Chapter Text
The Yiga Clan acolyte did not shake as they prepared to depart.
Their hands were steady as they checked the painted sigils tucked into the interior of their suit again, making sure it aligned exactly with the diagrams they’d seen. The acolyte was tucked into a small enclave, making the last of their preparations in a distant corner where nobody was likely to see their small outline, covered in a stolen teleportation uniform. The dusty walls were barely lit by the torches along the walls, but the red ink stood out clearly against the fabric. There were no flaws in their script. They’d spent hours memorizing the necessary sigils. It would work.
It had to work.
They tugged the sleeve back down, pulling the too-large glove up so their fingers could grip the handle of their weapon properly, and pressed their wrists together. The activation spell, tailored to lock onto the blood location of their greatest enemy, burned through them, and red smoke obscured their vision.
A gut-wrenching tug, and the acolyte was airborne, ears popping painfully as their body adjusted to the teleportation. A flash of excitement passed through them at the sight of the bright blue of the champion’s tunic. It worked!
They landed on their toes, snow crunching under their feet as the red smoke dissipated, and rushed forwards, trying to press the advantage of surprise.
The hero turned with a look of vague alarm, and ducked out of the way of their strike, stepping back a few feet. At their next lunge, the hero skipped back, out of range entirely, pulling a large, spiked club off of his back. They bared their teeth in frustration before quickly pressing the bottom of their palms together to complete the circuit again, visualizing a spot behind the hero as he started towards them.
The familiar sound of fluttering paper filled their ears as they reappeared in the air again, and landed on the ground with a light thump, exhilaration thrumming through them at the successful teleportation. The acolyte squeezed the handle of their Demon Carver and charged again, teeth clenched tightly the way their instructor had tried to drill out of them for so long.
They swung sharply, and hit nothing but air as the hero flipped back, and then before they could even think about regaining their balance, he was there again, club drawn back in an almost picturesque pose before swinging forwards and slamming into their side once, twice, three times, the weapon cracking on the last hit. Maybe an older member could have remained solid against the blows, or one of the blademasters, but they were still growing into their skin, light and young (weak and fragile), and the momentum knocked them clear off their feet and into the nearby snow.
Inhaling shallowly as the pain in their ribs made itself known with every movement, they didn’t even bother rising before teleporting again, scrambling to visualize a target location, anywhere to get away from the footsteps approaching so quickly--
They landed behind the hero, close enough to reach out and touch the soft-looking tunic he wore, and their surprise (their hesitance) was what decided the fight. The hero twisted instinctively as soon as their feet touched the ground, blade in hand, and even as they tried to turn and run , get out of range (flee like a coward), a searing line of pain sliced down their back, tearing through cloth and skin alike. The acolyte crashed into the snow in front of them and scrambled forwards, biting their lip harshly to counter the burning pain. It was shallow. It didn’t hit anything vital. They deserved it for faltering.
They turned and swiped wildly with their Carver, the hero forced to scurry back in order to avoid the blow. The sharp pain from the movement made dark spots flash erratically before their eyes, and no matter how much they wanted to prove themself to everyone, to die for the greater good of those they loved and for their Lord -- the Yiga were a dying breed, and every member counted. They had to retreat.
Seizing the lull in the fight, the acolyte hopped further away from the hero, dropping everything in the process. Their weapon, their bananas, anything to make them lighter. The less they carried, the less energy it would take to get home. The less energy it took, the more likely they’d make it back alive. The words were so oft repeated to them in training that they nearly mouthed them as they made the escape sigil and connected their hands, waiting for the scent of thick red smoke to envelop them and take them back.
...
...
…
The hero stared at them from where he’d stepped forwards to collect their dropped items, looking vaguely interested as they felt surprise, realization, and then dread wash over them in rapid succession. The circuit wasn’t connected. Somewhere during the fight, the line had been broken, and now everything the clan’s magic blessed them with- teleportation, escape, protection- was gone. Only their mask runes remained untouched, allowing them to see the unchanging landscape around them. The harsh cold of the snow beneath them was already seeping into their bones.
The hero was going to kill them.
The acolyte’s gaze darted back down to where he’d already picked up their weapon and was still staring at them in that detached, disaffected way. At the clear acknowledgement, he raised the weapon up, and panic made them jerk backwards. Their foot slipped against an uneven patch of snow, and fear shot through them as they lost balance and slid a few feet down the incline on hands and knees. Terrified at losing sight of the enemy, they craned their neck back around to look at where the hero had been, sure he was now advancing to finish what he’d started--
But he was still in the same spot, weapon slightly raised up as though in offering. After another drawn-out moment of watching them watch him, he stood back up, ignoring their flinch to tuck his looted goods-- their stuff!-- into a pocket. He blinked once at them with that same distantly blank expression, and then turned his back-- the gall! the disrespect-- and walked further down the mountain.
The acolyte sat, stunned, for a good few moments as the sound of snow crunching underboot faded away.
They’d lived. They weren’t dead.
A low, almost indiscernible huff of disbelief escaped them, teeth chattering. Why would he…
It didn’t matter. They would make sure he’d live long enough to regret it, but only just that long.
As their survival sunk in, and the adrenaline faded, they realized that they were shaking, half from relief and half from the overwhelming cold. It was a grim reminder of their situation. They slowly got back to their feet, hand pressed against their ribs, and did a careful 360 of their surroundings.
Snow. More snow. A stretch of sheer cliff-face. A steep drop.
They were on a mountain. What the fuck was the hero doing climbing a mountain for? Shouldn’t he have been trying to destroy the natural order of things, or something?
A sharp, cutting wind kicked up, and they glanced overhead, at the heavy storm clouds rolling in. They rubbed their hands together and shoved them under their armpits, a feeling of foreboding settling heavily upon them at the sight.
They weren’t dead yet .
