Chapter Text
Wind likes his companions. He likes traveling with them even if walking so much land is making him discover all new and terrible types of sore. He likes talking to them, and messing with them. Most especially, he likes seeing the Captain and Mask again. Even if little Link isn’t so little anymore. The new Links aren’t so bad. They can be pretty fun.
But Wind hates when they do this.
“No, no, I’ve rescued plenty of divine beings before. And, other worlds have their own divinity? Or their own term for the divine. So obviously there’s more than Hylia and the Three Goddesses.” Legend tips his chin up, confident. “Around.”
“Wouldn’t other gods have their own Heroes though?” A fair question from Hyrule, who sits next to Legend.
They’re all gathered around the fire tonight, simply talking to fill the silence. Wind laughs easily. “Yeah? Of course.”
“What? That ain’t how it works, Sailor.” Twilight slouches more heavily on a protesting Wild, unbothered. “Only Hylia has destiny-ordained Heroes, seems like.”
“It seems like she’s just loaning out our services.” Legend jokes, but it falls flat.
Tension rises around the camp, faded and tender like an old wound. Wind bites his lip, looking away. Honestly, he wants to know more about the goddess Hylia. Time’s stories had plenty of traditions mentioned but, Wind hadn’t asked about a couple things.
When this stuff comes up, the truth is like an itch on his face. Wind knows its there, he knows that the gods and great spirits of the Great Sea roam as they wish without Hylia’s overseeing. He thumbs the hilt of the Phantom Sword. Heroes can be called upon by gods closer to whales than feathered ladies. Heroes do not strictly belong to Hylia and Her wishes. As always, Wind doesn’t look anyone in the eyes. It’s not a crime to keep things to himself, they all do.
Wild grunts and finally shoves Twilight off. “Well, we’re heroes right? This is what we do anyways.”
Vaguely discontent noises rise around the camp. Even Wind grimaces. Yeah, well. He’s himself before he’s a Hero. Wind would probably find his first journey easier to talk about if he loved Aryll less, but then he wouldn’t be a hero at all. Duty is sorta redundant for him. It wasn’t duty to a goddess or Hyrule that made Wind leave Outset. He knows its the same for a couple others here, too.
“Woah there, that’s-“ “Wild you can’t seriously-“ “Uh, actually-“ “Well yeah but-“
“I think the point,” Time cuts in, silencing the racket. “is that the gods cannot understand anything but what they’re meant to do, so they think we must be like that, too.”
Some nods, a few contemplative looks. Sky, ever so quiet, asks a little too heavily. “What?”
Time shrugs. “gods were created for a purpose.”
“Weren’t we all?” Sky replies, more defensive than Wind was expecting. “gods can be more than a, a function or base desire. Sh- They’re not animals.”
Time straightens. Wind tries to mediate these too-tall figures, for once, and speaks. “We’re all from different eras with different tales, does this stuff really matter? I thought we were telling stories, like Four fighting a rat.”
The smithy jerks to attention at the jab, play-offended and ready to spit back. Too bad he gets cut off.
Sky shakes his head. “Of course it matters. How can you guys think of living beings like that?”
“Are they living?” Time questions, face made of stone. “Eternal life isn’t the same as living.”
“Of course gods are alive.” Sky breathes. His sword-hand is shaking. It looks like anger, but the pace of his breathing says drowning, says fear. Still, Sky’s temper is too rare, and Wind doesn’t trust it. He doesn’t like the heavy fog of it and the lightening-hot buzz as the Chosen Hero speaks.
“Hylia has spoken to me before.” Wild adds, backing up Wind in that strange way he does sometimes. “She sounded alive?”
“Does it matter if They’re alive?” Wind scrunches up his face. “Gods are gods.”
“What do you know about the gods?” Sky snaps, still looking at Time.
Then, he turns startled eyes to the sailor. Sky’s mouth opens and closes, as if just realizing what he said. The oddities of Wind’s journey floats between them. Wind has gone still, peering up at Sky’s face with narrowed eyes.
Even in this split second, Wind knows better than to ask, to expose in front of all these eyes. Still, the hurt bares his teeth. Wind mouths, soundless. “What do you know about the gods?”
Sky’s ears shoot up in alarm, shoulders tensing so tight it looks painful. Like Wind has shot an arrow above it, Sky ducks his head uncomfortably. The Chosen Hero purses his mouth tightly.
“Sorry.” Sky says abruptly, then heads for his bedroll.
