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Despite the circumstances surrounding his destiny, Twilight didn’t seek thrills. When he came across towering cliffsides or haphazard paths, he typically sought a balance between efficiency and safety. He liked to maintain a level of control, especially since so much of his recent life had been guided by others’ hands.
That wasn’t to say Twilight was afraid of taking risks. After all, he had snowboarded down the treacherous slopes of Snowpeak mountain on nothing but a sheet of ice, dodging keese and trees and jagged rock formations; had willingly been blasted out of a carnival canon, shooting through the sky in “the very peak of flying fantastication”; had jousted against King Bulbin on the Bridge of Eldin, fire at his back and a dizzying drop below, exchanging rib-cracking strikes with sweat-soaked fervor.
It was easy to recall these daring escapades and many others with fondness, knowing he had fought and flown and freestyled on the merits of his own courage. Leaving Ordon Village for the first time had forced him to adapt to the loss of predictability, to the mayhem that went hand in hand with adventuring. Midna and the twilight realm had sparked a new sense of excitement in his life.
But when all was said and done, Twilight was a country boy at heart. He enjoyed the simple exhaustion of a day’s hard work; it kept his body strong and his mind clear in a way that his quests had never allowed for. And when the sun dipped toward the horizon, he didn’t think there was anything better than sitting quietly on a porch with a dog, a glass of iced tea, and a satisfying sense of accomplishment.
Maybe it was naïve of him, but he had always assumed Time felt the same way. After all, they shared more than a few similar experiences, and Time’s humor often seemed tempered by a wearied sort of knowledge. Sometimes, when nights around the campfire were peaceful, they would reminisce together, sharing stories about precious homes and the people who lived there. Twilight grew to cherish these conversations, these glimpses into the sweetly complicated life before his.
It was only due to the circumstances of their months-long journey through the portals that Twilight had a belated epiphany: Time was a bit… wilder than he had previously realized.
“Frankly, they’re just terrifying,” Sky remarked seriously, yanking off his boots.
“Terrifying,” Twilight repeated with a grin.
“Razor sharp claws, wicked fangs, ears that can detect their prey’s heartbeats…”
Twilight snorted and set out his bedroll. “I don’t know, Sky, they just looked like cats to me.”
Sky shook his head emphatically, eyes wide with wariness. “They are not cats, believe me.”
“I saw one the last time we were in your world,” Hyrule interjected from where he sat arranging wood for a fire. “It kept purring and rubbing against my legs.”
“That’s because we arrived during the day,” Sky insisted, bare toes now wiggling in the grass. “At night, Remlit bloodlust is notoriously insatiable.”
Wind chose that moment to unceremoniously plop down beside them. “What are you talking about?”
“Those cat creatures in Skyloft,” Twilight answered.
“Oh! I cuddled one for, like, twenty minutes.”
Sky quietly groaned.
“This seems personal,” Hyrule pointed out with a smile, dusting his hands across his pants. The firewood rested in a perfect lean-to, ready to be lit.
"I just can’t believe you’ve all been so thoroughly deceived.”
“Okay,” Twilight relented with a laugh, “the next time we arrive in Skyloft, I’ll go out at night and see for myself.”
“Bad idea,” Sky sighed, longsuffering.
Wind grinned and pumped a fist in the air. “Then count me in!”
“I bet Wild would enjoy bravin’ the little furballs with us,” Twilight ventured, glancing around for their resident cook. Wild’s bag, sporting more mismatched patches than original material, was propped against an empty cooking pot, but Wild was conspicuously absent. Legend, Four and Warriors had volunteered to sweep the perimeter around their camp before settling in, but Twilight couldn’t think of any reason for Wild to slip after them privately. “Hm. Did anybody see where he went?”
The others shook their heads. “Maybe he had to relieve himself?” Hyrule guessed.
“Yeah, maybe,” Twilight said, but it was customary to let the rest of the group know if you needed to step away, especially with so many infected monsters slinking about. Although Wild was used to navigating unfamiliar lands—doubtlessly due to his penchant for going off-path for every funky mushroom or bird’s nest or even slightly interesting rock that caught his attention—there was still too much risk involved. Twilight stood up, concern getting the better of him, before a low whistle caught his attention.
