Archive of Our Own

Twilight had only just been roused in time for second watch when the sky split open, sliced down the middle by a radiant, earth-bound star.

He’d never seen anything like it – that much was certain. It was impossible to miss and shockingly bright, pulling him right out of a light doze. He whipped a hand to his baldric and kept it hovered over the swordhilt there, uncertain; The copse of trees they’d camped in, tucked away just south of Hyrule Ridge on their way up to Rito Village, afforded them little visibility from the ground – but it made no difference; Twilight had tracked the star’s descent from the moment it’d appeared, and watched it tumble out of view up on the Gerudo Highlands. 

Never mind. If it’d fallen anywhere else, he might’ve roused someone to take watch and gone chasing after the starlit fragment himself, curiosity burning in his chest. Wild had mentioned a desperate need for one just the other evening, mourning an armour upgrade that lay barely out of reach.

But that was a climb Twilight wasn’t dumb enough to break his back attempting, even for Wild.

His brooding gaze, fixed up at the Highland skyline, was drawn away quite suddenly by movement from over by the fire. Someone was sitting up sharply, scrutinising the mountains just as he had done, and– 

Oh divinity.

Wild reached for his slate, far too alert for someone who should have been sleeping, and turned this way and that – seeking the night’s watch. When he spotted Twilight, the boy seemed to deflate on the spot, shoulders rising defensively.

“It’s only second watch–” He hurried to defend, bristling at Twilight’s immediate shake of the head. “–Twi, don’t do this.”

“You saw where it fell as clearly as I did.” The ranch-hand countered in a whisper, firm and final. “I’m not going to let you go climbing in sub zero temperatures in the dark, cub.”

“You don’t know it’s up there!” Wild hissed, scrambling to his feet and crouching over his pack, angry and belligerent as he tugged on his boots. “It might’ve landed in the valley across the highlands. I’ll even get the communication stone off Wind, if you just let me warp up to Kema Kosassa and take a look–” 

“All alone?” Twilight pressed. “Two, three kilometres away?”

Twilight knew he’d slipped up somewhere at the look Wild shot him then, sharp and dangerous. Getting to his feet with a lopsided little sway, Wild tiptoed his way around the bedrolls between them before breaking into a thundering stride once clear of central camp, stopping short to tower over Twilight in venom. 

“Cut it out,” He hissed, eyes narrowed, poking Twilight in the chest – hard. “Cut it out, Twi. You don’t get to lecture me on being alone.”

Twilight’s stomach bottomed out, going pitted and hollow in shock. Something sick writhed in his gut – an awfully familiar shame. It tasted like ash on his tongue.

“Wild,” He tried, not sure what to do with his hands. He was battling a fierce urge to take Wild by the forearms and attempt de-escalation – but his brain wasn’t keeping up. “Wild, you know I didn’t mean–”

The champion was having none of it, aiming a harsh shove at his chest before stalking away, clearly battling his own urge to traipse and pace. “I don’t care what you meant Twi, the sentiment was all there!” He combed stressed fingers through his hair, glaring at his toes. “The kingdom didn’t wait for me to get my eight hours of beauty sleep every night – I didn’t get a choice. I could trek that bloody mountain in the dark with my eyes closed.”

Twilight felt sick. He didn’t want to hear this. Hated that he’d caused it. Loathed the thought of Wild braving the Gerudo peaks with not a single soul for miles, making sure he came down the other side alright. 

“I don’t doubt that,” He tried, taking a steady breath to beat back a sudden wave of nausea. “But I can’t let you risk your life for a star. No matter how divine.”

“This isn’t about you.” Wild squawked, eyes ablaze. “I was alone for a hundred years before you came along! Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

Of course I don’t, Twilight’s mind screeched at him. And I hate that you do! I hate that you weren’t given a fighting chance.  

Wild was clearly done arguing, crestfallen and wounded. He was doing all in his power to avoid meeting Twilight’s eye, pouring his heartbreak out toward the dancing flames. With no way to read Wild though, Twilight floundered, speechless. 

“I’m going after that star.” Wild bit out. “And I won’t let you limit me.”

Something in Twilight snapped, sending him reeling. “That’s the problem, Wild!” He barked, all caution discarded, volume rising unchecked. “I know you’re capable – but there are no limits for me, when it comes to you! I would do anything to keep you safe, can’t you see that?"

Wild’s jaw snapped shut at the outburst, head turned just so; Wrought with bitter disdain, the boy’s expression carved at Twilight’s heartstrings. The others were stirring now, blinking out towards the row with mounting concern. Time looked to be half on his feet already, rising slow and deliberate. 

Painted against the campfire’s flames, Wild’s silhouette burned a nightmare onto his retinas.

“I don’t know why you care.” Wild said at last, spitting the words between them like they were dirtying his mouth, raw and foul. “I really don’t.”

“We care because you’re family, Wild. Because we love you.” Twilight breathed, grief-stricken. “Of course we care – why else would I be so bull-headed about this?”

Wild whirled around to glare at him head-on. “That’s just it, Twi!” He shouted, unkempt hair whipping across his face as he kicked a loose pebble deep past the surrounding treeline, savage and irate. “I don’t understand it because I outlived my last family! Everyone who’s ever cared for me is now six feet under, and they’re there because they cared.”

The harrowing silence that enveloped their clearing seemed to claw its way down Twilight’s throat, suffocating him. 

His eyes burned.

“Wild?” Came a small voice from back at camp. He didn’t need to see who’d spoken to know it was Hyrule, hugging his knees with all the desperation of someone wanting to make things right with no way to do so.

And wasn’t that the metaphor of the evening.

Wild moved then, jerky and upset, as he strode back through camp to scoop up his carry-pack and stalk off away from Twilight. He threw down his travel medallion; Not for the first time that evening, Twilight’s gut writhed.