All around, the others mutter about sleep and night watches, immediately moving on from this cyclone of a conversation. Wind sighs, standing and stretching. He shakes his head at himself, like grandma would have if she saw him do that. But he can’t say Sky didn’t deserve it. Talk of the gods and goddesses of their lands puts tension in the most easygoing of them.
Wind himself would have loved to know about Legend’s time with the Oracles of the Golden Three or Twilight’s patron spirit, Ordana. But one word about any goddess and the whole chain needs to be involved. It’s exhausting.
Unbidden, Gohma comes to mind. Is Wind supposed to be upset at the goddesses-ordained spirit for testing him, and needing proof that he is a true, capable hero? Wind closes his eyes a second, letting himself see the completed Triforce in his hand, taken so easily at the end of it all.
No, Wind doesn’t think he minds the tests at all. They made him stronger, even if not strong enough.
Wind drags himself through the forest with all the eloquence of a man drowning.
Which was not actually that far off, since there was so much rain he might as well be. It slaps against his face like a million little wet rocks. Soft rocks, like steamed vegetables that soften in soup. His stomach rumbles. Wind squints at the sky. It might be dinner time, or not.. The dark grey of angry rain doesn’t tell him anything.
Wind pushed forward a couple steps, boots squishing against mud galore. He taps Time’s hand, peering up at the man.
“Is it evening yet?” Wind shouts over the pounds of water, he spits out rainwater afterwards. It's an almost homey feeling, he hasn't sailed in a storm since this new journey started. With how cautious everyone is, he has barely stood in one before someone pulled him inside. Not to mention, it's not like he can make his own cyclone and rip up somebody's Hyrule like a dick. If he were back in the Great Sea- but he isn't.
Time shakes his head, face still tight from yesterday’s discussion. He thinks he’s so slick about it, but Wind knows those frown lines only deepen when Time is brooding, or guilty, or angry. Wind huffs, stepping down a little harder for a step or two. These days, he hates when the Goddess Hylia comes up. There’s too many opinions in this group, and not a single person with the right temperament and authority to defuse it. It’s times like this that he misses Tetra. She wouldn’t have stood for this bullshit.
A loud woop sounds ahead as Twilight returns. The news comes down the chain like a game of telephone. Twilight says something to Wild, and it travels all the way to Wind. There’s a town.
Finally. Wind stands that bit straighter, new wind in his sails. He looks up for a moment, Sailor’s eyes gauging the sky. Grey clouds bloat thick and heavy, hiding any sunlight. As he looks, streaks of blue-orange lightning pops across the sky. It almost reminds him of something. Whoever’s Hyrule this is has some weird weather, but it’s weather that won’t be stopped now or soon.
They walk for another hour, maybe more. Then, finally, the town.
It’s a small thing. Wind runs a hand down a beaten wooden fence half-sunk into wet dirt. They trudge on, most of the chain visibly slumping. Yet, miracle of miracles, Wind feels droplets lighter, and lighter, and lighter.
Both Hyrule and Four actually cheers as the downpour eases. The air becomes warm and steamy. Wind squints into the thick mist, seeing the faintest of figures in the fog as townsfolk come out like nothings wrong and begin setting up a marketplace. Wind guesses that people still have to sell things, even in weather like this.
In the apocalypse, Grandma had said one day when he was small, there will still be dishes to wash.
Wind shakes the thought away. She’s probably right as always, but these people aren’t … Hyrule is standing. Wind is sad to notice he hasn’t thought of his grandma’s voice in a while. He hopes she’s doing okay.
“Right.” Warriors claps his hands, attracting the attention of Links aplently. Wind and Time share a knowing look. “We need supplies before we run into another monster encampment, and since the rain cleared up, a few groups can gather supplies. That way, we can all rest at the Inn later without worrying about getting anything tomorrow before we head out again.”
“Or we could just get the stuff later?” Legend counters, shoulders tense and hip jutted out weirdly. He’s probably uncomfortable the same way Master Orca gets sometimes, but that’s none of Wind’s business.
What is Wind’s business is the side-eye that Time is giving him from over Wars’ shoulder. His big little brother turns an asking eye, and inclines his head towards beside him. Wind rolls his eyes. As if Time needs to ask.
“Great suggestion, Vet.” Warriors smiles brightly. It’s so fake his teeth even flash in the trickles of sunlight. “You can come with me to the Inn. Although, I can definitely negotiate prices better than you, so you won’t have much to do.”
Wind chuckles to himself, watching Legend huff and puff, apparently too tired to see the obvious trick. From then on, everyone else pairs up. Wild and Four are off to find food in the marketplace. Twilight and Hyrule will forage for herbs and edible plants, and keep an eye out for wildlife. Time volunteers to argue with whoever sells potions around town. Before he can ask for Wind’s help though, Warriors pairs up Wind and Sky.
