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Zelda was split between two ages in time, stuck in a state of deja vu that refused to go away, no matter how many months passed in that place.
To live and breathe in the skeleton of the kingdom she spent all of her life in never felt normal. Her bonds and friendships were no less real, but there was a lingering sense of unease due to the knowledge that she was not meant to be there. Especially given that she kept the truth from all but a few.
Though she possessed the power to control time, it always felt like time controlled her.
The Knight Construct almost felt like a cruel joke by Hylia herself; he was simply a shard of the Master Sword granted sentience—why must he look and act like Link?
She appreciated his presence immensely, of course—he proved to be a worthy ally to the cause. Anyone would appreciate a being of naught but pure goodness. But the familiarity plagued her; when everything around her felt like an obscured version of the life she knew, an artist’s rendition painted over and over again until the details were lost and made anew, the construct was the final nail in the coffin.
Above all, she yearned to know what he was thinking.
She didn’t even know the complexity of his thought; but she knew he could feel. Maybe he could even love, if his devotion to his korok companion told her anything.
With her mind rampant, one evening she found herself spilling it all out at the encampment, the crackling sounds of the fire accompanying her voice. Calamo had retired to bed a little while ago, and for whatever reason the Knight Construct chose to stay by Zelda’s side as she vented.
Everyone else was asleep or out of earshot; she found relief in relaying her troubles to him, as it didn’t matter if he knew that she was actually from the future. All he could do was listen, and he seemed to be content doing so.
“Truthfully… you greatly remind me of the swordsman of my era…” she drew in a deep breath. “My closest friend and companion. He wielded the same sword that composes your spirit, so it only makes sense, I suppose.”
He made a small whir in acknowledgement and inspected his hands, watching the energy course through.
“He looked quite a bit like you,” she added quietly. “Though you’re a construct, I swear your eyes are…”
He met her eyes, his gaze golden and inquisitive. As time passed, Zelda learned to detect the slightest changes in his expression. Though he possessed less facilities to emote, he was still capable of it. “They’re just like his.”
The Knight Construct looked back down at the fire.
Curiosity burned deep within her. There was so much she’d give just to know him for a moment, to glimpse into his mind. It was the same feeling as when she first started to spend time around Link.
Link never spoke, but when he finally started to break his walls down, he communicated through sign. Zelda perked up at the realization.
The Knight Construct understood the common tongue—by design, he needed to be able to understand commands. He merely wasn’t designed to be able to speak.
Zelda cleared her throat. “I… I think I know of a way to teach you to communicate, if that is something you would like.”
He lifted his head, and Zelda could’ve sworn she saw a spark of energy in his eyes.
“I… we’re so busy these days, in and out of each battle,” she kneaded her hands. “So I can’t promise we’d get very far. But in our spare time, I could teach you sign. S-I-G-N,” she spelt out the word with the corresponding signs.
He mimicked her, spelling out the word just as she did.
She smiled. “Seems like you’re more than capable. Shall I teach you the alphabet to start?”
He nodded.
Not long after her arrival to the era, Sonia gifted Zelda a journal to use as she pleased. She filled it with focused, practical research notes about the Zonai technology, as well as more personal diary entries: always one or the other. As she spent more time with the Knight Construct, further advancing his sign language, what she scribbled on the pages turned into a strange blend of the previously distinct types of entries. Part of her approached the construct like a research project, examining the complexities of Zonai tech’s collision with divine power. The other part of her approached him like getting to know a friend, learning the inner workings of his personality through true connection.
She suspected it before, but via his newfound communication she confirmed that he greatly differed from his other construct peers. Constructs that could talk did so in a scripted manner, based around the task they were assigned and general courtesy. The Knight Construct, meanwhile, possessed the ability to form unique thoughts of his own.
“The sword has spoken to me before,” Zelda said one day as she shaved a carrot into a pot of stew. It was a dim morning, the birds more quiet than usual. It grew harder to appreciate nature with Ganondorf’s looming threat hanging in the air. “According to legend, the spirit that lives within it is called Fi. Does that name mean anything to you?”
“No,” he signed. He followed up with “no remember before.” He was far from forming complete sentences, so Zelda was forced to learn to fill the gaps.
“Do you mean that you do not remember anything before you awoke as a construct?” She tilted her head, and then repeated the question through sign.
“Yes,” a quiet hum accompanied the sign.
“Interesting,” Zelda stirred the pot. “Perhaps since you are but a fragment of the sword, the spirit itself also split off to create a new being. Almost like… a budding plant.”