Time sat on a large rock near the edge of camp, looking out across the valley as he absentmindedly cleaned an ocarina. With a knowing smile, he nodded toward the field below. The belly of the valley was awash in the heady colors of sunset. With every short breeze, tall grass rippled like thickly spun gold. And like a sliver of midday sky, Wild’s blue tunic could be seen peeking subtly through the warm strands as he crept along.
The focus of Wild’s attention was clear; a small herd of wild horses grazed at the base of a low hill, their coats shining as they lackadaisically migrated. Wild stalked toward the flank of a palomino mare with an ease that spoke of practice, crouched low and moving stealthily.
It would have been amusing if it hadn’t also been the most anxiety-inducing thing Twilight had seen in days; the horses were large and undomesticated, and Twilight knew better than anyone the violence that could be wrought when an animal felt trapped. “I should stop him,” he said reluctantly, but Time held up a hand.
“Let him have some fun.”
Twilight looked over in surprise, staring at Time’s profile—relaxed, like a natural fixture of the land around them—before returning his attention to his daring protégé.
It didn’t take long for Wild to draw close to his target. Between one breath and the next, he fearlessly vaulted onto the horse’s back. Almost immediately, the palomino startled forward and let out an aggressive squeal. Ears flattened, she kicked out her hindlegs, bucking in sharp, dizzying circles. Wild gripped her mane with one fist, holding his other out to the side in a display of showmanship that made Twilight shake his head.
The other horses galloped away from the disturbance. Left alone, the palomino’s efforts doubled; her muscles rippled as she bucked, clods of dirt and grass spraying with each frenzied stomp. Wild’s hair tie came loose, and his long hair whipped around his face like an untamed banner. It was chaotic, a fault line of robustness, of furious, sun-crisp gold.
Even from far away, Twilight thought Wild’s grin was blindingly happy.
In a feat of wiliness, the palomino abruptly dropped one shoulder and spun to the side. The change in momentum caused Wild to pitched forward; his single grip loosened, and a muffled yelp could be heard as his face smashed against the side of the mare’s neck.
“Ouch,” Time murmured, though he didn’t sound surprised or even all that worried.
Twilight wryly figured it was a fitting end to this little escapade. But Wild was quick to adapt; heedless of the blood now streaming from his nose, he tightened his knees and leaned back, following the horse’s natural movements until he could readjust his grip on her mane.
“Whoa,” Hyrule breathed, and Twilight nodded, impressed.
As the seconds passed, the mare shortly began to lose steam. Sides heaving with exertion, she tossed her head, striking frustratedly at the ground in between short crow hops. Finally, after rearing up in a last-ditch effort to fling Wild from her back, she settled with a loud, aggrieved snort.
Almost immediately, Wild reached forward to pat her neck; his lips moved, likely offering soothing encouragement, but the distance swallowed his rare words like breaths in the breeze.
From his place by the firewood, Wind whooped quietly in celebration.
“I can’t imagine tryin’ that with Epona,” Twilight admitted.
“Not yours, maybe,” Time agreed with a smile, clearly fond as he watched Wild patiently guide the horse through the valley toward them. “My old girl used to be ornery, though.”
“Really?”
Time nodded. “She wouldn’t let anyone except Malon touch her. Even after I learned Epona’s song”—his hands flexed gently around his ocarina—“I still couldn’t get too close. Not while for a while , anyway.”
“What changed?” Sky asked, head cocked to the side curiously.
Time’s smile grew smaller, though it appeared no less genuine. “When Ganondorf was at the height of his power, a man named Ingo brokered a deal; in exchange for ownership of the ranch, he’d supply well-bred horses to Ganondorf’s army.”
“What a bastard,” Wind grumbled, and for once Time just nodded in agreement at the name-calling.
“What about Malon and her pa?” Twilight asked, pleasantly surprised his mentor was willing to share these personal details.
“Malon continued working there; she couldn’t bring herself to leave the animals. Talon… Well, he grieved in his own way,” Time said dryly. “But by then, my journey was taking me all over Hyrule, and I was in serious need of transportation.
“Ingo hoped to make a quick rupee; when he saw my interest in Epona, he offered to race me. I won.” Time held up a hand, forestalling their praises. “He couldn’t stand the embarrassment, so he offered to race me again; this time, Epona was the prize.”