---
The acolyte almost missed the smoke trail against the washed out grey sky and white-coated cliff walls, only catching it after a few minutes of careful watch. Flexing numb fingers, they hurried through the snow, the chill biting through their suit and clashing with the hot pain in their ribs. They were glad that at least their mask shielded their face from the worst of the wind, though they’d lost feeling in their dry lips some time ago.
The source of the smoke was indeed a fire, a small, crackling thing tucked against the opening of a cave to shelter it from the wind. As they got closer, they could see the arranged firewood, the non-edible parts of meals tucked into one corner, all signs that someone had been camping here in the past. The Lord of Malice only knew what kind of lunatic would camp out in this weather for fun. Hopefully whoever it was had wandered off and died in the snow or something. The acolyte crouched by the fire, close enough that the heat seared against their skin painfully, making them flinch.
Still, it was better than feeling nothing, they were pretty sure, and they’d dealt with worse pain before. What was important now was making sure they wouldn’t end up frozen to death in the near future. If they could find something to make a torch with, they could probably make it down the mountain after the storm died down. Then, it was just a matter of avoiding travelers until they could get home… probably. They’d never heard tell of any of the Blademasters getting their circuit disrupted and travelling back on foot, but--
Thmp!
The acolyte choked and nearly toppled over into the fire as they jumped away from the sound, chest still bruised and battered, limbs still too cold to carry them properly. They turned the fall into a roll and managed to shakily regain their feet, obtaining some distance and balance as they jerked their head up to see their ambusher--
The legendary hero, freshly and neatly seated about a meter from the fire, holding an armful of what looked to be assorted plants and mushrooms.
The acolyte instinctively tried to hop back, reaching for the weapon they didn’t have anymore, but any notion of fighting was quickly halted when their head connected with the low roof of the cave, sending them back down to their knees as they clutched at it. They shoved themself backwards, gritting their teeth through the pain and hoping that they had managed to make it out of range.
Squinting past their dizziness, they glanced around frantically to see where the hero was, wondering if he was using some sort of stealth elixir, since they couldn’t hear his footsteps. After a moment of fruitlessly turning their head back and forth, their vision focused enough to properly see the hero, who… was in the process of holding a skewer of meat and vegetables over the fire. He hadn’t even shifted from where he originally sat.
The acolyte looked between the hero and the skewer, lips pressed tightly together in confusion (The hero…was cooking? He ate? He ate food? What? Wh--). The hero glanced over at them, unreadable as ever, and then returned to roasting food by the fire. They bristled at the implicit dismissal, and picked up a rock threateningly. They knew how to throw things.
The hero pulled out a flamesword.
They put down the rock.
The hero flicked one of the activation runes on the blade, lighting it up and causing a surge of warm air to fill the cavern.
They put down the rock! What more did he want from them!!!
They tensed in preparation to move, but the hero didn’t even glance at the acolyte, setting the activated flamesword on the cave floor, flames occasionally flickering up from the edges. They could feel the heat thawing their frozen fingers, and they clenched and unclenched their hands angrily (nervously).
What… was this? A warning? (A promise?) Was he trying to show how confident he was that the acolyte was no threat to him? Some kind of Hylian power play…? They’d been told about how prideful and arrogant the royal family and those who served them were. This must be part of that folly. Well, the acolyte thought, lip curling up in a snarl behind their mask, it would be his downfall.
They would regain their strength, and the hero would taste the steel of his own blade at their hands. They’d show him who was weak. The acolyte shifted to pull their limbs in closer, the heat making them feel heavy and slow. It wouldn’t be long before the hero dropped his guard. They’d only need one lapse, and then…
They dropped into sleep without even realizing it had happened.
---
Link noticed the Yiga Footsoldier droop from where they sat tucked against the wall, and looked over properly from where he’d been keeping half an eye on them while roasting apples by the fire. Sure enough, they appeared to be unconscious at the very least, possibly dead. He hoped not dead. It was the first time he’d ever seen one of the Yiga stick around after being soundly beaten, and he was a little curious.
Not curious enough to try and initiate a conversation, of course, because so far all interactions with the Yiga were headache-inducing at best, but still. Curious enough to try and make the cave warmer as a sign of goodwill, seeing as the assassin had been shaking, clearly suffering from Mount Lanaryu’s below-freezing temperatures.
...Now that he thought about it, that was unusual too, since in his experience, no matter where the Yiga pursued him, they were never affected by the climate. He distinctly remembered thinking about how unfair it was while running away from one near the Rito’s Flight Range. This footsoldier provided no end of questions.
And no answers, it seemed. They were out of it now, not shifting an inch when Link gently prodded them with a fish skewer. Looks like his warm-’em-up tactic had backfired.
‘You’re lucky that move didn’t make them jump for your throat, fool.’
Link blinked, absentmindedly nudging an apple closer to the fire to roast. ‘ Oh, you were watching?’
Revali gave him pretty good approximation of a scoff, for a ghost hitchhiking in his brain. ‘ Yes, I was watching. Watching you sabotage your own efforts. I thought it’d be more amusing than this.’
‘?’ Link simply sent a mild sense of inquiry back, knowing that it would be the quickest way to get to the point. He was too tired for banter.
‘You pulled out a weapon, Hero.’ Revali responded, voice dripping with disdain. ‘ They clearly assumed you were going to use it for its intended purpose, rather than a makeshift heater.’
‘Ah.’ Link thought about that for a moment. That did explain the jumpiness. ‘ Well, all’s well that ends well.’
There was a dry pause. ‘ There is an assassin from a clan fixated on killing you sleeping three feet away.’
Link checked a healing blister on his palm. ‘ And?’
The sense of impatience in the back of his mind thickened at his amusement. ‘And if you aren’t going to kill them, you must at least remove their mask. The more often you recognize the assassin before they shirk their disguise, the better.’
