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The stars are bright tonight. Sky looks up and thinks of home. He misses it dearly, misses his friends, misses the love, the music, the peace.
All things he realises now that he takes for granted. All things his brothers deserved, but were denied, because once upon a time, the hero chosen to save the world simply wasn't good enough and got them all cursed for eternity.
He gets up, takes a deep breath and draws the Master Sword.
Fi is your friend. A friend wouldn't hurt you without reason.
So if it hurts, it's because you deserve it.
He points his sword at Time. A familiar warmth begins to radiate from her hilt, and Sky wills it to burn with the ferocity of a thousand suns, with the rage of a child left entirely alone, forced to grow up too soon.
The heat rises as he turns his blade to Warriors, who frowns and shifts in his sleep as if he senses a dark presence. He briefly acknowledges the Captain, recognises that he's somehow still kind and nurturing despite having lived through the horrors of war. He shouldn't have had to.
Sky's heart aches for Twilight, the sweet, gentle farm boy, who would never hurt a soul if he could avoid it, hardened into a deadly warrior by circumstance. His hands scream for Wild, who sleeps on his right side always, the left covered in the scars of his failure. Sky lays eyes on those scars and sees broken bone and torn flesh.
And every time Sky lays eyes on his own hands, he sees blood.
He points his weapon at Four, who battled Ganon on top of other old gods and his own demons. Pain radiates up his arm, searing his skin, and he forces himself to hold on.
Legend, losing his only family as a child, sent on five adventures he didn't ask for and still finding the will to keep going after all that. Legend, who never let the world snuff out his flame. Then, the Hero of Hyrule, wild and independent simply because he had nobody and never had, surviving alone in a world of monsters.
By the time he gets to Wind, Sky can barely stand to touch the sword, but the skin on his hands is so burnt he couldn't move to let go if he tried. His vision blurs from the pain, and he grits his teeth, trying not to cry out.
“Sky,” a voice faintly calls.
The Chosen Hero blinks hard, focuses his vision the best he can, too lost in the pain to recognise his brother’s voice.
“Sky,” Wind says calmly, taking the Master Sword from her bearer, hiding a wince at how hot the hilt is as he drops it with a clatter. “You don't have to punish yourself.”
“I'm sorry,” is all Sky can manage, trembling. “I'm so sorry…”
Wind takes his brother by the shoulders and guides to sit down against a tree, pausing to grab a waterskin on the way.
“Here, give me your hands.”