“I’ll be back before sunrise.” Wild grunted, curt. He reached for the slate, and Twilight fumbled to step in before his protégé had a chance to boot it up.

“No,” He choked, lengthening his stride as the others hurried to part camp for him. “No, don’t you dare– Wild I’m serious.” 

Wild simply turned heel as Twilight drew near, and with a single, decisive click of the map in his hands, he began fraying at the edges – dissipating on the spot in a flurry of dazzling blue lights. 

Twilight couldn’t believe what he was seeing – a backdrop of dark, dense woodland, and a campsite one member short. 

“Twilight.” Time snapped, drawing him out of his stupor with a sickening spike of fear. He couldn’t meet his eye. How could he, after letting Wild leave?

“Twilight,” Time repeated, impatience boiling over as he took firm steps toward the ranch-hand, grasping his upper bicep. “Whatever happened between you two can wait for now – I just need to know where he went.”

The group’s silence said more than any question could. Even the very trees at their backs seemed to hold their breath, waiting for him to admit what he’d done.

“Where did he go, Twilight?” Time pressed with burning urgency, shaking him slightly.

Throat too tight and twisted for words, he settled for scrounging up the last of his courage and pointing up at the overcast peaks to the south instead – the grip on his arm tightening when Time registered what Twilight was telling him. 

Wide awake, Sky snagged the group’s focus. “He went up there?” He said, faltering. “What for?”

Time was staring up at the highland snowfall, transfixed, unreadable. Twilight merely stared back at the poor Skyloftian, shellshocked. 

“I tried to stop him.” He whispered, and he wasn’t really sure who he was trying to convince. “–I just made it worse.”

The admission felt no better than damnation. 

“I may as well have sent him off myself.”

▵~△~▵

Risoka Snowfield’s chill did nothing to abate Wild’s burning ire, as he’d hoped it would. 

Watching the ivory plains piece themselves together before his eyes only tightened the knot in his chest, the biting cold threatening to snap it clean in two. Wild could admit to being impulsive, but he was no fool. He knew going off on Twilight had been a stupid move – raising his voice and getting worked up like a dramatic idiot. 

Even more intimately, he knew that carving forward while still in such a state would be akin to signing his own death sentence.

Discarding his carry-pack felt too much like throwing down the gauntlet he’d fought so adamantly for, so he settled for getting into his snowquill set, extracting his climbing gear, and securing the pack across his back – flopping down to lean up against the shrine terminal instead. With his head cradled in gloved hands, dragging frigid air into pained lungs, Wild had never felt more pathetic.

Scrubbing his eyes dry and taking a moment to assess his surroundings only vexed him further, with nothing but barren snow and towering cliffs laid out before him. No sign of the star fragment, and certainly nothing to indicate where it fell. 

What the fuck had he been thinking?

He was jarringly aware of every passing second, and the ticking clock that haunted any star fragment hunt. His boots scuffed the sleek sheikah tile as he clambered to his feet, taking several deep breaths as he did so. If he was going to prove his point to the others, he needed something to show for it when he returned  – and sitting around wasn’t going to bring the fallen star to him, was it?

Wild wished he was in the right headspace to fully appreciate his first footfall over untouched snow, carabiners clinking at his hip. Risoka had always carried a guarantee of solitude, with just the one lone Guardian way out to the east, a couple territorial Lynels, and no feasible way for sane travellers to reach the summit. 

It was usually something he appreciated. 

On his self-imposed sabbatical, though, the seclusion felt like a loaded threat.

He was pretty certain the fragment wasn’t to the south, where the terrain’s downward-slope offered him a clear view of Karusa valley and the desert beyond. Finding higher ground seemed to be his only option, as far as locating the fallen star was concerned – and climbing in the thick, restrictive wools of the Rito garb was going to prove a pain in the arse.

After his last venture out here, Wild didn’t think it was possible for him to forget just how steep the highlands were. That offered him very little comfort though; Wading out into the shadowed snow – starved of moonlight by the clifftops above – sent shivers down his spine, compounded atop the tremors wracking him from the cold.

Wild wasn’t stupid enough to free solo on ice, but he had nothing more than a pair of serrated picks to haul himself up with. Pushing that disquieting omen somewhere he wouldn’t have to confront it, he kicked about in the snow for a decent foothold and began hauling himself up Risoka arch. 

The snowfall persisted, brutal and cutting. It flurried through the feathers of his Snowquill Headdress and threatened to unseat it, coating his eyelashes in thick, obscuring clumps that chipped away at his confidence with every search for a decent hold. Pausing to scrub at his face cost him dearly – ultimately leaving his eyes to sting and sear against the frigid gale. 

Eyes watering as he heaved himself up over the top of Risoka arch, Wild slumped into untouched snow and let himself go limp with a dragging, close-eyed breath – pausing to really feel the flames burning away at his calves. 

He didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to see how much further he still had yet to climb. But the ice-cold seep of snowmelt at his back and the leaden feeling starting to set in told him with feverish urgency that staying put would make him a wolves’ dinner.

Peeling his eyes open and craning his neck back to stare at the next cap-topped cliff, Wild had never wished for Revali’s Gale more keenly in all one-hundred-and-seventeen years of his miserable life.

He wasted his next breath on a bitter, resentful curse, and salvaged his conscience with the next – croaking a contrite penance to goddess-only knows who.

It didn’t make him feel better.

In the end, hauling himself up and over to the foot of the next climb was all it took to push his tired mind over into autopilot; Gerudo Summit still caressed the clouds overhead, a stupid korok – discovered years ago when he was still fresh as a bloody spring cuckoo – waved down at him in naive merriment from beside its stupid collection of puzzle blocks, and Wild had officially had enough.

It was time to end this. Fast.