He rolled his eyes, but ultimately figured that was as good a reason as any to go snooping. He crouched and crept forwards, eyeing the slumped over figure for any signs of waking. They remained motionless, hands tucked in tightly but fingers uncurled, like they were trying to compact themself into the smallest space possible before falling asleep. He reached out and tugged the mask up from the bottom, noting the red band around the sides.
The strap came loose with a sharp snap and a crackle of red smoke, and Link jerked back, recognizing a magic reaction when he saw one. After a moment where no further explosions or lights appeared, he relaxed, figuring the now-deactivated spell was probably related to how they saw through the thick white porcelain of the mask in the the first place.
The assassin was definitely knocked out, he noted as he went back to pulling off the mask. It wasn’t really surprising, considering their fight, and then however long they had endured the snowy mountainside for. His own body would probably shut down to recover from the damage too. Not that he liked the idea of doing that again, ever.
He finally worked the thick mask off completely, and stopped short.
Their face was covered up to the nose by a cloth mask, the same blood red as the rest of their bodysuit, but what could be seen was… unmistakably young.
Link sat back on his heels, looking over the lax form with new eyes. He hadn’t cared to notice before, but upon looking again, their frame was small, and their limbs thin. What previously had been just another somewhat short footsoldier now looked to be a gangly kid, barely into their growing years.
He felt a strange twist in his gut, thinking about the fact that he hadn’t realized till now, what he could’ve done in his ignorance, but--
‘What were those Yiga thinking , sending a mere child after the Legendary Hero?’ Revali hissed, his familiar combination of indignance and disgust washing over Link, grounding him. He pushed aside any particularly troubling thoughts aside for later (or never), and returned to the task at hand. He had hit them in... the ribs, right? The… the general torso area? His club had been pretty large.
As gently as possible, he shifted the kid onto their back. Their hands twitched and the small furrow between their eyebrows deepened, but they didn’t wake, thankfully. Link turned his attention inwards to Revali’s presence.
‘Can you find Mipha? I don’t really-’ He gestured to the situation as a whole. Revali snorted.
‘Yes, I’m aware of your inability to do anything resembling healing.’
‘Hey. I can cook.’
‘Ah, yes, hail the conquering hero and his roasted apples.’ Snappy retort delivered, he vanished, presumably heading back to Vah Medoh to pass on the message.
Link rolled his eyes and settled back to sit cross-legged, one knee bouncing with excess energy. After a moment, his wandering eyes landed on the mask he’d set down a bit away from the kid. He leaned over to pick it up and flipped it over, studying the inside.
Like he’d expected, the curved interior was plastered with magic-laden runes from top to bottom. They were distinctly different from the glowing blue runes on Sheikah tech. The old language was written in sharp, blocky symbols that pulsed with activation. The runes on this mask were smooth-edged and clearly handwritten in bright red ink. The curving characters overlapped and crossed like knotted hair, similar to the written language of this time.
He guessed that it made sense that runes and magic would evolve with the written language, especially since the Sheikah magic was ancient. The mask’s magic felt different too, reeking of acrid smoke and lightly scorching his fingertips. It was a sharp contrast to the glowing magic of the shrine runes, liquid and muffled.
His thoughts were diverted by the sensation of Mipha arriving. She never bothered hiding her mental presence the way Revali did, a temporary wave of curiosity-fondness-worry washing over him like cool water as he set the mask back down.
‘ Revali said you needed my help?’ She asked, her voice soft and steady as always. He nodded, looking up at the unconscious kid so she could see the problem through his eyes.
‘One of the assassins…’ A familiar thread of anger winded itself through her voice. It was always there when talking about the Yiga Clan. Link got the feeling that she took the threat against himself and Zelda personally.
Still, he shook his head. ‘A child.’ He thought, focusing on the parts of their bodysuit where the fabric was bunched up. It was obvious up close that the black and red uniform was too large, and oddly enough, Link felt a little relieved at the sight. There was something more unnerving about the idea of the kid in an assassin’s outfit that was tailored for them, like giving a toddler a miniature knife. Kids shouldn’t wear killers’ clothing.
‘Why would those monsters send out a child?’ Mipha responded, trickles of her upset spilling over and making Link’s eyes sting. He shrugged, not keen on trying to guess the motivations behind this attack.
‘We fought earlier. I hit them in the ribs. Do you know what to do for… that?’ He thought, a bit awkwardly. He was careful to keep his thoughts objective, already mentally distancing himself from the stress of the situation.
‘Link…’ Mipha paused, likely catching wind of his feelings despite his efforts, before purposefully lightening her tone.
‘Calling me here for healing advice, hmm? I should’ve known.’ He could feel Mipha’s amusement, and the ribbing made a good-natured smile twitch at his lips.
‘Yeah, yeah, I couldn’t heal someone if my life depended on it, I know.’ He thought in mock-annoyance, before grinning. ‘That’s why I’m lucky to have your expertise to count on!’
‘You say that like you’ve ever used any of my medical knowledge, rather than depending on my healing magic.’ She responded in kind. Link felt his lips curl into a wry smile to go with her words. He threw his hands up in an exaggerated motion, conceding defeat, and her quiet laugh resounded in his mind.
After a moment, it faded away. ‘Link… you do know… this could be a trick?’ His grin faded, attention drawn back to the situation at hand. After a pause, she continued. ‘Your kindness and bravery were well-known before the Calamity… It’s not unthinkable that they would try to use that against you.’
Link sighed inaudibly, shoving down the automatic exhaustion that always came with mentions of his pre-Resurrection self. He was aware it might be a trap. A few times before, he’d saved a traveler from a monster only to turn around and find they were bearing down on him with a familiar sickle.
Still…
‘Let’s see how it turns out first. They might not even be here once I get back from the Spring of Wisdom.’