He raised his head, his golden eyes wide and curious. He had enough knowledge of the world to get by, and learned additional tidbits from Calamo and the others, but it wasn’t unreasonable that he didn’t know about one of the ways organisms can asexually reproduce. “Some flora reproduce by growing an extension of their anatomy, which then can break off and create a new one.”
The construct nodded, pausing to think. “Fi… new?”
Zelda furrowed her brows. “I’m sorry, I’m not following,” she signed.
“Fi…” he attempted a different sign, but Zelda couldn’t interpret it.
She watched him for a moment, trying to piece it together. “Oh!” She perked up. “Child! You’re suggesting that you’re the child of Fi.”
He made an excited noise that she hadn’t heard before, and she found it rather endearing. “Yes. True?”
“I think so,” she smiled.
Zelda finished the stew, and served it to others at the encampment, then sat with a bowl for herself and ate. The construct watched intently. “What is like?”
She swallowed down some stew. “The food? What is it like?”
“Yes.“
Zelda paused to think, wondering how to describe food to a being incapable of eating. “Well, since we’re on the move with limited resources, this stew truthfully isn’t very good,” she laughed sheepishly. “But it is nourishing, and that’s what matters. It’s wonderful when food is tasty, but it can take quite a bit of work to get there. Link was always more of a chef than me.”
He cast a glance at the stew, then back at her. “Link make good food?”
“Very much so,” she set her stew down to sign. “His dishes are excellent.”
The Knight Construct paused, thinking. “Construct food good? Can’t test.”
“That’s true,” Zelda chuckled at the thought. “I’ve tried a meal made by a cooking construct before. It was pretty good, but it didn’t have enough salt. Like you said, they can’t test the flavor themselves.”
The thought reminded Zelda of all the constructs that still remained on the sky islands. Mineru told her that many of which were performing their tasks pointlessly, as no one was there to reap the benefits from them. Others laid dormant, only to be activated if one were to return. Though they were incapable of bearing the psychological burdens of time, Zelda’s chest still tightened at the thought of it. She pictured a cooking construct foraging for ingredients that it would never use, preparing to cook in case someone were to show up, only no one would. What would have been empathy turned to sympathy when cast toward something incapable of feeling.
The construct thrummed to catch Zelda’s attention; she realized he had signed something, which she’d missed while zoning out. “Pardon me, could you sign that again?”
He tilted his head. “Better food by people?”
“I would say so, yes,” she nodded, quickly growing disdain for her pathetic, scarcely-seasoned stew as she thought of Link’s cooking. “Constructs can get the basics right, but I believe only people can master it.”
Calamo strutted over and parked himself atop the rock next to where the Knight Construct sat. “What are we talkin’ about?”
“How constructs are worse cooks than people,” Zelda answered with a small smile, forcing down more stew afterward.
Calamo shrugged. “Depends on the person. There’s some awful cooks out there, ya know.”
“Like you,” the construct signed, making Zelda laugh, almost making her lose the stew in her mouth.
Calamo huffed in response. “What did he say? That felt sassy.”
She covered her mouth as she giggled. “He thinks you’re a bad cook.”
“What?” His whole body shook with annoyance. “You’re kiddin’ me! You can’t even eat!”
“Raphica said,” the Knight Construct looked to Zelda, and she detected a shadow of a smile on his otherwise blank face.
She gave Calamo a playful smirk. “Apparently Raphica thinks so. Did you make something for him?”
Calamo threw some light punches to the Knight Construct’s arm. “Hey, it’s not his fault that a nutritious Korok meal isn’t compatible with his high-strung Rito tastes! How was I supposed to know what he liked?”
The construct let out a series of staccato whirs, to which Zelda perked up, jade eyes wide and inquisitive. “Did you just laugh?”
His gaze darted from Calamo to Zelda, and he shrugged. “Sounded like it,” Calamo elbowed him. “You could laugh this whole time, and ya never cracked a chuckle at any of my jokes?”
Zelda fished her journal out of her pocket and excitedly jotted down an entry about the new development. “Perhaps you should give him the benefit of the doubt, Calamo. He may not have been capable of it prior.”
“I don’t believe it,” he crossed his arms.
Zelda looked up from her frantic scribbling to feel a sudden pang in her heart. Witnessing the banter between the pair evoked the image of Link and his friends from their time, a time so close yet so far from Zelda. The deep sorrow that came from being displaced often rushed over Zelda in waves she couldn’t stop, crashing to the surface after the tide fell low for too long.
The Knight Construct must have noticed her shift in demeanor, for he signed, “You OK?”
“Excuse me,” she said quickly, setting down her things and walking away as fast as possible so as to get away swiftly whilst not drawing too much attention.