Twilight blinked, then blinked again. “So you… gambled your way into owning Epona?”
Wind cackled. “You gotta be shitting me.”
Sky casually leaned over to lightly flick Wind on the forehead. “I take it you won again?”
“I did. But Ingo was a sore loser, so he locked the ranch gates; he told me that he had intended to gift Epona to Ganondorf”—there were four distinct jeers to this—“so I wasn’t allowed to leave with her.”
“Damn,” Twilight muttered. “How’d you manage to convince him to honor his word?”
“I didn’t,” Time answered truthfully, stepping down from his seat on the rock. He put his ocarina away, then waved toward Wild, whose proud smile was only slightly ruined by the blood still dripping from one nostril.
“Then how…?”
“Eh, you’ve seen the ranch once,” Time answered vaguely over his shoulder.
“Yes?”
Time gestured with one hand in a way that didn’t convey anything. “I just jumped Epona over the cliffside wall.” Apparently finished with the conversation, he left to go greet Wild and his new ride.
For a moment, Twilight was too stunned to say or do anything.
It was Legend, newly returned with Warriors and Four, who suddenly blurted, “Did I just hear correctly that the Old Man stole his horse?”
“That’s not the part I’m stuck on,” Twilight muttered, glancing from Time to Wild and back again with a suspicious sense of foreboding.
That was… not a short cliff.
The day had not been kind to the heroes. Mere moments after being forced to retreat from a cluster of lizalfos, wizzrobes, and two lynels, they had suddenly found themselves surrounded by the telltale glow of a portal; the creeping, black-purple tendrils appeared to emanate from the very air, encapsulating them with a speed that felt vindictive as they were thrown from one world to the next.
They had landed on the rocky outskirts of Twilight’s Death Mountain, facing territorial, red-eyed beamos and iron knuckles. Warriors had reacted the quickest of the group, raising a shield to defend Legend from a laser even as he shouted instructions. Thanks to his hasty strategy, they survived, though not without significant injury.
A combination of red potions and Hyrule’s magic had healed the worst of their wounds—an open femur fracture, a deep facial burn, a slit Achilles tendon. But many of them still sported sprains and shallow lacerations, and Twilight imagined they looked rather piteous as they now slowly marched toward Kakariko Village.
“How much further?” Warriors asked quietly, wiping red-tinged sweat from his forehead as he swept an evaluating look across the group. His non-dominant arm was supported by a makeshift sling.
Hoisting an unconscious Hyrule more securely against his back, Twilight glanced at the surrounding rock formations. “A couple hours, at this rate,” he answered, recognizing the path. “I reckon we’ll arrive shortly after nightfall.”
Warriors grimaced but accepted the situation without complaint. “You said there’s a local healer?”
“Yeah, and the Eldin Spring is home to fairies.”
“We’ll manage,” Warriors concluded with a nod. In a show of optimism, he turned and gave a thumbs up to the rest of the heroes. “Not too much further. Keep it up!”
Legend, supporting a quietly chatting Wind, flipped him off in return. Twilight thought the gesture looked more endearing than Legend probably realized.
Time walked at the head of the group, confident despite this not being his homeland. He held his Biggoron sword loosely at his side, unwilling to risk being unprepared for an attack when the group was already at a disadvantage. He was a stoic figure at the front, the very image of the Hero of Courage. But every now and then, when the terrain grew uneven, his right leg trembled; it was a subtle tell, and he never faltered, but Twilight suspected Time’s injury was worse than he was letting on.
Distracted by concern for his mentor, he didn’t notice Wild sidling closer until he felt a light tap on his shoulder.
You okay? Wild signed, sporting a black eye and an impressively swollen cheek. Twilight wondered if he might have a minor facial fracture.
“Yeah, I’m good. What about you? That’s quite a shiner.”
This is nothing, Wild answered with a puffy smile. You should’ve seen when I tried shield surfing across a Hinox’s stomach. It swatted me like a fly. My face pretty much split open, it was disgusting but also kind of cool. He ignored Twilight’s sudden whispered prayer to the Goddess with blatant ease, glancing at their surroundings curiously. The landscape was ripe with shades of red and brown, layers upon layers of sunbaked sandstone.
It was only when Hyrule began to snore softly against Twilight’s right shoulder that Wild’s easygoing expression dimmed with concern. Heavy?