Mipha hummed a low note, but didn’t push the issue. ‘For bruised ribs, you’ll want to pack some snow into extra cloth and put it on their torso to reduce swelling,’ she instructed, and Link rolled to his feet and pushed his sleeves up. Time to get to work.
---
The acolyte was dredged from unconsciousness by a dull pain in their back and a chill in their bones.
For a moment, they stared at the flickering light against the rock ceiling above them, trying to remember where they were through the thick haze of sleep. They inhaled deeply, but stuttered halfway through, muffling a surprised cough at the sharp pain in their ribs. When--?
The hero.
The acolyte tried to jerk up into a sitting position, cursing their stupidity (how could they have fallen asleep? idiot! ), and their badly bruised torso immediately and painfully reminded them how bad of an idea it was to use core muscles. They choked on another breath and twisted to slowly roll to their hands and knees instead. As soon as they were upright, they scanned their immediate surroundings, bewildered and on edge.
The small cave had barely changed, apart from the conspicuous absence of a Goddess-tainted hero. The fire was starting to die into embers, but the flamesword was still active where it lay on the ground, emitting waves of heat and slowly but steadily scorching the rock beneath it. They leaned forwards and grasped the ornate hilt of it, already feeling a bit more secure with weapon in hand. Or maybe that was just the warmth.
Either way, they felt a little better. They reached up to rub at the sleep in their eyes, trying to figure out why they were still--
Their eyes?
The acolyte dropped the sword with a clang as they realized their mask was gone, the light in the cave diminishing as the flaming blade went out. They reached up with both hands, fingers prodding at the delicate (vulnerable) skin around their eyes as though to make certain that yes, that was their face. Their cloth mask was still securely in place, but from the cheeks up they were exposed. The heated air in the cave felt harsher, suddenly. Hotter.
The acolyte shifted away from the embers of the fire and turned their head from side to side, frantically searching. Their eyes caught on a pile of fabric tucked into the corner. Pulling themself forwards and carefully avoiding the still-hot sword on the ground, they pulled the neatly folded cloth apart and found their mask swaddled within it.
They quickly shoved it on, fumbling at the straps in the back with fingers numb from cold (fear?). All the acolyte could see for a few panicked moments was overwhelming darkness, and then they finally managed to reconnect the proper sigils. With a small pop and the smell of burning, the spell welded back together and they could see the dim cave through their mask again. They let out a choked sigh of relief, ignoring the ache in their chest to press their palms against the mask for a moment.
Who had taken their mask off? The hero? Why? For that matter, what had happened between now and when they’d fallen asleep?
They pulled their hands from the mask to look around again. The only sign that the hero had even been here at all was the abandoned sword and the fabric the mask had been wrapped in. They picked up a corner of the fabric and lifted it, shaking it a little just in case there was something else caught in the folds.
It was… a tunic?
They rubbed the downy material between their fingers, bewildered. The hero had left behind… clothes? For what reason? Had he forgotten the outfit? Why even take it out in the first place? Why had the hero even left them alive in the first place? If the acolyte had found one of their mortal enemies asleep and weaponless in a cave, they certainly wouldn’t have let the opportunity pass them by.
They had no idea what the hero was playing at, but he kept making the same dumb mistakes.
However…. They felt at the scrape along their back, wincing. The suit had taken the brunt of the blow, but it had been rendered useless in the process, which was really bad. They weren't even supposed to have this teleportation suit in the first place.
Right now, the clan sent initiated members out in disguises, in order to take the hero off guard and also scout out the area they were gonna fight in. If the attackers teleported to the hero's location, they would be at a disadvantage if he was with allies. Or, for example, on top of a huge freezing mountain. They frowned. Maybe their instructor had had a point after all.
Shaking their head to dismiss the thought, the acolyte squinted at the tunic and grudgingly pulled it over their head, deciding that it was the hero’s fault for leaving it behind. It was theirs now, and that meant they were allowed to like it. So there.
They picked up the flamesword and ran a finger along the rune, brows furrowed in concentration. After a few moments of repeating the motion, the blade sparked and then lit up, and they struggled not to flinch and drop it again. Knuckles white around the hilt, the acolyte stepped out of the cave, fresh snow crunching under their feet. The wind was sharp against the tunic, and they took a deep breath of the freezing air.
They were still alive. They would keep going.
Releasing the breath they’d been holding and firming their shoulders with resolve, they turned and started walking, following the sole set of footprints left behind in the snow.
---
They made it about halfway up one of the steep slopes before the earth seemed to fall apart around them.
They struggled to keep balance as the ground shook, the mountain around them practically vibrating. After a moment, their surroundings stilled again, apart from the massive amounts of displaced snow. What--?
The answer to their unspoken question became clear enough after a moment, as the acolyte caught sight of a huge, ethereal being ribboning across the sky above. It had a long, serpentine body, small clawed feet, and a long muzzle. They’d never seen anything like it, but the atmosphere around it was unmistakably powerful.
Even from this distance, they could see the malice permeating the air around the being, dark and thick in the air. The acolyte fell to their knees and clutched the hilt of the flameblade tightly, uncertain what this construct of their master’s influence was doing in a place like this, but sure that not showing the proper amount of deference would get them (rightfully) destroyed.
Before they could fully bow their head, more movement in the sky drew their eye. What…?
Far above, miniscule in comparison to the malignant being, a small figure with an unfortunately familiar head of blonde hair. The acolyte stared up at the sky blankly. There was no way.
The faraway visage of the hero continued to soar through the air, mocking them with his impossibility. He was riding updrafts with some kind of glider and keeping pace with the impossibly large creature, somehow. Was he… fighting it? Should they help it win? They… they should, right?
...Yeah, there was no way they could get up there. Maybe if they got high enough and then threw the flameblade? That probably wouldn’t work.