Zelda hadn’t given much thought to where she was going, but she ended up in a small meadow, tucked away in the trees. She knelt down and desperately tried to abate herself, only to miserably fail. Some tears had already breached containment during the walk over, but now the dam broke, wretched sobs escaping her lips. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the bed of daisies and clovers on the ground, wishing she’d found a spot with sharp grass instead so that the pain might snap her back into reality. She didn’t know how long she sat there, crying until her throat burned raw.
“Zelda?” A gentle voice asked from behind, and her entire body jolted.
She used all her will to turn her head, and before her stood Rauru, downcast with concern, in between the trees like a prey animal unsure if it would be safe to come out. “Please forgive my intrusion. But I saw you rush out and wanted to check on you.”
She sniffed and wiped some stray snot from under her nose. Trying to compose herself felt like attempting to glue a shattered ceramic back together. “Your care is much appreciated,” she said shakily, drawing in a deep breath. “I’m just… a bit frazzled by my predicament.”
He nodded in understanding, stepping closer to her. “May I sit?”
“Yes,” she answered gently, shifting her weight as Rauru sat beside her, crossing his legs.
He ran his hands along the daisies, feeling their soft petals. “Would you like to discuss it?”
There wasn’t all that much to say. She’d confided her troubles to Rauru before, and it was all the same. But something compelled her to speak anyway. “I feel… unlike myself. Like I’ve lost the person I was before, and trying to…”
Her voice shook, and she used the heel of her palm to wipe some stray tears. “Trying to get her back, or that life back, feels fruitless now. I can’t help but feel like I’ll grow old here. Or just… perish in battle.”
Rauru placed a hand on her shoulder. “You know I cannot promise you any answers as to what will happen. But what I can tell you is that you have an insatiable drive. If anything can take you where you want to go, it’s your willpower. That is one of your biggest strengths.”
She hung her head and sighed, feeling a surge of guilt for the daisies she crushed. “I’m not so sure about that. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t awaken my power before it was too late. Trying over and over wasn’t what made it happen. It was protecting Link.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” Rauru wore a patient smile. “By far your biggest strength is your heart. Perhaps channeling your will alone is insufficient, but using it in tandem with your heart could be fruitful.”
Zelda replayed the events that brought her to the past. She’d used her time power unintentionally, which ultimately saved her from falling to her death. But she had tried to reach Link, as he tried to reach her.
It couldn’t be that going back in time was the only way to save Link, right? Could she have chosen the solution by accident? Or was she given a push in the right direction by the divine?
“I have to be here… on purpose,” she said slowly, finally lifting her head to meet Rauru’s gaze. “As much as my heart aches for my original era… there is much to be done here. And maybe I’ll find a way home in the end.”
“You made it easy for me,” he chuckled gently. “I could’ve told you that.”
“Thank you, Rauru,” she blinked away the lingering tears in her eyes and drew a deep breath. “I can’t lie and say I’m over the moon, but… I’ll be alright.”
“I don’t expect anyone to feel perfectly fine in times of war,” he remarked, rising to his feet and offering his hand to her. “I know I’m not.”
She took his hand, letting him pull her back up to his feet, and he turned to lead her back to the camp. “Now, we best return before the construct goes out looking for you. He was quite worried.”
“He was…?” Zelda whispered to herself.
“I’m willing to bet he’s pacing right where I left him.”
Rauru was correct. At the border of the field and the forest, the construct couldn’t stay still, walking in circles. “You’ve no need to worry about me anymore,” Zelda greeted him with a kind smile.
He grew bashful, averting his gaze and retreating back to the camp to help the others take it down. She couldn’t help but chuckle to herself.
She had people (and a construct) who cared about her, and that meant something. She knew it before, but it became so easy to forget. She promised herself not to forget it again.
Following Calamity Ganon’s defeat, after Zelda spent the proper time resting her weary soul, she began sparring with Link. She would practice fighting with her powers on her own; Link was made of flesh and blood, after all. Even as she learned to control it better, she didn’t trust pure divine light to be safe for a friendly fight. So when sparring Link, she’d pick up a blade and fight the normal way. Regardless of her powers, she believed a skill in the sword would be useful, especially if her light were to ever go dormant.
Link had encouraged her to take up Urbosa’s scimitar; it’d been sitting on display in the home. Link had a knack for breaking weapons—or at least wearing them down beyond repair—and had been too afraid to use it in battle himself. He told her that Urbosa would be happy for Zelda to use it, but she could never quite bring herself to, instead opting for rusty shortswords and whatever else the pair could get their hands on.
