy promptly donned and proceeded to taunt the monsters with before attacking again. Captain Link got the feeling the kid had lots more where those came from as he watched the mask disappear into his bag and yet another mask appeared, this time one seemingly made of bones. And boy did it have a weird effect on the ReDead Knights and even skeletons in the nearby horde. The Redead Knights promptly started spinning in place, and the Skeletons seemed to immediately mistake the young boy as one of their own. The kid was quick to take advantage of this fact. “You’ve got quite the collection of masks there. How about we call you Mask for now?”
Link, or Mask, paused right after finishing off the last ReDead in the area and took the mask off, then gave a small, crooked smirk. Mischief and bitterness mixed in the expression. “Mask, huh? Yeah… that fits.”
He looked at Captain Link and smirked “I’m only calling you Captain, no “Link” at the end, got it?” His smirk widened as he looked Captain up and down. “Or I could call you Scarf… Who in Nayru’s name wears a scarf like that into battle?”
The elder Link chuckled between controlled breaths as he fought back the horde.
“Captain should be fine, and don’t diss the scarf, it’s a mark of my rank as Captain!” He replied
“Oh, so it’s a rule imposed by royalty?” Mask snorted. “Great, definitely sounds like people who want their captains to succeed.”
Captain didn’t like the sarcasm in the kids' voice, but he couldn’t help smirking in response. He himself had questioned why a long scarf was the clothing of choice to mark his position as captain when he’d first been assigned it. It definitely took some practice to not get tangled in it while fighting.
They fought together as the battle raged: Mask using his agility, small size, experience, and vast collection of masks to dart as a chaotic force through the battle, and Captain using raw strength and tactical commands. Allies and enemies from other rifts, strange warriors and mages pulled from distant timelines, joined the fray. But none that Mask recognized. No Zelda, no Impa he knew, no familiar faces from his own eras. Once again, he couldn’t decide if that was a good thing.
When the last wave of the enemy's corrupted forces fell back, the battlefield quieted somewhat. Smoke still rose, but the immediate threat had been pushed back.
Captain wiped sweat from his brow and looked down at the small boy beside him, who was also breathing hard but standing tall. Mask stared back, still processing the idea of another Hero of Courage who looked so much like what he himself had been for a time.
For the first time in a long while, the bitter knot in Mask’s chest loosened just a fraction. He wasn’t completely alone anymore.
Captain clapped a hand on Mask’s shoulder, determined to not treat him like a fragile child. “Welcome to the War of Ages, Mask. Looks like we’ve got a lot to talk about, Brother”
Mask nodded once, a faint, mischievous glint returning to his ancient-young eyes.
“Yeah, Captain, We do.”