The first signs of sunrise decided to torment him just as he dragged himself up onto the next outcrop, crawling on hands-and-knees to wither in the snow beside the korok. When it hopped its jolly way over to investigate the sodden newcomer, a mortifying ache stirred somewhere behind the sharp stabbing in his ribcage, and he felt the Highland seclusion so acutely that it brought a sudden wave of tears to his eyes.

“You– D’you get many friends coming by?” He croaked, dragging an arm up to clasp the little korok’s hand in a foolishly cordial greeting. It returned the over-sized handshake with an endearing fervor, before plonking down nearby when he rolled over to lie back against his carry-pack. 

“Sorry I don’t visit much.” He whispered, managing a little wheeze when the korok leaned over to pat the back of his hand, consoling and earnest. “I’ll be honest though, you picked the worst icecap to set up shop. Did no one tell you how poorly connected this part of the kingdom is?”

It shook its head, forlorn. Wild only chuckled harder, smiling bitterly around his numb cheeks. “Yeah this area… It sucks.”

His companion didn’t seem to understand the mood’s turn for the morose, breezing past his despondency with an innocent little shrug and pointing back the way he’d come.

“That way?” He asked, jabbing a finger toward the snow far below. It nodded. “Nah,” Wild sighed, raising an arm to point at the summit. “That way.”

It jumped, scrambling up and away as Wild watched on in mounting confusion. From over by the age-old block puzzle, the korok extracted a little sprig of rosehip berries, carrying the first greenery he’d seen in several hours. It tottered back over to him and thrust it out like a lit torch, waving it in his face for good measure.

“Your berry branch?” He asked. Forget confused – Wild was utterly perplexed. Maybe the cold really was getting to him. “You think this’ll help me… get up there?” He finished, reiterating his intention with a weak little wave of one hand.

Clearly done with Wild’s inanity, the korok bustled forward and picked up his free hand, forcing the rosehip upon him. It gestured to his other arm in an impressive display of impatience, and when he weakly offered it out, his little friend placed his other palm overtop the branch and patted it gently, clearly satisfied. 

“You want me to–? …Alright.” He murmured, ceding the point. Looking up at the final climb once more, Wild’s stomach sank again, much to his chagrin.

“I can’t do it.” He whispered. Admitting it felt like doing Twilight a disservice. It felt like betrayal. “Twilight was right. I came up here with no plan, after getting no sleep, and I’m going to die out here.” He spat, hot tears cutting down his ice-numbed cheeks. “–And Twilight told me not to. Goddess. I don’t deserve him.”

With no-one else to turn to, he turned to the little korok, and cried his eyes out at the poor thing. 

It didn’t know what to do with him, and after a panicked moment of deliberating back and forth it stomped over to his knees and tugged at his arms, huffing and puffing to try and heave him upright. It pulled at his hands, shoved at the pack on his back, and after an agonising wrench to his poor, seizing muscles, Wild dragged himself up onto shaking knees – pulling the korok into an awkward, stiff hug. 

The little spirit’s embrace warmed him right through.

“Thank you,” He reiterated, once stood at the foot of his last incline. “I’ll bring this back.” He chuckled wetly, giving the rosehip a little shake before tucking it into the waistband of his climber’s harness. He intended to keep his promise – it’d never do to turn your back on a spirit’s gift – and after receiving one last wave from the only friend for miles, he jammed his pick into a laterite fissure overhead, and wedged his foot into the first half-decent hold he could find. 

He should not have stayed down as long as he had. Every reach for a new hold sent fresh pain shooting up the nerves in his arms, the fire lighting up his calves, screaming in protest with every shaky foothold. Mistake upon mistake started to pile high as he climbed – glancing blows with the axe jarring his shoulder, and trembling slips in his boots leaving him with bashed and throbbing knees. Every new bruise made him think of Twilight’s concern. Hyrule’s dismay. Time’s shock.

Oh goddess. Zelda.

How much fairy tonic did he have left? A full vial, surely – enough to patch up the worst of his scrapes and see to it that the others never got wind of how much he was risking up here. 

He knew he’d been letting his mind drift too far astray – thoughts of healing tonic and an empty house in Hateno and annoyingly sensible older brothers, all clouding his attention – when a careless swing with his right axe sent the pick ricocheting back from solid laterite and spinning away from him. He re-doubled his grip on the only remaining axe he had left, leaning heavily into it with an incredulous gasp, and tried to comprehend what he’d just done. 

He swore. Badly. There’d be no apologies for that one. 

Daring to look down between his footholds at the snow below, and doing his absolute best to still the violent tremble wracking his strained legs, he spotted the pick all the way at the foot of the last climb. His korok friend was eyeing it warily, tiptoe-ing over with emerging curiosity. Wild closed his eyes and leaned back into his only handhold, forehead screaming against the cool metal handle. 

“H-Hey... buddy?” He called, voice rising an octave with a mortifying crack – not that he had time to care, judging by the burn in his arms on the one pickaxe keeping him up. “I need you to move that out from under me. Can you do that?”

When he cracked an eye open, letting his aching knees rest against the frigid cliff-ice, the little spirit was half-done dragging the serrated icepick over and away – huffing and puffing under its heavy steel. It did very little to bring down his racing heart, still pounding out his every panicked breath from under his distressed ribcage, but it was one less thing to worry about. 

Climbing any further was out of the question. He’d never been stupid enough to hack his way up a frozen cliff on a single axe, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now – not with people waiting on him to make it back alive for the very first time. 

His only way down looked like a free-fall from thirty-feet up, and as he agonised over what to do, it seemed more and more likely that his legs would give out from under him and take the choice out of his hands.  

“Hylia ,” He breathed, not really sure why he was wasting the breath. “Alright, think. Think. ”

When his exhausted brain latched onto having the korok throw the axe back up to him, Wild knew he’d absolutely lost the plot. 