The acolyte got back to their feet with some strain, and watched, entranced, as the two moved further down the mountain, much closer, in a strange sort of dance. The hero was drawing back a bowstring and firing as he plummeted through the air, and even the thought of being that high up made their stomach drop unpleasantly.
After a few moments of back and forth, the hero landed a final hit on the being’s back, causing it to twist. For a moment, it wailed and thrashed midair, the sound reverberating through the acolyte’s bones. Then, it spiralled upwards sharply, shedding the effects of the malice like a thick coat and revealing bright, luminescent scales.
The acolyte gaped up at the sight before lowering their gaze slightly and realizing that the hero had peeled away and was gliding downwards, heading straight for them. They scrambled backwards, flameblade dragging through the snow and melting it instantly.
The hero touched down lightly on the snow, running forwards a few steps before tucking away his strange glider. He turned to face the acolyte, and waved. They hefted the flameblade up in threat. He blinked at them, frustratingly unreadable, and then turned and started up the slope without a sound.
They faltered, blade dipping down as they stared after him, perplexed. After a moment, they rallied again, holding the blade by their side and striding quickly after him. He wouldn’t get away from them by being confusing! The acolyte was gonna kill him whether he acted weird or not, so there!
The path was strangely clear, but there were occasionally signs that monsters had been there in the past. The acolyte had a sneaking suspicion that the hero had cleared the area earlier, maybe even before their fight. They kept their narrowed eyes focused on the Hylian as they tramped after him. He kept stopping to pick up the few plants and mushrooms that grew here and tuck them away, but they never managed to close the distance even a little, and they started to feel distinctly toyed with.
Soon enough, the acolyte could see the peak of the mountain ahead, and the creature that was now wrapped around it, otherworldly and untouchable. The hero headed straight for it, casual as anything. They slowed slightly, wondering if the hero was going to fight both of them at once. What kind of plan was that?
Maybe the creature had retreated because it was too wounded? The hero could be finishing it off. The acolyte bit at the inside of their cheek in thought. All creatures were at their most distracted when focused on their own prey. Maybe they could try to surprise attack him when he moved to kill it?
The acolyte glanced ahead and suddenly realized they had trailed behind, the hero out of sight. Hopping a bit to keep balanced with the sword, they picked up their pace to finally reach the peak, and instantly stopped cold.
Below the sharp crown of rock the creature had twisted itself around, there was a glimmering pool of impossible water, liquid rippling even in the face of the freezing temperatures. The hero stood on a pedestal with the water lapping at his feet, and he faced a large stone statue. The acolyte recognized it instantly as a portrayal of the accursed goddess, and their face twisted in disgust, hidden behind the mask. They looked up to the massive being again, and felt like their blood had frozen in their veins at the realization.
This was a Goddess -creature. The hero was bringing them here to get smited .
The acolyte hissed through their teeth and tripped backwards, hunching their shoulders up, automatically trying to make themself seem bigger. The hero glanced back for a moment, before turning back to the statue intently. It wasn’t doing anything they could see, but the hero seemed to be listening with ears perked.
They clung to the handle of the flamesword, eyes locked on the Goddess-creature as it drifted slightly from side to side, unbothered by the harsh winds. It looked big enough to kill them with barely a thought, and it wasn’t like there was anyone to say otherwise. They glanced down at the hero, sure that he was smug at having so easily baited them.
As they watched, he tilted his head at the statue, nodded, and then pulled his bow off his back again, stringing up an arrow with the ease of long practice. Even as the acolyte tensed in preparation to dodge, they felt a little insulted. What, was death-by-undefeatable-deity-creature too good for them?
To the acolyte’s surprise, however, the hero didn’t turn to them. Instead, he aimed up, at the Goddess-creature, which didn’t respond at all. After a moment of tense silence, he let the arrow fly, and it met its mark in the being’s scaled muzzle. It let out a low, reverberating noise, and pulled away from the peak, travelling further and further up into the sky in lazy spirals.
Something bright and small fell from it, landing with a glint at the hero’s feet. He picked it up and strode waist-deep into the water, before setting it on the surface. A glow emanated from the water, and the sound of stone grinding against stone rang through the clearing as a passageway in the mountain opened.
The acolyte had no idea what was going on.
The hero leaned to the side to take a look past the Goddess statue, and then turned around, apparently satisfied with what he saw in the passage. He waved at the statue and then turned around and walked back towards them, disarmingly relaxed.
They wouldn’t be fooled. They straightened up aggressively and held the sword up again, cursing the fact that it was so difficult to move quickly. The hero visibly sighed, and then pulled a scimitar from his back. How many weapons did he even have?
The acolyte held the sword up and steeled their arms, just in time to catch the first strike. They clenched their jaw and pushed back against the steel, brow furrowed behind their mask. Finally, they would fight the hero properly. This would be what it came down to, their perseverance against his. If they could just last long enough to get a hit in somewhere vital, they could flip the odds and--
The hero grabbed their wrist with his free hand and twisted their arm down, forcing their fingers to loosen and stealing the flameblade in one smooth motion. They recoiled and stared at their empty hand, and then at the hero, who now held two swords. He had scooped it right out of their hand. They’d been scooped!!
The hero slung the flameblade back over his shoulder, and the movement made them flinch back, hands raising up as though they could stop a sword. They remembered quite clearly the sharp pain of getting their back sliced open in their previous fight. The wound still hurt now, pulsing in time with their rapid heartbeat.
The acolyte inhaled shakily, furiously trying to keep their breathing steady. They were a proud Yiga Soldier, and they wouldn’t show fear in the face of death, they told themself, clenching and unclenching their fists. They held their breath until they felt fit to burst, and then charged forwards blindly with a shout.
---
Link squatted and received the full impact of a twelve year old sprinting at him. Ouch. Before the kid could rebalance, he looped an arm around their torso and hauled them over one shoulder with ease. They were limp with shock for a moment, before coming to life and immediately trying to maul him. Good thing he’d stored all his weapons while the kid was getting ready to charge him like some kind of enraged goat.