Sparring with Link became romantic in a way; the way they fought often resembled a dance, their bodies so masterfully in sync, each move flowing from the previous one.
Sparring with the Knight Construct, meanwhile, couldn’t be more different. Now that Zelda had a vessel to channel her powers into, she was able to combine her skill in her powers with that of a blade. Being made of energy and mechanical parts, the Knight Construct could take a hit, so she knew she didn’t need to hold back. Zelda doubted he was invincible, but he certainly was sturdy. Being hit with a beam of light knocked him back, then he kept moving.
A major difference in their fighting styles was that the construct used his body as a weapon, in addition to the zonaite blade he already wielded. It was an entirely new challenge for Zelda. Despite his commendable strength, Link was a short man, not a Goron. He couldn’t hurl himself at his opponents as a reliable offense. Due to the aforementioned mechanical parts and energy composing his body, the construct had no problem launching himself as a projectile. Zelda quickly learned to dodge out of the way or conjure a shield of light to counteract or at least lessen the blow.
They shared their first spar since the construct had learned to communicate; afterward, he signed to Zelda, complimenting her performance. After they split off, Zelda noticed Calamo watching them closely.
Later, while marching toward their next battle, Calamo made a point to walk alongside Zelda. “You’ve been spendin’ a lot of time with my bud lately,” he began.
“Indeed,” she smiled. “He makes good company.”
“He seems to think the same about you,” he piped up. She heard a twinge of jealousy in his voice.
“Calamo,” Zelda said gently, catching on. “Would you like to learn sign as well?”
“Ah, it’s no big deal… you probably couldn’t spare the time anyway,” Calamo replied sheepishly, swaying from side to side.
Zelda laughed a bit. “Well, I could certainly try. To be frank, it was rude of me to exclude you from this. You are his dearest friend, after all.”
“What, did he say that?” He asked too quickly, then cleared his throat. “Or, uh, sign it?”
The way the Knight Construct had described Calamo to Zelda was nothing short of adorable. He expressed a smidge of annoyance from when they first started their journey together, but it was swiftly replaced with unbridled affection. The construct saw him as witty, loyal, and more brave than he realized. But Zelda couldn’t say all that—it would surely inflate the Korok’s ego. “He shared a similar sentiment.”
He hummed, interested. “I suppose you can teach me some of those signs, then. So I can know what he’s saying about me.”
“Of course.”
After a routine sweep to clear a monster hideout, Zelda ended up with a cut on her arm. It was nothing to fret about, especially considering that others had worse injuries. She took a breather by herself, sitting on a log and watching as soldiers helped tend to each other’s wounds.
The Knight Construct approached her, and his eyes narrowed at the sight of her arm. “You are hurt.”
She shook her head. “I appreciate the concern, but I’m alright. Others need the help more than me.”
Without a word, he spun around and made his way toward Quino, who was wrapping another soldier’s wound. Zelda was too far away to hear any words from Quino, but she saw some gestures shared between the pair, mainly the construct pointing at Quino’s supplies.
Shortly after, the construct returned, holding up the wrapping. Zelda chuckled to herself. “You might as well.”
She scooted aside to give the Knight Construct space. He sat down and delicately began to wrap her arm.
Zelda winced at the sudden pressure, and he whirred in response, pausing to inspect her. “It’s alright,” she signed.
He nodded and continued; Zelda studied the careful movements of his hands. Once finished, he shimmied away slightly. “Your knight,” he began, his signs almost appearing shy. “Do you love him?”
Zelda’s heart skipped a beat. She had never specified that nature of her relationship with Link—only that they were close. “I do, yes,” she signed back.
“I thought so,” he replied, with that same whir-laugh from before.
“I guess I’m not very subtle,” she laughed, her face growing warm. After many years, some things never changed. “I miss him terribly.”
“Am I like him?”
Zelda took a deep breath.
They shared some qualities. Anyone could agree with that. But to compare them so closely felt like a disservice to the Knight Construct. He was his own individual.
He had told her that he was drawn to her because of her power; of course a piece of the sword would be drawn to the light. The two complemented one another. While he had a soul—without a doubt—it functioned in a different way. The spirit within him molded his personality, his wants, his demeanor. He had minimal life experience to shape who he was. Though he possessed a complex mind, it was not a human one. And that didn’t make him any less respectable; it just made him different.
Zelda’s perspective had shifted. The Knight Construct no longer felt like a ploy by Hylia to taunt her. He wasn’t a disfigured shadow of Link. He was simply a friend.
“No,” Zelda spoke this time, with a newfound finality. “You’re your own wonderful person.”
His eyes narrowed again, but this time, it felt like a smile.