But… he could work with that... right? There was something in that.

The slate was a constant weight at his hip, and getting it unhooked and turned on was second nature to him. He braced himself for the shock to his left arm as he let the icepick go with his right, dragging in rapid, ragged lungfuls of air and breathing past the agony in his remaining forearm. His shoulders were cramped to all hell, forearms crying out in protest, but once he had the slate unlocked and clamped between his teeth he switched arms and shook out the load-bearer with a whimper, restoring circulation.

From twenty feet below, the korok was eyeing him down – apparently mildly interested. At least he had its attention. 

“I-I know you just moved that for me,” He croaked, once he had the slate back in hand. “But I’m gonna need you to bring it back over. No– I know, I know.” He groaned, braving his company’s indignant huff with a grimace. Still, his legs shook. “You did a great job, but the plan’s changed and I could really use your help.”

With the woodland spirit and his abandoned pick back beneath him once more, Wild put as much of his weight as he dared on his only handhold and leaned as far down as he could reach with the slate, cramping his thumb in an attempt to hit the Magnesis Rune. It flared to life, whirling forth in a dizzying array of sunkissed-light, before falling just a few feet short and fizzling out. 

“Din almighty,” He bit out, crouching lower with his boots planted firmly against the cliff, knees buckled into his chest and an agonising deathgrip on his icepick. “One more try!” He called back down, ignoring the way his shoulder was starting to seize with the strain. He grit his teeth. “Could you lift it up a little for me? That’s… great!”

The Magnesis rune jumped to life, spinning down towards the snow, and promptly left him with nothing but the view of his lost axe wobbling in the air overtop the korok, the poor thing struggling to keep his tool aloft. He spared the spirit its burden with a choked apology, hooked the slate back at his hip in acerbic disappointment, and felt the pick holding him up against the cliff give a jolting crack in the ice. 

He had a half-second, spent whipping his head around to see his handhold tear free from the cliffice, before he was weightless – and if he’d had time to be honest with himself, free-falling from near the top of Gerudo Summit wasn’t exactly how he’d expected his life to end, but he supposed that’d been overly optimistic.  

His gut didn’t even have time to fly up into his throat. In a last-ditch effort to fling his icepick as far away from himself as humanly possible, he sent it spinning into the snow off to one side, and then the ground rushed up to meet him – unyielding and cold.

Stars cracked across his vision, flared in his skull, and fizzed out. The korok was patting him awake when he came-to on his side – restless and alarmed. His vision began to white out again as he made to curl up on himself, pain radiating from his upper back – and all of a sudden he knew something was horribly wrong, and he froze. 

Confusion had an unshakable vice on him, his vision seeming to sway and whirl. His korok friend stayed diligent by his side, fretting about and slapping his cheeks, to stop him slipping under. It was only at that thought that Wild realised he had no true idea how long he’d been down, and the loose hold he had on his own consciousness scared him. 

He didn’t dare move again. Didn’t want to test his range of motion. He wasn’t ready to try, and fail, if it came to that. 

“Wh… what?” He managed, feeling incredibly stupid. Speaking around the torture in his back sent a fresh wave of tears to the snow. 

The little spirit leant away to point at something to his rear in anguish, before scampering off behind him. Wild had no idea what was going on, wracking his head to make sense of the frantic gesture. He’d been climbing for a star, and leaning down after a fallen icepick. If he forced his eyes open against the searing cold, he could see both his axes not far off, up against the cliff face. 

...And if he was near the precipice, what exactly did that place at his back?

Open air. A snowy outcrop…?

And a block puzzle.

Oh mercy, no. By Hylia’s grace, he implored it not to be so.

The sound of clattering around from the pack at his back clued him into what the spirit was trying to do, and he hissed around a fresh wave of pain from his abdomen as he hurried to speak. “The slate.” He choked, eyes screwing closed. “S-Should be… fairy tonic.”

A light jostle at his hip preceded the crunch of little feet overtop fresh snow, and the korok was back in front of him holding the device out in earnest. It was all he could do to cope with walking the sprite through its menus, watching it press down on the fairy tonic icon with the pads of its little hands. 

He blinked, and all of a sudden his view was filled with the lightening sky, the stars seeming to wink down at him. When had that happened? He didn’t remember rolling over – and couldn’t recall taking the fairy tonic. 

The next throb that wracked his ribs had him curling up against the pain, wishing it away in a choked prayer to deities that his era didn’t even remember. He must’ve taken the tonics though, because he could feel it taking hold – numbing him head to toe. It’d never quite had the same effect that red potion did, always masking the very worst of it all instead of healing him right through. 

He'd have to make do. 

Heaving up onto deadened legs, Wild hauled his sorry arse over to the base of the last cliff and braced himself against it to hoist himself upright, regretting a glance up at the summit as soon as he’d craned his neck back. There was no way carrying on was worth it. He was under no illusion that the star piece was worth any of what he’d risked by coming out to get it – but the thought of warping back to camp, limping and bruised, with nothing to show for it, sickened him more than the pain at his back.

It was brash and treacherous and threatened to undo him completely, but handing that ruddy star over to the chain might keep them off him long enough to give him a chance at licking his wounds.

It was all he had left.

So he changed out of his sodden Snowquill gear on shaky legs, tripped his way into proper climbing gear overtop his well-worn doublet, and braved the climb again with renewed urgency – running on the fumes leant to him by a single vial of tonic and a freakish adrenaline storm. 

Wild didn’t even try not to cry as he rolled out atop Gerudo Summit, sobbing his relief out in fat, ugly tears. He shivered and shook, fighting the cold to stay alert and grounded, but it didn’t matter. He’d made it, and he needn’t go any further.