It was like carrying a satchel of wiggly apples, if the apples were hollow and pointy. The kid was all skin and bones, jabbing sharp elbows anywhere they could reach. Link winced slightly as they thumped their fists against his back angrily, but didn’t adjust his hold. They might be too cold to feel it right now, but Mipha would kill him if he accidentally jostled their bruised ribs again. It didn’t matter if she wasn’t there at the moment. She’d Know. Instead, he picked up his pace, trotting through the Spring of Wisdom.
As expected, the shrine awaited him in the passageway, casting an orange glow on the cave walls. He pulled his slate out with his non-child-wrangling hand and clicked it into the port, humming as the shrine shifted to mostly-blue and popped up on the screen of the slate. The entrance of the shrine folded open, but he ignored it, choosing instead to open the slate’s map. He could come back and go inside later. The ancient soul within was patient, he knew.
He navigated the digital map a bit clumsily with one hand, before finding the right mark on the map and tapping it twice. He made sure to hold tight to the Yiga kid as his body numbed and sliced apart into glowing blue energy.
For a moment, all he could perceive was cool, dark static, before he snapped back into awareness on the platform of another shrine. He took a deep breath, waiting to settle back into his own skin properly. The teleportation magic was never painful, if always a bit unsettling.
“Grrkt--!” The kid on his shoulder made a sound ominously close to retching, right in his ear. At least they weren’t trying to debone him anymore. He crouched and set them back on their feet, and they bolted away from him, which he expected.
What he didn’t expect was that they only made it about four feet before falling over on hands and knees. They shoved their mask up, pointedly turned away from him, and then presumably managed to pull their face mask down, because half a second later they were vomiting all over the dirt. Link frowned mildly in concern. That probably wasn’t good.
He started towards them, uncertain of how to help but willing to try, and stopped at what was probably supposed to be a snarl but came out instead as a mildly threatening gurgle.
Alright then. Well, food would probably help this situation! He turned around and made his way over to the top of the hill, gliding down to the stable below. A couple of locals waved at him as he touched down, and he waved back before wandering over to the cooking pot and studying the assortment of ingredients he had stored. They liked… bananas, right? Would it be bad to use the bananas he looted from them earlier?
He thought on this for a hot moment.
Well, what they didn’t know couldn’t hurt ‘em. He could always find more bananas later. He pulled out the ingredients and got cooking, humming as he fried the halved bananas until they were toasty, dipped them in courser bee honey, and then portioned out some of his sugar and sprinkled it over the dish.* Kids liked sweet stuff, right?
He warmed up some milk too, just in case. That seemed like the kind of thing that would settle a sore stomach, and besides, milk was great. Everybody loved milk.**
After tucking away the fresh meals, he meandered over to Beedle, who was sitting against the inn wall, wearing his characteristic oversized backpack.
“Link! Welcome back! It’s nice to see you again!” Beedle waved excitedly, lighting up at his appearance like a Photuris lucicrescens of the family Lampyridae, from the superfamily Elateroidea, from the infraorder Elateriformia, from the suborder Polyphaga, from the order Coleoptera, from the class Insecta, from the phylum Arthropoda, of the kingdom Animalia.
Link had spent a while around Beedle.
“Did you want to buy something?” He reached for his seller’s table, but Link shook his head.
“I need help,” He signed, a bit sheepish.
Beedle looked him up and down instantly. “Are you injured? Did you have a run-in with a Lynel again?”
Link shook his head again, face a bit softer. “No, I mean help with translation. I picked up a--” His hands stalled for a second. “--traveling companion who doesn’t sign.”
“Oh! Of course Beedle will help!” The shopkeep nodded with understanding, and started to struggle to his feet. Link offered a hand, easing the strain a bit. That pack really was large.
He led the way back over to the shrine. Beedle didn’t move very fast, so he took the time to bask a bit in the sunlight. That mountain was always so cold, it left his bones feeling achy for a bit after every time. Probably a side effect of being technically over a century old.
The kid was struggling to balance against a tree when they reached the shrine, their shakiness visible from a distance. As soon as they heard footsteps, they glanced over their shoulder-- mask firmly back in place, Link noted-- and tried to bolt. They barely made it a meter before their legs gave out on them and they lost balance again, catching themself roughly on gloved hands. Link hummed consideringly; that had never happened to anyone else when he’d taken them through the shrine system.
“L-- Link!” Beedle whispered, and he turned, eyebrows raised slightly. “That’s a Yiga Clan member!”
Oh, right.
“It’s okay,” he signed, trying to look reassuring. “Just a kid. Teleport-sick, too.”
Beedle didn’t look particularly reassured, so Link walked alone to the kid’s side and helped them sit up against a tree. They tried a vicious swipe at his face in the process, but were now upright, which Link counted as a success.
“You okay?” Link tried, moving his hands slowly as to not startle them, but they pressed back into the bark of the tree anyways, watching his hands move with badly-hidden fear written in every line of their body. He leaned back a bit. Maybe the proximity was making them nervous?
“He said… ‘Are you okay?’” Beedle’s cautious voice came from over his shoulder, and the kid’s head wavered a bit, like it wasn’t sure which one of them to focus on. It didn’t seem like they were going to answer.
“What’s your name?” Link signed, and the kid’s mask was definitely angled at his hands with an unerring focus. Beedle echoed the question, and their shoulders hunched, fingers digging into the dirt at their sides. To add to the effect, they turned their face away and tucked their chin in defensively, refusing to even look at them. The implications were clear: they didn’t want to talk.
Link could understand and relate to that. He stood up and turned to walk back to Beedle.
“In my expert opinion, what they’re trying to say is... ‘I’d rather die.’” Link signed, shooting a mildly exasperated look at his friend. Beedle glanced over Link’s shoulder at the kid, and then signed back.