“Eh, he’s no worse than some of the feed bags I used to lug around.”
Big man, Wind exaggerated, so strong.
“I’d flex but, you know.”
Wild laughed, a light and raspy chuckle, before shaking his head. Seriously, though, I can take him from you if you tire.
“Appreciate it, Wild. I’ll let you know.”
Wild nodded, but his sudden grin had a distinctly shit-eating edge to it as he pointedly looked at Hyrule. As long as you’re holding up okay.
Twilight let out the most disappointed sigh he was capable of and tried not to react otherwise.
Four scoffed close behind them. “I saw that,” he grumbled. “If you’re going to make a pun, at least make it a good one.”
Your disdain fuels me, Wild signed cheekily.
Twilight opened his mouth to reply when, in his periphery, he saw Time’s right leg buckle. The stumble was brief, and Time steadied himself without fuss, but the Old Man’s hands clenched into white-knuckled fists by his sides.
Twilight frowned, knowing that getting to the village was a priority, but hating the way several of the others were forced to march through pain.
“He’ll be fine,” Four murmured understandingly, moving up to lightly bump his shoulder against Twilight’s side. “We all know what we can handle.”
“Yeah,” Twilight agreed after a moment, watching as Time began sifting through his rucksack as he walked.
None of them were fully healed; Twilight’s chest burned from several shallow cuts, and he could tell Four was dealing with a headache in addition to a burn across one shoulder. Not for the first time, he was grateful for Hyrule’s ability to cast healing magic; piggybacking his exhausted friend was a small price to pay for such a blessing.
There was just something about being in his world, about seeing Time’s armor weaving through the familiar landscape, that made Twilight uneasy. It was all too easy to imagine ivy sprawling along those shoulder guards, to see rust and bones in place of thoughtful care and flesh.
He wondered, not for the first time, if he should ask Time about the Ghostly Ether. Then he wondered if he was a coward for not wanting to.
Wild snapped once to get his attention. What is that? He pointed ahead, head tilted to the side and ears perked as Time withdrew a glass bottle from his bag. The contents of the bottle swirled steadily, a shapeless miasma of gray and purple.
“I think it’s a poe,” Twilight said after a moment, wondering why Time had that stored away.
Oh. Wild blinked as Time uncorked the bottle. What’s he going to—
With a casualness Twilight couldn’t mimic if he tried, Time raised the glass rim to his mouth and drank the poe.
The other heroes collectively froze, staring with varying degrees of surprise. Warriors made a gagging sound.
Time, for his part, simply swung out his right leg until there was a loud, cringe-worthy pop; he paused only long enough to sigh satisfactorily and wiggle his hips before continuing on his way.
“Did he just—” Legend started.
“Drink?” Sky and Wind finished.
“That’s messed up,” Four stated, but he looked thoughtful.
Call it instinct or divine premonition, but Twilight quickly looked over at Wild—Wild, who was excitedly tapping on his Shiekah Slate. With a flash of blue light, a plate of something… dubious appeared; gray curds and the shriveled end of a snail were smothered underneath cavitated, gelatinous monster guts. Wild looked hopeful.
“Wild, no!”
“Just so you guys are aware,” Legend began, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, “Wild just threw a cucco at a camp of bokos.”
Twilight looked over in time to see a swarm of screeching fowl descend upon four unsuspecting monsters. Loose white feathers filled the air like a massive cloud, harbingers of fury and flesh-rending maliciousness.
“That works?” Time asked in mild surprise.
Twilight threw his hands up. “I guess?”
“Hm.” Unfazed, Time watched as the cuccos ripped chunks from the bokoblins’ hides. “Interesting.”
With the blue, ethereal glow of the Domain at their backs, the heroes followed Wild as he trekked eastward. Freshly rested after spending the night in the Domain’s inn, spirits were high. The hillsides guided them past cascading waterfalls and small troves of luminous stones. Birdsong filtered down from overhead branches, and the morning sunshine was warm. Twilight couldn’t help but sigh appreciatively.
“So…” Hyrule began, pursing his lips as he considered his next words. “Prince Sidon was very… friendly.”
Legend groaned, even as several of the others nodded with varying expressions of amusement. “I didn’t know anyone was capable of being that aggressively polite.”