Throwing its brilliance up to the heavens, the star fragment lay mere feet away – obscured from camp several miles away by a tall snowbank it’d tumbled behind. But here it was, right in front of Wild, yet-untouched by daylight. 

It warmed his palms to the touch, sending the nerves buzzing in his fingertips as they closed around it – and no sooner had he dug it out from the snow, back protesting the effort in a screaming rage, did Wild realise with a sinking feeling that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. 

The realisation harrowed him to his very core.

Gliding back down to the korok put more strain on his poor shoulders than he cared to admit to himself, the star fragment safely stored in the slate at his hip. He touched down on his knees before the spirit, leaning as best he could into a shallow bow of respect before extracting the rosehip bushel from his waistband and handing it back.

“My life,” He whispered, hands on knees, shoulders beginning to sear again. “You saved me. ...M-My life, for yours; let me take you with me.”

It blinked up at him for a moment, charmingly puzzled. Wild maintained his bow, desperate to make this count. 

“This is no place for a child of the forest.” He pushed on as his scapula started to really burn. “C-Come with me?”

▵~△~▵

Stood hand-in-hand with the korok that spared him a world of agony – the accursed star fragment tucked under his other arm – Wild dragged in a shaky breath and hit ‘warp’ over the travel medallion. Their daybreak-view of the Hebra peaks, miles and miles to the north, became streaked and hazy as they unravelled at the edges – whisked away on the wind and made weightless by wonder.

Reforming back on solid ground brought all the pain of the last few hours crashing back to him, his senses lighting up as though made anew. He was glad being pieced back together always took a few moments, so he could ride out the worst of the strain, but with every passing second more of the wooded campsite stitched itself together before his eyes, and he steeled his resolve with a jarringly-deep breath. 

All of them were looking at him, a messy spread of startled, worried and unassured, like they were half expecting him to dissolve again on the breeze and never return.

All the attention was really making him consider it. 

With both feet planted firmly atop dew-kissed grass, Wild made no delay in hefting the star fragment out from under his arm and into his free palm, sending it tumbling across the lawn towards the group and sparing it not a second more of his attention before he turned to the dazed korok at his side. 

“You alright?” He whispered, giving its hand a little squeeze. The chime he received in turn brought a true smile to his face, and he gave the spirit a brief warning to stay put. 

Scuffling from across camp drew his focus up and away, and when his exhausted brain registered what he was seeing Twilight was already on his feet in earnest, stepping carefully over bags and outstretched legs – gaze never leaving Wild’s face. 

His eyes were blotchy and red.

“Cub–?” He panted, marching right past the star fragment – now clutched in the grasp of a bewildered-looking Four – and making haste towards him. Every step his mentor took seemed more urgent than the last, until he was practically scrambling over to him, ashen-faced and gaunt.

Not even Wild had time to properly brace himself for being wrenched into the rib-cracking hug Twilight snared him in, strong arms coming round to grip his back as a warm hand threaded itself into the hair at his nape. With a choked-off sob, Twilight buried his face into Wild’s seething shoulder. 

Wild registered his own hands hovering in the air behind his brother’s back – both arms wracked with a building cramp and frozen in place by his pain-addled mind – and before he could smother it down a tortured gasp tore from his throat, deafening in the quiet.

Twilight froze, detangling himself at once and letting his own hands hover over Wild’s trembling shoulders. 

“Are you okay?” He pressed, eyes scanning every inch of his frame. It made Wild want to shrink into his boots, but his upper back was already far too seized. The rising discomfort there had already crested to a keening throb – radiating out from his spine with the slightest of movements. He did his best to brush off the concern, holding out hope for stealing a private moment with a stamina elixir and a couple red potions.

Whatever he’d been aiming for, Wild had clearly missed it by a mile; Twilight’s pallor sickened right before his eyes.

“You’re not okay.” He murmured, before projecting his voice towards camp, fiercely worried gaze never leaving Wild. “...Time? ... Hyrule?”

It was almost alarming, just how quickly Time managed to make it to his feet and stalk over, Hyrule hot on his heels. Everyone else seemed glued to the spot, afraid to bring the blissful ignorance crashing down.

“Twi, stop it, okay?” Wild hissed, ignoring Time’s eye with an effort so great, it was probably more suspicious than if he’d given the poor man the time of day. “I-It was just really cold up there, I’m fine.”

“Cub , please–” Twilight went on, gaze turned imploring. He brushed a stray lock of hair back from Wild’s face, cautious and gentle as he continued his search for cuts and bruises. “What happened up there?” 

“Nothing!” Wild barked, quickly losing patience as the effects of the fairy tonic he’d been fed continued to bleed away. He was going numb in his fingers, the feeling creeping up his forearms. “I-I was just out of practice, that’s all. ...You always ache after a long climb.”

They parted easily enough for him when he made to brush past, gently beckoning the korok along as he forced himself over towards Four and the others. The smithy held up the star fragment without a word, its light going sorely missed the moment it whirled away into the slate – and when he reached his cold, empty bedroll he undid the clasps holding his pack in place and hastened to dump it with a wince, hobbling over to the fire.

“No, this is ridiculous.” Time rumbled, stepping around Twilight and the others to make towards Wild, concern bleeding from his furrowed brow. All eyes were on Time when he turned to throw a glance back toward the group. “Stop packing up, we’re staying put.”

Wild’s stomach dropped. “No!” He cried, panic gripping his gut. He didn’t even try to cover the grimace that forced its way onto his face when he swivelled to face the man. “I’ll be fine to travel! Don’t, please.”

“Wild,” Asserting his position, Time came to a stop – hands on hips. “–You’ve clearly overexerted yourself. Hiking isn’t an option.”

Rather than bring the feeling back to his cramped hands, flexing his palms did nothing more than send pain rocketing up his arms. Wild bit back a choked sob, staying as still as possible, avoiding Time’s eye. 