“Aren’t they part of the Yiga Clan?” he asked with somewhat clumsy motions, expression still considerably worried. “...Maybe another member will find them and take them home?”
Link chewed on the inside of his cheek, and then shook his head. “Doubt it.” He turned back to the kid, who was watching them still. Or at least, that’s what Link assumed they were doing. The mask made things difficult. And creepy.
“Hey,” He waved and started again, Beedle speaking a beat later, “You warm again yet, kid? That doublet helping any?” At their confused expression, he elaborated. “The tunic.”
They looked down at the warm doublet as though they’d forgotten they were wearing it, and then back up sharply. “You left it. It’s mine,” they said, and if Link hadn’t realized their age before, their voice would have given it away now. It was childishly high, and wavered slightly despite the stubborn tone. They gripped the front of the doublet tightly, fingers twisting the fabric.
“I’m not gonna take it from you,” Link responded, and, after Beedle translated, the kid raised their chin mulishly.
“Good,” they said, and he couldn’t help but exhale in amusement a bit at their show of bravado.
He turned back to Beedle, posture relaxed. “I’ll just set up camp here for tonight. Thanks for helping.”
Beedle nodded slowly, glancing between the two of them. “You’ll be alright?”
Link nodded. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”
He saw Beedle off, and returned to the small clearing, where the kid had found a hollowed out tree stump and was huddling inside of it, white mask barely visible in the fading light. Link supposed that was as good a place to sleep as any.
He went about setting up camp, swiping through the storage of his slate and retrieving firewood and flint to set a fire, placing a few dishes and raw ingredients around the fire to roast, and then circling around the camp area to check the perimeter for monsters. He easily dispatched an Octorok and a couple of persistent Stalkoblins, but nothing else. Being so close to a stable meant that monsters tended to keep their distance.
By the time he returned, dusk had set in, and the small fire was casting flickering shadows around the camp. He pulled out a travel-worn blanket, and then paused, glancing over at the tree stump and just barely catching the kid jerk back. He stood up, tucking the blanket under his arm, and walked over to the kid’s makeshift hideout.
This close, he could see them pressing back against the rotting wood, shoulders and head drawn up in some measure of defense. He tilted his head at them, and they hissed through their teeth at him. Hilarious. The hiss stuttered and turned into a choked noise as Link promptly dropped the blanket through the stump, landing on top of them.
He turned on his heel and walked the meter back to the fire as the kid wrestled with cloth in alarm. After a moment, the panicked shifting stopped, and Link crouched in his customary sleeping position by the fire. He edged away from the food he had set out earlier, making sure it was placed carefully far enough from him that a hungry kid might feel brave enough to snatch some. The night sky was clear, and Link fell asleep to the sound of crickets softly chirping.
---
The next morning brought with it a heavy fog, and the conspicuous absence of one prickly child.
Link slowly blinked into wakefulness, noting that sometime during the night, a familiar face had decided to visit. Directly across from him, a large wolf sat calmly, eyes keen. Link waved groggily, still enjoying the feeling of waking up at his own pace. The wolf huffed back an almost-bark.
Despite scaring the living daylights out of Link the first time he had appeared and bit the head off a Hinox for him, the eerily intelligent wolf had quickly become his one and only travelling companion, appearing out of the blue whenever he pleased and vanishing again just as quick. Link had dubbed him ‘Loaf’ after one afternoon where he’d left a freshly baked loaf of wheat bread out to cool, and returned to find three quarters of the bread gone, and a crumb trail leading to the wolf laying a few feet away, refusing to look him in the eye.
“Seen the kid?” Link signed at the wolf, who huffed again, giving Link a baleful look.
Link ignored it as expertly as he had ignored Revali’s similar feelings on the topic. He leaned back slowly on his hands, and tilted his head back curiously at the faint sound of shouting in the distance. He hummed. Now they were getting somewhere.
He shoved himself up out of his sitting position and shook his limbs out to loosen them up before setting off down the path at a jog, Loaf trotting easily at his side. The fog kept them from seeing the Wetland Stable down the hill as anything but a silhouette, but the closer they got, the more Link could make out the shrieks and crashing coming from inside. Loaf split off as soon as Link got close enough, knowing better than to get near the townsfolk or livestock, and Link ambled up to the entrance of the inn, which looked to be in chaos.
Several of the travelers were crouching by tables or beds, and the innkeeper was both yelling and swinging a broom at none other than the Yiga kid, who was currently in the process of trying to scale the canopy of the bed with limited success. The fact that they were wearing Link’s generously donated blanket as a makeshift cloak wasn’t helping them climb, evidently. Quinn, a local hunter, was fumbling with a bow, and his dog was barking and turning excited circles, only adding to the shouts and general noise in the room.
Beedle was hovering uncertainly by the door, and jumped as Link settled in place next to him, eyeing the mess. “Link! That’s your… uh, child, right?”
Link made a face at him, but, yeah, he really did need to take responsibility. As he made his way over, the kid finally managed to balance delicately on top of the bed posts, and immediately spat vicious threats about “heathenry” and “the great calamity obliterating their souls” at the innkeeper. They proceeded to then immediately overbalance while avoiding a swipe from the broom, and they toppled backwards with a yelp, falling off the bedpost.
He caught them by the scruff of the blanket they were half-wrapped in, preventing their impact with the ground and then holding them off the ground with one hand as they flailed about. The innkeeper lowered his broom, relieved. “That one yours?”
Link nodded, and used his free hand to sign a quick circle over his heart in apology. The kid finally managed to get their bearings, and froze at the sight of him, before seeming to remember themself and trying to kick him in the solar plexus. He dropped them on the floor before they could wriggle out of the makeshift cloak, and then proceeded to wrap the loose edges of the blanket around them, pinning their arms and then picking them back up like a freshly swaddled infant.