Up ahead, turning from a quiet conversation with Wind, Wild beamed. Isn’t he great? he added cheerfully.
Faced with such a warm smile, Legend looked away with a shrug, his scowl losing its edge. “He’s alright, I guess.”
Warriors shot Twilight a quick, knowing grin. “Softie,” he mouthed behind Legend’s back.
“I really liked him!” Wind assured Wild, eyes tracking the whimsical flight of a large, yellow butterfly as he walked.
“Do members of the royal family always get so big?” Sky asked. He had been thoroughly captivated by the paradisiacal allure of the Domain, relating its waterfalls and spiraling arches to the home of the water dragons in his own time.
“Yes,” Time confirmed. “Their growth spurts can be heavily influenced by the nature of their individual breeds, but the royal family has strong origins in large predator lines.”
Twilight, who had been about to reassure Sky that, no, Zora didn’t typically grow to be giants, everything was just crazier in Wild’s world, shut his mouth—because of course Time’s Zora were just as weirdly exceptional.
Wild, hands stilling in the sign for jump, glanced back again with a nod. Sidon obviously has shark traits, he told them. The Zora are very proactive in studying phylogenetics and genetic diversity to keep the population healthy.
“That makes sense, from a survival standpoint,” Four remarked.
“But the prince is relatively young, right?” Sky asked, stepping over some wildflowers. “I imagine he’ll look quite formidable in a few more decades. More so than already, I mean.”
Hyrule shook his head—far longer than necessary, in Twilight’s opinion. “Thank Hylia they’re on our side,” he muttered, shooting a wary look toward the river that flowed parallel to their path.
“Of course. The Zora are a kind and helpful people,” Warriors reassured him.
Off to the side, Legend grimaced and Four moved his hand in a see-saw motion.
“Funny,” Twilight drawled with a smirk toward Warriors, “you didn’t seem to feel that way when we stopped to rest at Ruto Lake two days ago.”
“Wha—I was swimming, and the Prince surprised me. How would you like to see teeth like that underwater?”
Legend pretended to wipe away a tear as he laughed. “I’ll never forget that scream. We’re lucky you didn’t shatter every glass item we collectively own.”
“Okay,” Warriors started, his scowl only lessened by the faint blush across his cheeks. He crossed his arms and stopped walking so he could better face them. “First of all, that’s an exaggeration.”
“I don’t know,” Time began casually, his sensible tone belied by the teasing light in his eye. “Our inventory is our livelihood. Maybe we should check—”
“Second of all—!”
Twilight barked a laugh, watching as Warriors worked his way up to a gesture-heavy rant about the physics of fighting underwater, bite radiuses and, for some reason, fake princesses. It was a poorly organized but impassioned list of complaints. Every time Warriors appeared to be close to running out of steam, a quip from Legend or a seemingly harmless question from Time would start him off again.
As the bickering continued, Twilight cast a watchful look across their surroundings. Other than a few small animals that darted through the underbrush, the area was relatively quiet. His eyes landed on Wind and Wild, who were further ahead, crouched down and motioning toward the ground between them. Wild held a stick in one hand, and he stuck his tongue out briefly as scribbled something in the dirt. Wind’s reply uncharacteristically quiet.
Distracted by watching them, Twilight missed the change in conversation.
“—seemed very keen on Wild,” Legend said.
Hearing his name, Wild looked up with a curious head tilt. Sorry?
“We were just wondering about the nature of your relationship with the Prince,” Sky told him, smiling widely.
“Yeah, you both seemed rather chummy,” Warriors added, ignoring Four’s pained groan and clearly relieved not to be the center of the teasing anymore. “What’s that about?”
Wind, a dusting of dirt across one cheek, glanced up at Wild with interest. “I didn’t notice. But he seems great!”
“Yeah, a real catch,” Twilight added, taking a childish amount of pleasure in the betrayed glower Wild shot him—Four would be fine.
Wild looked from one hero to the next, eyes wary and ears twitching nervously. Finding no refuge among their anticipatory stares, he glanced to the side and cleared his throat lightly. Then, fingers briefly twitching with indecisiveness, he hastily relayed, There’s an old shield at the top of that thing, need it, we’ll be right back, don’t follow. And as quick as blupee, Wild grabbed Wind by the arm and darted off-trail.