How was he meant to find the time to sneak away and sort himself out if they were staying put? It was growing clearer by the second that riding it out wasn’t going to be an option. He had to barter his way forward. 

“We are two hours from the Fairy Fountain.” He spat, glaring at the flames, willing his agonised tears not to spill over as every growled word pulled on screaming muscles in his chest. “–A short walk away. If you’d just let me show you–”

“Show us what?” Time snapped, pained by the necessity of force. He spread his arms wide, gesturing at the remainder of the group, all watching on in anguish. “–Show us how far you can test your limits? Make us watch you push yourself to ruin?”

“You know that’s not fair–”

“Isn’t it?” Time forged ahead, sinking down to sit on the other end of Wild’s log with a sigh stirred up from the very pit of his stomach. Leaning on his knees, Time kept a close eye on the boy – from the way he kept his breathing under deliberate control, to the concerning quake that seemed to be shaking him right through, from the core outwards. More than anything else though, the little reassuring hand that the mountain-korok had placed on Wild’s knee spoke volumes. 

“We care about you, cub,” He whispered, and Wild gave a pained flinch that hurt to watch – in more ways than one. “–And we don’t want to see how far you can bend before you break. Your worth is based on so much more than that.”

Through the myriad of emotions fighting for a place on the poor boy’s place, a horrid flash of confusion won out at his words, gripping Time by the gut and twisting painfully. He steadied himself on the next inbreath, determined to uphold the pillar of support that seemed so sorely needed. “We don’t want to see you break at all.”

Tears spilled free from Wild’s lashes, spotting the fabric at his knees as he gave a loud, choked sniff. Even wiping at his nose with the tensed palm of one hand seemed to be costing him more energy than he had to give. Shuffling further down the log towards him, Time paused to consider the forest-spirit at Wild’s side, unsure how to act around it. 

Twilight took the decision right out of his hands, hefting the little guy up onto the log between Time and the champion so he could take Wild’s other side in turn, body angled in to face him. “I should have offered to come with you, instead of forbidding it altogether.” The ranch-hand breathed, wringing his hands in his lap. “–And I’m so proud of you for making it back with the star piece... but you shouldn’t have gone alone.”

Frustration boiling over again, Wild seemed to be trying to ball his hands into fists, his fingers merely spasming for a moment before he gave up and hid them between his thighs. Time’s panic crested seeing the effort, before the boy spoke. “I didn’t have a choice – none of you can climb with me.”

Hurrying to cut short Wild’s mounting distress, Twilight slid off the log and kneeled before him, eyes wide and earnest as he gazed up to meet his protégé’s eyes. “N-No, that’s not what I–” He cursed, taking a moment to think through his point, and throwing a glance over toward the rest of the group – all dispersed around the clearing to watch the exchange. “...Going alone shouldn’t have been a necessity. We should have realised how much we were holding you back, and that’s on us.”

“I-I just don’t want you to get hurt.” Wild whimpered, locked in place as he sucked in ragged, agonised breaths. There was no swaying Time on this now; whatever Wild had done to make it back with that accursed star fragment, something had gone really, really wrong getting him there.

“Wild?” Wind called, effectively beating him to it. “What’s going on?” The rest of the chain were already half on their feet, some more visibly urged forward than others. Poor Warriors looked ready to brave the hot coals of the fire sitting between them, if it meant getting right to Wild’s side – anguished to watch him battle unforeseen wounds. 

“I–” Wild froze, coming to an alarming halt and swaying in his seat. Time found himself snaring the boy by one shoulder to try and keep him upright, just as Twilight did the same from in-front. They shared a panicked look, rattled and speechless.  

“I kinda ...s-simplified things?” Wild chuffed eventually, blinking at his boots. Tangled hair fell across his face as he leaned forward, and Time watched Twilight reach out to brush it aside again, teary-eyed.

“Yeah, n-no offense cub?” The ranch-hand choked, voice jarringly small. “But we kinda already figured that one out. You need to tell us what happened.”

“Yeah.” Wild whispered, forcing himself back to the present. “Yeah… –I think I took a fall? W-While I was climbing.”

“Hylia,” Warriors breathed, white-knuckled. “From how high up?”

The group’s clamour seemed to wash right over Time, all his focus caught on Wild’s countenance. The limping, cramping, and the struggle to stay coordinated all sent his highest alarm-bells blaring – and as the champion battled through the group’s questions Wild began to sway on the spot, visibly wrestling with the urge to reach out and steady himself on something, but unable to lift an arm to do so.

The bottom of Time’s stomach fell away, all at once. 

“What did you fall on?” He barked, hyper-aware of Twilight’s grip on the boy’s shoulders. He made to get to his feet and shoo everyone back from the poor kid, before he felt a small tug on his slacks. 

The korok Wild had warped back with blinked up at him, a hand at Time’s knee as it trilled anxiously. It redoubled its effort to snag his attention, and following its line of sight, he was brought to stare at Wild’s back – the little forest spirit frantic and insistent.

Oh divinity. 

After a breathless curse Time scrambled to kneel down at Twilight’s side, hand coming up to cup the champion’s face. “Wild!” He started, snapping his fingers before the boy’s eyes. When Wild scrunched up his nose with a keening whimper, eyes falling closed, Twilight tensed up by his side – and Time caught the ranch-hand by the wrist before he could re-double his hold on the boy. 

“Red potions,” He called, hoping someone would pick up his plea. “Now!”

“Talk to us, Time.” Warriors snapped, kneeling down on Twilight’s other side with a reassuring pat for the poor man. “We couldn’t get a word out of him.”