“A TRAP.” They yelled right in his ear, outraged, and then they made threatening teeth snapping sounds at his jugular. The clicking noises were slightly muffled by the thick white mask they still wore, making their intent to tear his throat out hilariously ineffective. It almost made up for the hassle of all these people staring at him. Link nodded somewhat awkwardly at the rest of the inn’s patrons. The innkeeper waved him off with good-natured amusement.
Beedle waved as they started off, seeming apprehensive of the kid’s angry murder noises. He had Link’s horse all saddled up, and Link nodded at him in thanks, making a note to bring back a good beetle for next time he saw the peddler.
Sugar, the horse, followed sedately as Link carried the wriggly blanket full of child back to the campsite, occasionally pausing to graze. Link set the kid back in their tree hollow, where they took a while to shimmy free of the blanket and kick it away from their hideout like it had personally wronged them. In the meantime, Link sat down to pat out the smouldering remains of the campfire, and frowned as he noticed that while most of the food from the previous night had mysteriously vanished, the cup of warm milk he’d left out was practically untouched. What a waste.
The kid seemed to have regained their bearings, hunkered down and peering menacingly over the top of the tree stump at him. They spat at him, their shoulders hunched like the fur on a prickly cat. “Even if you kill all of us, you’ll never be strong enough to defeat the Great King.”
They were talky today. Link tilted his head, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “Who?” He mouthed.
The kid was generally difficult to read with the mask obscuring their features, but their body stilled at his response. “Don’t pretend! The Master of Thieves! The Dark Lord, restorer of balance and natural order!” He blinked at them blankly. They dug their fingers into the ground in agitation. “The Manipulator of Malice? The All-Consuming Calamity! ”
Oh, Link knew that one. He pointed at the castle just barely visible on the horizon, and the looming mass of shadows and smoke that surrounded it, just to confirm.
The kid nodded, slow and exaggerated, an excellent translation of body language into an eyeroll. Link thought about that for a moment, and then stretched and yawned lackadaisically back at them.
The threat was kind of ineffective, honestly. Either he beat Ganon or he died the way he had 100 years ago. It meant he failed everyone and was single handedly responsible for Hyrule’s destruction, but also he’d be dead, so.
Since he had no way or desire to properly communicate this, he shrugged and blew a raspberry. The kid bristled, inordinately offended by his nonchalance, and lunged at him. It was a pretty sloppy attack, since they hadn’t bothered to stand up beforehand. He scooted back a bit, and then tossed an acorn at them. They batted it away with a yell, distracted from their assault. Speaking of communication, he should probably figure that out.
“Do you know--” Link paused his sentence mid-sign, half because he hadn’t really expected any of the signs to register, and half because the kid had immediately scrambled back at his signing, hands thrown up in front of their face and body rigid with tension. He raised an eyebrow in question. After a moment, they lowered their hands a bit, presumably staring at him through that mask.
“You okay?” Link signed, slower and with more widely known symbols. They flinched again, this time with the mask pointed at his hands. When nothing else happened, the kid tilted their head the slightest amount, before glancing up and seeming to remember Link was watching. They straightened up and puffed their chest out.
“Hah, as if you could replicate our clan’s magic!” They crowed. “It takes more than hand movements to activate the sigils, idiot!”
“I’m signing.” Link signed, a little bit lost. He repeated ‘sign’ a couple of times, for emphasis.
“Quit it already. Those ones don’t even make sense as an attack.” They grouched at him, pointedly looking away from his hand motions, shoulders tense.
They’d been alarmed by his signing earlier too, he remembered. Did they hold a different meaning to them? He snapped a few times, getting their grudging attention.
“Can you understand these?” He formed the signs slowly, and then repeated the sentence a few times while staring meaningfully at the kid. They were silent for a while, and then, in a tone that meant their face was probably all wrinkled up in confusion, they asked, “Are you-- are you using the ancient sigils to talk? How? Is that why you won’t say anything?”
Link’s lip twitched. Some of the tension had dropped from the kid, their voice lighter with a child’s curiosity for the first time.
“I talk with my hands,” he signed, “but my words are from a long time ago.”
He’d found that while some folks like Beedle were familiar with the older version of nonverbal signs he used, many others knew different versions, and some didn’t know any at all. He was slowly but surely learning the more modern sign language, and even without that, he’d gotten enough experience with body language for most folks to understand him. This was the first time his signing had been compared to a magic system, however. An offense-based one at that. No wonder the kid had been so nervous.
“Oh, yeah… Hey!” Speaking of, the kid went back to bristling like an offended kitten. “Don’t think just ‘cause you’re the immortal hero of the goddess, that I won’t kill you!”
Man, was that what they were calling him these days?
He stretched slowly, ignoring the kid’s expectant silence to roll his shoulders and then get to his feet. They scrambled back, clearly on the defense, but Link simply turned away and made his way over to where Sugar was grazing. He hopped up and swung a leg over the saddle, nudging her sides gently to get her moving. He got about ten paces down the trail before the silence behind him was broken.
“H-- Hey! Where are you going?”
Link didn’t respond, ears twitching back to catch the sound of the kid’s light footsteps. They were following at a distance, wary of getting too close to Sugar. Or Link. Either way, they were following, probably with the intent of killing him. Great.
The issue of the kid running off was solved, which meant now he had to think about other issues.
Like what he was going to do with a kid.
The original plan was to head to Death Mountain and take on the next Divine Beast, now that he’d found the recipe for a Fireproof Elixir and made enough that he wouldn’t die from heat stroke or just plain old fire anytime soon. But taking a ten year old to a place called ‘Death Mountain’ seemed like maybe a bad idea. He pondered on this for a few minutes, before pausing at a familiar sign along a fork in the road.
Zora’s Domain. Huh. Well, it had been a while since he’d seen Sidon.