“Doesn’t he have several shields stored away already?” Legend asked after a moment. Hyrule looked like he was still struggling with translating the rushed hand signs.
“It was just a convenient excuse,” Warriors answered with a grin.
Curiosity getting the better of him, Twilight walked ahead to inspect whatever Wild had been drawing. Lightly sketched into the dirt were two neatly intersecting lines; the upper right corner was decorated with a third, curved line. Below all of this, there were rows of seemingly random letters and numbers, some of which were haphazardly slashed through. Twilight tilted his head this way and that, trying to make sense of it. A few seconds later, the others joined him. “Is it, uh, art?”
Sky hummed thoughtfully, cupping his chin with one hand. “I think it’s math.”
Legend snorted. “I seriously doubt that’s math.”
“Why would there be letters?” Twilight asked, glancing to his mentor to gauge his reaction, who shrugged.
“Hell if I know,” Time said honestly.
Four picked up the stick Wild had discarded and pointed to the letters and numbers as he followed along. “No, I think Sky’s right,” he said, sounding surprised. “This looks like a parabola. I think he was calculating the distance to something…” He muttered to himself as he considered the equations, eyes flashing between shades of blue and purple. It was a weird trick of the light, Twilight thought absently.
Warriors looked impressed. “Maybe it was part of his formal training from before?”
“So he forgets just about his entire life, but he remembers this?” Legend asked flatly.
“The brain is a complicated organ,” Four answered sharply without looking up. “Wild underwent extensive physical trauma; who can claim to understand the complexity of amnesia after being in stasis for one hundred years?”
It was a sobering question, and judging by the silence that followed, Twilight wasn’t the only one who thought so.
Before long, Wild emerged from the tree line with a rust-eaten sword, pointedly acting like he hadn’t just fled moments prior as he slashed at imagined enemies; bits of rust sprinkled the air with every zealous swipe. Behind him, looking pleased as peach, Wind skipped along with an old wooden shield. Even from a distance, Twilight could see large, splintered gaps between the boards.
“There was this really cool stone with Zora history written on it,” Wind told them cheerfully. “Sky, I bet you’d like to read it. Wild said there are others, too.”
Sky smiled warmly. “You’re right, I would.”
“Hey, Wild?” Four asked, glancing up and immediately grimacing when he saw the rusty sword. He pointed to a digit in the second equation. “What’s this number here?”
“Oh, that’s my approximate weight!” Wind answered brightly in Wild’s stead. “I think I’ve grown since we started this quest. At least, my sleeves don’t quite reach my wrists now. And I’m pretty close to outgrowing my boots!”
Warriors stepped forward to ruffle Wind’s hair. “Way to go, squirt! You might be taller than all of us one day.”
As Wind puffed out his chest proudly—patiently allowing the hair ruffle—Twilight glanced back at the half-parabola with fresh suspicion. “What’s your weight for? What are you two up to?”
Sky slapped a closed fist against his other palm. “Oh, now I know why it looks familiar! Those are calculations for jump distance. I had to study this kind of thing prior to my Loftwing ceremony. This doesn’t account atmospheric conditions, though.”
The group’s collective realization was a near silent thing. Twilight glanced from the drawing to Wind to Wild and back again. Wild’s returning smile was innocent and spacey and dumb and obviously, painfully fake.
Twilight tried his best to keep his tone level. “What are you planning to jump from?”
It’ll be fine, Wild answered casually, the same instant Wind declared, “Shatterback Point!”
“Shatterback,” Legend repeated flatly, as Twilight tried to channel some semblance of patience. “Do you even hear yourself?”
Wild waved away his concern. I’ve done it before. Wind will borrow my Zora armor, so water impact won’t be an issue.
“Then what’s the math for?” Four asked astutely.
At this, Wild and Wind both visibly hesitated. Well, at the very base, there are a few small rocks, Wild admitted sheepishly.
“Just gotta make sure I get enough of a running start!” Wind added quickly, trying to circumvent the protests.
Hyrule looked skeptical. “And if you don’t?”
Wind held up the old, splintered shield. “Wild said it’s a safeguard.”
Off to the side, Four raised his hands in the universal “I’m done” gesture.
Twilight frowned sternly. “Absolutely not. This is a terrible idea.”