Still crouched, Time blinked down at the dirt between his toes as he gathered his grit, hair falling across his face. He was grateful for the chance to privately collect his thoughts. “His back, Captain.” He said at last, looking up once more to brush away the fresh tears staining Wild’s cheeks. The boy clearly wasn’t really with them anymore, lost in the effort of breathing through the pain he’d been neglecting right before their eyes. “He took the fall directly on his back.”

A brief moment spent blinking down at Time was all the indication Warriors gave that he’d heard him. Impassive in his disbelief, the Captain spared Twilight one last clap on the shoulder before whirling the other heroes into action at Time’s back – fetching blankets and clearing a space by their abandoned bedrolls.

“What do we do, Time?” Twilight whispered, distraught and self-reprehensive. 

Time had no idea.

“You’ve got him, right?” He pressed, making sure Wild’s weight was supported before he scrambled up and stepped clean over the log. “I need you to keep him as still as you can while I check him over, pup.”

Not a second later Hyrule and Wind skidded into view from over by the supply pile. The elder of the two passed off an armful of red potions to the little sailor, kneeling down to help extract Wild from his baldric with as little jostling as possible. With the champion’s buckles undone and belts discarded, they untucked his weathered doublet and thin cotton undershirt before hitching the material up to gauge the damage.

The other two almost snapped their necks up trying to stare over Wild’s shoulders, alarmed by Hyrule’s uncharacteristic expletive. 

Branded across the champion’s back and dotting every vertebrate of his spine, deep, angry bruises painted their way up his torso – violent purples creeping in around the flared reds of inflammation. The deepest contusions were sickening to look at – harsh, horizontal impact bruises cutting across his upper spine and marring the muscles in both shoulders. The skin there was already tender and swollen, and seeing it all out in the open made Time want to bring up his meagre breakfast. 

“Shit ...” Wind breathed, leaning over to get a better look. “H-How do you want us to give him the potion, Roolie?” 

“Is he aware enough to drink it?” The traveller hastened to ask, never missing a beat. At Twilight’s shaky decline, he gestured for one of the bottles and a clean rag, uncorking the potion. Hesitantly, he soaked it to lie across the worst of the boy’s wounds – offering Wild a teary-eyed apology when he whimpered at the contact. 

“I know.” He soothed, seizing Time by the wrist and forcing him to hold the rag up to Wild’s back in his stead, preparing another cloth before roping Wind in to do the same. “– I know, hang in there for me.” 

All the while Twilight supported the champion’s upper bodyweight from in front, letting Wild groan into his shoulder – forcing Time to make a mental note to check in with his successor after all was said and done. 

With Time and the sailor keeping their red-potion-stained rags held against purpling bruises, Hyrule reached out with a soothing word and a healing hand – bathing the worst of the damage in warm light. His hands flexed and settled over mottled skin, and as the traveller worked, Wild’s gritty sobs bled into hiccups of pain, the tension seeping from his frame beneath bone-deep exhaustion.

“Is it bad, Roolie?” Wind asked, small and scared. It didn’t suit him at all, the lack of life from the kid unnerving. 

“It was,” Hyrule began, starting to flag and tire himself. His arms had developed a slight shake as he leant into Time’s weight for support. “But I think with this final healing, he should be okay.”

“‘Final’ heal?” Twilight parroted, face buried in Wild’s unruly locks. “I don’t follow.”

Their healer bit his lip, meeting the ranch-hand’s gaze in mounting apprehension. “Well... he must’ve stabilised it somehow up on the mountain.” He explained. “...There’s just no way he could have made it back here otherwise. Not with a vertebral fracture.”

“Fracture,” Twilight seemed to whimper, burrowing his nose further into Wild’s deadened weight as he brought trembling hands up to cup the poor boy’s neck, gentle and feather-light. “...Fuck.”

Time couldn’t watch this. “Twilight.” He rumbled, making sure his red-potion rag was still covering the worst of Wild’s wounds before sinking down to one knee just off to one side, poking the ranch-hand gently. Scrounging up the last of his courage, Twilight adjusted his chin to peer out over one of Wild’s shoulders, red-rimmed eyes meeting his gaze. 

With just the one glance, Time felt himself faltering. After a deep breath and a silent prayer, he held Twilight’s grief firm – meeting his doleful stare in turn. “This isn’t on you.”

The exact moment he lost Twilight’s confidence left him hollowed and sickened, all over again; the boy’s gaze fell, turning bitter and dispassionate in his chagrin. “That’s horseshit and we all know it.”

“No– Twilight. ” Time chastised, firm through his worry. “I mean it.”

“Would he have gone if you’d been on watch?” The ranch-hand spat, fiery gaze at odds with the cold cut of his words. “– Or Wars, or Sky, or literally any of the others? No. No he wouldn’t have. You know why?”

He buried his nose back into Wild’s shoulder, strained and cramping knees struggling to stay steady beneath the boy’s slack weight. “Because he wouldn’t have left any of the younger ones alone, and he would’ve listened to you three.”

“Twilight there’s no reason in that.” Sky lamented, stepping over from the fire. “If he didn’t take your caution, what makes you think he would’ve taken ours?”

Carefully-maintained silence thoroughly broken.  

“Because I’m an easy target!” Twilight growled, flaring up again – moreso mournful than anything else. “And because he knows I love him too much to hold it against him.”

“That doesn’t make it your fault. ” Time ploughed on, indicating to Hyrule with a quick glance that he needed both his hands free. Once the healer had his red-potion rag in hand, Time sank down onto both knees and carefully maneuvered Wild’s closest arm overtop his neck, hooking the boy’s limb across his shoulders and relieving Twilight of the deadweight, draping the champion over his own back. “And believe me–” Time finished, making sure Wild was centred over him before returning his attention back to the ranch-hand, who’d shuffled back along the grass to rub the feeling back into his knees – head hung low. “Holding that regret on your heart will do nothing but crush you.”