The outliers, Wind hears like a sharp whistle of the wind. The two that haven’t survived Hyrule before. Warriors tells them to check out the town, to see if there’s anything interesting around. Wind musters up excitement about getting to explore and shoves a retort about usefulness down his throat like a near-spoiled strip of pork.
It’s fine. Whatever.
Sky smiles tightly at him, still a little less sleepy than usual after yesterday’s talk on gods. Wind beams back the way Aryll does when he returns home after a long journey. All dimples and easy joy. He even adds a spark to his eyes. So what if he hasn’t had that spark since his little sister was swept up in talons? It’s not like Sky knows that, and having a spark, even in pretend, is fun. Makes him feel lighter. It helps that the chain doesn’t need him to be their babysitter, no matter how their view of him grates sometimes.
Some of Sky’s tension slips away like water off a bird’s feathers. Their exploration is a little easier after that.
They traverse winding roads and find remnants of little gardens. Sky pockets a few rain-squished flowers that still shine vivid colors. Wind stares a little too long at hyacinths and tries not to think of his little sister worlds away.
Along the end of the marketplace, they find a stall with a strange man in a tattered yellow robe. He has the biggest eyes Wind has ever seen and sits behind an outrageously huge crystal ball. Sky’s face does some complicated dance with amusement and confusion.
Well, okay.
Wind strolls up to the weird stall, eyebrow raised. The googly-eyed man perks up from his slump and gestures them over. “Travelers! You there! I see you, yes! Come, allow me to foresee your own fortune. It'll cost just five rupees to light the way along your cloudy path ahead.”
He spreads his fingers in the air and waves them. “Do you hunger to know what these big, lovely eyes will behold?”
Sky actually walks up to Mr. Big Eyes, and stays still as the guy leans in way too close. Abruptly, the man leans back, hand swept across his forehead like a theater troupe. “Ah! Watch your step, young man.”
The skyloftian furrows his brows, stepping back with a disappointed hum. Really, what was he expecting from a charlatan?
The man turns to Wind, waving a hand in a circle like some mystic magic bullshit. Wind steps closer until those huge eyes are peering into his own.
“Mhmmmm.” The man rumbles. “Water. All water.”
“Really.” Wind deadpanned.
One of the marketgoers scoff in obvious derision, apparently having overheard. She mutters something about the sky and fire, walking away with a swish of rain-soaked skirts.
The man sneers at her back and turns, tutting. “I don’t jest, young lad! Although, perhaps not as young as it seems?”
He squints and Wind takes a hasty step back, hand twitching to glance over the hourglass embedded in his sword.
Sky interjects, taking out the required rupees and dropping them onto the man’s stand. “Thank you, sir. We’ll be on our way now.”
He taps Wind’s arm as he pivots. Wind gets the message just fine and turns away from the fortune telling stand. He pouts. Wind would’ve liked if that guy was a fraud.
Onwards they go, wandering. The fog only thickens the further they get from the town’s entrance. Bigger buildings appear from the mist like ghosts and unseen figures make footsteps in the distance. Wind looks up just as a townhouse with splotchy yellow paint comes into view. He sharply inhales, freezing on the spot. Those huge yellow spots stare down at him. Were Bellum’s eyes that huge when it possessed the ship? He couldn’t look too long back then, or his friends would have died in all the ways that matter.
Somebody snaps their fingers. Wind jerks his head to see Sky a few feet away. Giving him space, Wind realizes. A nauseating mixture of shame and frustration rolls through him like needles to the skin. He hasn’t so vividly remembered something like that in a while. This weird intermediate Hyrule has him on edge.
Wind shakes his head, smiling at Sky. “Just a bad memory.”
He walks on, letting Sky catch up this time. Still, Wind can’t stop himself from tensing at every large, fogged structure. Some part of him is expecting something, and it dampens his usual excitement at a new place. Wind feels his smile tug itself into a twisted frown.
Onwards they go, past muffled laughter from children in creaky houses and merchants talking with friends. At the end of the dirt road, oddly shaped stones come into view.
Wind tilts his head at them. A long line of neatly-situated, rectangular rocks stand vigil over rectangular stones set into the ground. Wind hops over one to get a closer look, only to hear a sharp inhale from behind him. He turns, expecting a monster or animal to have startled Sky, only to meet wide, shocked blue eyes.
“Wind,” Sky chokes. “What are you doing?”