“We’re taking precautions!” Wind insisted, and Wild nodded.
“Precautions my perfect ass,” Warriors retorted.
Time sighed and suddenly held out a pair of well-worn boots; thin plates of gold covered the toes and sides, ending in short, delicate wings behind the heels. “Make sure you wear extra socks,” he advised firmly.
Wind gasped and reached for the hover boots with a certain reverence. “Are you sure?”
Twilight found himself asking the same thing. “You’re encouraging this?”
Time shrugged. “They’ll just go through with it anyway. Might as well let it be when we can best help.” He paused, studying Wind, before he withdrew a blue, magic-infused scale from his bag. “You should take this, too; it’ll help you withstand water pressure. I know you’re probably the best swimmer out of all of us, but better safe than sorry.”
Cheeks dusted with pink from excitement, Wind held the hover boots close to his chest with one hand and took the scale with his other. “Hell yeah, thanks!”
Wild leaned forward excitedly, marveling at the way the scale shimmered in the daylight. Is that from a Zora? How did you get it?
“It was prize for diving from my Domain’s waterfall and collecting rupees underwater.”
Wild’s smile caused his eyes to nearly squint shut. Perfect! This is basically the same thing!
Twilight rubbed a palm against his face. “Do I want to watch this? Will I have nightmares from watching this?”
It’s probably better that you wait here with the others.
“…Okay.”
We’ll have better luck avoiding the lynel’s notice if it’s just the two of us, Wild went on to explain. He’s really fond of lightning arrows.
Twilight looked over at Time beseechingly, hoping this would be enough to bring the Old Man to his senses. Instead, Time looked contemplative. “You’d better take a fairy too,” he reasoned.
Twilight swore loudly. Wind seemed pretty thrilled about it.
The moon was full, a pale eye in a swathe of modest cloud coverage.
Twilight spent his watch as Wolfie, prowling quietly through the shadows of the dense woodlands surrounding their camp. His large paws left tracks in the soft ground, a predator’s unintentional warning. He scented the air, comforted by the familiar smell of his sleeping companions and the lingering waft of petrichor. The fire had long burned low, and its coals glowed hungrily, occasionally popping with tenacious warmth. After every meticulous circuit around the campsite, Twilight found himself staring at those embers, seeking memories in the steady orange glow.
He passed an hour this way, then two. The night offered a rare sense of peace, a respite from the pressures of traversing entire lifetimes to fight an unknown enemy. Then, nestled within the stillness, there was a sound, a whimper barely audible against the gentle rush of air through the trees. Twilight chuffed as he glanced over their camp, hackles rising like a streak of darkness between his shoulders. He strained to catch the noise again, to pinpoint the source of the disturbance. It didn’t take long.
Wild sat up with a gasp, blanket pooling in his lap as his chest heaved with quick, shaky breaths. His eyes were wide, pupils blown from dredges of adrenaline. Beads of sweat welled along his forehead, and the air around him became permeated with the sour stench of salt and fear. He brought both hands to his head and slumped forward, gripping his hair and keening so quietly as to be nearly silent.
Melancholy swept through Twilight like a stolen heartbeat, settling with a pervasiveness he didn’t have time to resent. None of them could claim to be unscathed by their respective adventures, from the perils wrought upon them by being chosen by the Goddesses; like metal to a flame, they had all been shaped by precise strikes, tempered under critical eyes. But Wild—Wild’s was a story of displacement, of being held to the standard of an unfamiliar brand and still expected to endure. His perspective was formed on the ruins of old violence.
Tail tucked low, Twilight privately vowed to spend the rest of his watch at Wild’s side. But before he could do more than take one step forward, Time wordlessly pushed himself up from his own bedroll on the other side of camp.
With the remnants of the campfire at his back, the Hero of Time moved like a darkened specter, quiet yet sure as he maneuvered between their sleeping companions. Once he drew close, he purposely stepped on a twig, and the innocent snap caused Wild to startle into awareness. Avoiding Wild’s self-conscious stare, Time lowered himself to the ground, close without touching. His hand rested palm-up in the space between them. Even so, Wild looked close to bolting.
You’re pressuring him, Twilight wanted to say, wanted to yell and howl and warn.
But he should’ve expected the Old Man to intuitively understand.