Wind waves a hand at the stone he almost landed on. “Trying to figure out what these rocks are for. They’re just here.”
“These are graves.” Sky says, slowly, like Wind can’t feel his heavy, emphasizing stare boring into him.
Graves?
He looks back at the mulch-covered stones, vaguely recalling some old mosaics and scrolls. Not very many had survived the Flood, but he could kinda see it. He’s in a place of eternal rest, then. Weird, the tapestries always looked so imposing. Not to mention how unsettling the Earth Temple’s tombs were, but this is just … stones and grass.
“Huh.” Wind wipes some dirt off the stone. Weren't they supposed to be clean?
“Stop that.” Sky steps forward, shaking his head. “You’re not supposed to touch them so casually. It’s disrespectful.”
Wind raises a dubious eyebrow. Sky is still shuffling his feet, tone almost scolding. “How would you feel if someone you didn’t know just came along and started messing with your grave?”
“Oh.” Awkward? But exciting, too. The others usually don’t ask about living on the Great Sea. “We don’t have graves in my era. Takes up too much space. So dead bodies are sunk off the island.”
“Off the island.” Sky repeats, he eyes Wind with renewed intensity, searching. He whispers. “Your remains aren’t kept?”
Wind shakes his head. “No? Why would we? But I guess other eras do it differently. Like, um. Here? And yours?”
But Sky is shaking his head again, eyes closed as if pained. “We shouldn’t talk about this. It doesn’t feel right.”
Wind’s fists clench at his sides, frown deep and disappointed. He wanted to talk. He wanted Sky to talk to him. Instead it’s- inappropriate. Like it always is.
Something bubbles at the back of his throat and behind his eyes. The taste of salt, the sting of a harsh ocean breeze against his face. The reminder cauterizes an ever-growing wound and a feeling like fire takes over instead.
“I don’t know why you guys keep doing this.” Wind says through clenched teeth. Sky tentatively swivels around to face him, still so uncomfortable in this place. Does Wind have to be buried in a hole to be a Hero of fucking Hyrule?
“I know what burial practices are, Sky. I did a few myself.” A much older body with Aryll’s eyes and Wind’s face. He’d been so young, then. The comfort from others was there when he needed it. Now, Wind wants to talk about his world, his adventures, and he can’t. Not if this keeps happening.
Sky’s face is sad, all drooped eyes and slumped shoulders. “You shouldn’t have had to.”
“I can handle it.” He has been for years. It’s not the problem.
“The Hero’s Spirit may be unbreakable.” Sky says grimly. “But it’s not supposed to be such a burden. A bad luck charm.”
Wind scoffs. “So it’s all the Hero’s Spirit’s fault? Is that what you think? That I can’t talk about certain things because, what? I should be spared now?”
“Yes! What if I want to spare you?” Sky’s eyes go alarmed and so, so sad. “None of you would be here still dealing with these monsters if you didn’t have to become Heroes.”
“You think the Hero’s Spirit did this? All of it.” Wind can’t believe his ears. “You think we were all forced into saving people?”
Sky looks miserable, and Wind wants to take hold of that sailcloth and wrap it around his despairing brother, but, Wind is so sick of this. He’s so tired of being spared like a prized pet watching his brothers get slaughtered for meat. Bruises on Wild’s face, cuts from taking hits that Wind would’ve dodged … Wind is so tired of seeing his family hurt because of him.
“The Hero’s Spirit is stuck in a cycle.” Sky whispers it like damnation. “Some things stay the same every time. You could’ve had a normal life.”
Wind flexes his clenched fist, feeling the dirt stuck to his palm from the grave. Years ago, it was sand from tying heavy rocks together on a beach. He was always going to tie those rocks, even if he never touched the sword.
“The Hero’s Spirit is not what drove me on my adventure. Is it,” Wind tries to keep his hope even as his heart wavers. “really so important to you?”
Sky laughs. He laughs bitter and sad and says without a single doubt. “The Hero’s Spirit is apparently the only thing that can defeat evil. Of course you had to go on a quest, Wind. Nobody else would’ve survived.”
Water rushes through Wind’s ears. He says, too quickly. “That’s what you think?”
Sky puts a palm to his face. “That’s the truth. Only real Heroes can even touch … whatever Ganon is, let alone face all the other beings of evil the others speak of. Vaati, Zant, Malice Blights, we are the only ones to survive them. Only those with the Hero’s Spirit and the blood of the Goddess.”
“Only real heroes, huh.” Wind could be floating, drowning. Everything darkens around him to this singular moment. Here stands The Chosen Hero, the first of their Chain, and he thinks the Hero’s Spirit makes someone a real Hero. Someone who is enough to defeat whatever evil comes around. Wind’s left arm hurts, tension like a large hand gripping it. Did Ganon think that too, when he finally got a close look? Not a Hero but a simple boy from an island. Just another skull to decorate the Forbidden Fortress.
What a crock of shit.
Wind turns on his heel, and starts walking.
“What, where are you going?”
“To the Inn that the Captain told us about.” Wind doesn’t look back. He can’t look at him right now. “We’ve explored enough.”
“Are you upset about the graveyard?" Sky’s voice is so gentle. Wind kicks a rock down the road so hard it shatters a stray garden decoration.
“No.”
Sky keeps pushing. “Was it your journey? I didn’t mean to-“
“Sky,” Wind lets the anger leak out, if only to make up for the hot tears building behind his eyes. He keeps his head forward, not wanting for Sky to see his tears instead of listening to him. “we are not talking right now.”
The Chosen Hero goes quiet. For the few minutes it takes to get to the Inn, it’s quiet. Is this how it’s always gonna be? Is Wind gonna be hiding his lack of Hero’s Spirit for however long this journey lasts? He never meant to keep it secret forever, but fuck, he might have too. What would the others do if they knew? Treat him less like a brother, and more like a tagalong? Some lesser person that can’t handle what they can?
They already do that, Wind remembers. It’s so hard to ignore how they look at him. Like he is something to preserve. Wind hasn’t been innocent in a very long time. Not like that. Not how they want him to be. And it is him. He holds no Hero’s Spirit to justify anything. Anything he has done is all him. Wind has so many hopes for the future … that doesn’t mean he’s forgotten the past.
They make it to the Inn. Most of the chain sits at a table, chatting. He squints in the darkened tavern part of the Inn. Wind can smell the alcohol that Warriors sips at from the doorway. Yet, as much as he longs for the familiarity of rum, he knows better to ask for it.
He’s too young. Even if it's safer than boiled water will ever be. What he says doesn’t matter.
“Hey, over here!”
Wind ignores Warriors’ greeting and heads for the stairs. He can’t sit with them, not when his eyes are likely red. Sometimes, he really hates how open his face is.
Unfortunately, one glance is enough for the ones sitting closer to see his face. Wind is already halfway up the stairs when Time shoots to his feet, stalking over to Sky, who still lingers near the door.
“What happened?” Time stares down Sky. At the table, Warriors stands up hesitantly, waiting for a sign of something from either brother.
Sky can’t keep his distress from showing. “I don’t know, he won’t tell me.”
“But you must’ve said something.” Time pushes. From the corner of his eye, Wind spots Legend getting up only for a wary Hyrule to tug him back down. The two sit quietly, watching.
“Why?” Sky replies, standing his ground. “Because I listen to a sword and have compassion for Hylia?”
He slips back a step, surprised at his own words. While Time is shocked into silence, Sky backs away, looking at the table of Heroes and Time’s scarred face and Wind, quietly watching from the shadowed staircase. Whatever Sky sees, it must frighten him. He flees out the door, master sword and all. Time takes a step forward, stutters, takes a step back.
Wind is so very, very done.
“You shouldn’t have done that.” Wind sighs.
Time looks up at him, and isn’t that nostalgic? But that half stern, half worried face is all grown up now. Wind doesn’t care. It’s still his little brother’s face. By the Great Sea, that’s his little brother’s damn pout edging at Time’s stony face.
“Something happened.” Time rumbles.
“Yeah, and it was between us.”
“He-“
“Time.” Wind looks down at his little brother, the lantern light casting his shadow into a much taller figure. “This did not involve you.”
It’d been so long, Time had forgotten how big brothers worked. They cast a large shadow. Height doesn’t matter, not with such a presence. He looks up at Wind and for a moment, he’s four feet tall and craning his neck up at who feels less like another him and more like Saria, Fado, less an incarnation and more a sibling. Still, still, there is that childish need to fix everything thrumming fiercely under his skin. Sky wasn't a bad guy, he knew that, and still, that petulant territorialism over one of the few close people in his life.
Wind, Tune, just looks down at him, then turns away.
The Hero of Time flinches like he’s been stabbed.
Wind enters the room he is, apparently, sharing with Four. The smithy is already in bed, breath too fast for fast for somebody actually sleeping. That’s fine with Wind. He doesn’t wanna talk either.
It is incredible to have so many people to love. Wind thinks, clutching a hand to his bobbing throat. Until you're alone in the dark trying not to whimper like a wounded animal.