“I had a nightmare too,” Time admitted, looking tired as he stared at the sky. And Twilight felt ashamed for not having noticed, for chasing memories in dying embers while Time suffered quietly in his bedroll nearby. “Sleep is another kind of monster.”
Wild’s ears twitched in surprise, and the look he turned toward Time was full of grief and hurt and the strange, daunting need to be known. Little scars crisscrossed the tanned skin of his knuckles, made all the brighter as he curled his fingers. There’s this pressure, every time I close my eyes. And sometimes I worry—sometimes it feels like… He shook his head, anxiously picking at a small scab on the back of his right hand.
“Like you’re not sure if you’ll still be the same person when you wake up again,” Time murmured knowingly, and Wild’s answering gasp was an awful, broken thing. “Like you’re not sure what will be taken from you while you’re sleeping.”
Yes, Wild answered quickly. His eyes glistened, depthless in the moonlight.
And Time waited, ever patient, ever in recognition of a countdown about to strike zero.
I was the chosen hero, Wild signed, a young man forlorn. I was supposed to be stronger than the darkness. But—
Suddenly, almost desperately, Wild took Time’s unassuming hand in both of his. He held on fiercely, clinging to an anchor, to a grounding point in a storm he had only ever weathered alone. “But I failed,” he choked out, voice strained and raspy. He squeezed his eyes shut and hiccupped quietly. “I failed, and there was so much destruction, and my friends died alone.”
If Time was surprised to hear Wild speak, he didn’t show it. He returned Wild’s grip tightly, a contradiction to the gentleness of his tone. “There isn’t failure in needing a second chance.”
Wild bit his lower lip, trying to keep some measure of control as he blinked away tears. He didn’t look like he believed Time, but he didn’t let go of his hand either.
Twilight looked aside, guilty with the knowledge that he was eavesdropping on such a personal conversation, but afraid to move lest he draw attention to himself and dispel the delicate sense of privacy. If any of the others were awake, they were respectful enough to feign sleep.
This kind of emotional honesty, well… It wasn’t common in their group. He supposed bravery was easier when facing adversities outside of oneself.
“When I awoke in the Chamber of Sages, seven years had passed. I…didn’t know my own body,” Time revealed quietly. “My center of balance was off, and I kept misjudging my reach. My own voice startled me.
“But worse than that, worse than the dysphoria of suddenly not recognizing my very self, I couldn’t trust my mind.”
Wild looked surprised. “You—” He cleared his throat with a grimace. “You too?”
Time nodded. “My memories didn’t match the reality of the time I was in. Everywhere I looked, I saw discrepancies. Changes that were the result of a savage power I had been unprepared to fight.” He let out a slow, deep breath, mouth set in a bitter line. “I saw my weakness in every hollowed face and unmarked grave.”
Wild pulled Time’s hand closer to his chest, looking both sorrowful and guiltily relieved. Tears finally rolled down his cheeks. “I thought I was the only one,” he croaked.
Carefully projecting his movements, Time slipped his free hand into Wild’s shaky grip so that he could wrap an arm across his shoulders. “I can tell you from experience, there’s no real healing to be found by dwelling in the past; only more pain.”
Wild sniffed and frowned uncertainly. “Without my memories, though… I feel like I’m hollow. Or missing part of myself. I don’t know.”
“I’m not saying you should turn your back on your history. Just that you shouldn’t rely on it to move forward.”
Wild curled in on himself, and his loose hair slipped partially in front of his face, a gold-white sheet to hide behind. “I just want to be enough.”
“For yourself, or for others?”
“I—I don’t know that either.”
Time nodded, accepting the answer without judgement. “When I look at you, Wild, I see curiosity and spirit and resilience. I see so much life. It’s inspiring.”
There was a choked whine, a wretched sound torn from a wounded soul. But the night was indifferent to tattered confidence. Slowly, as if afraid he might be rejected, Wild rested his head on Time’s shoulder.
“We have Courage. Take it and run,” Time said, a fierce undercurrent to his words. “One hundred years is a lot of happiness to catch up on.”
They sat together for several more minutes, hands clasped tightly, occasionally murmuring about a constellation or a whimsical twist in the clouds. Neither spoke of the moon, though it was reflected in their eyes.
Twilight watched in silence, a spectator to the grief of time unlived.