The war raging on in poor Twilight’s conscience was all too clear on his face – brow furrowed, eyes hard. Even if he’d wanted to believe Time, he obviously didn’t have the esteem to let himself do so.

Quieted by the weight of the chain’s enduring clemency, Twilight settled, nodding slightly around the fierce knot in his throat. Sighing – and not quite letting himself feel relieved just yet – Time flagged a little before bracing his core and reaching to keep Wild’s weight in place, forcing himself up onto one knee and heaving the boy up with him.

“C-Careful,” Hyrule clamoured to soothe, reaching out with one last push of healing magic and astutely ignoring the concerned displeasure it earned him. “He’s not too heavy?” 

“I’ll be fine.” Time said, piggy-backing the boy over to his own bedroll as carefully as he could. “Let’s just get him sorted.”

▵~△~▵

Pain returned to him first, creeping in under his skin and prodding him awake with a slow-building, pounding headache. 

At this point in his overly-long, disturbingly eventful life, Wild would’ve been more surprised to wake any other way.

He cracked one eye open in much the same way Zelda tended to peer out their door when Purah came knocking; forcing it ajar, and promptly slamming it shut again.

“He’s awake!” Someone hissed – seemingly announcing the obvious, until he realised the others probably didn’t have the same headache he did. ...Huh. He let out a low hummed greeting in turn, feeling guilty for his private derision. 

“Thank the heavens,” Someone else breathed from not far off, shuffling on the spot as they began moving pots and pans around. “I’ll get some soup on the go.”

He had a touch more success keeping his eyes open the next time he tried glancing out at the group, wincing against the evening sunlight that’d decided to thoroughly blindside him. Trying to reach up and shield his face made his shoulders scream in agony though, so he promptly gave up and resigned himself to misery.

Something shifted to block the sun from view in the next moment, giving him pause. The fiery glow behind his eyelids dimmed and mellowed-out, and with hesitant butterflies dancing in his gut he tried to peer out once more.

There stood the korok, leaning into his pillow on crouched knees – telegraphing all the concern it could. When he offered it a weak smile, the woodland spirit patted him on the forehead, leaning down for a clumsy hug.

“Nuh uh– stay put little guy!” Warriors sang from somewhere behind him, jogging over from the edge of camp to heave the korok up under the arms and plonk it down in his lap, sitting cross-legged between Wild and the sun. His own personal sunblock. Wild was far more touched than he could admit around the lump in his throat.

And the throb in his ribs. That too.

“How’re you doing?” The Captain weedled, genuine care shining through beneath the sunny bravado. “Gave us all quite the scare back there.”

Could he get through a full conversation on humming alone? He was damn well prepared to try. Wild made a lilting noise, bemoaning his headache more than anything else; he had no doubt his back would be the worst of his worries if he could actually feel it.

Wait.

His stomach lurched with a sickening jolt, gut falling away into nothing. He didn’t want to try moving his legs or wriggling a toe – was too scared to confirm the worst of his fears, petrified of the possibilities playing out before his mind’s eye. 

“Woah, you alright Wild?” Wind called, shuffling closer on his knees with a wonky smile in place. “Hyrule’s numbing spell shouldn’t have worn off yet.”

If their stricken expressions in the next moment were anything to go by, he’d done a rubbish job holding back the waterworks. 

“Uh… Roolie? ” Wind crowed, voice rising an octave as he maintained a worried stare in Wild’s direction. “I think we need you.”

Wild rode out the following wave of confusion and cross-talk with mixed success, the humming not really adequately telegraphing his relief. He mostly just wanted to know why his blanket felt heavier than usual, more padded – and far cosier. His head was pillowed on something far softer than the threadbare, decades-old cushion he’d scrounged from Bolson before trekking out with the chain – and was his hair plaited?

Oh, the worst of his woes; so many questions and no way to get them answered.

He just about managed a few keywords with Hyrule over the next quarter-hour – gently inclining his head for yes or no, and breathing the odd descriptor as the traveller probed him for the worst of his symptoms. They handfed him some light (underseasoned, depressing) soup after a moment spent bickering over whether to spoon it to him or let Wild sip it from the bowl, before a mighty clatter of timber and tools cut through the air, and he was fighting back a startled choke. 

Letting his head loll to one side past the stiff ache in his neck, Wild was afforded just enough time to process Time dancing with an armful of firewood, leaping away from Twilight’s hastily discarded four-kilo woodaxe, before the last of Twilight’s own timber hit the earth and the ranch-hand was upon him, hands hovering at his shoulders like he was afraid of even touching him.

“You’re–” He stammered, sinking down to his knees and deflating on the spot. The ranch-hand lowered his palms, stuffing them into his lap and just gazing down at him. “...You’re awake. Hi.”

“Hi?” Wild managed, letting a tired chuckle slip free. If he’d had full use of his arms, he’d have poked Twi in the ribs for that dumb opener. “How you doing?”

“How am I–?” Twilight croaked, blinking up at the sunset-strawberry clouds overhead. “You’re ridiculous, cub. I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” Wild snorted, catching his brother’s eye and holding it for a beat longer than necessary, weighing up his next words. “You love me really.”

With a watery smile and a wet chuckle, Twilight reached out to brush his hair aside – cradling his own cheek in the palm of one hand, propped up on his knee. “Duh. I hate it when you break your neck trying to climb a mountain, though. Could really do without that.”

“Duh. ” Wild smiled to himself, testing the range of motion in his arms. If he was careful, he could just about bend them at the elbow, sneaking one hand out from under the covers and feeling around for Twi’s hand as best he could. Twi got the memo, reaching down to give his hand a firm squeeze.

Wild pulled in a deep breath, letting his ribs ache to and fro with the movement. The slight burn kept him alert, and the inhalation calmed his nerves. “That was really, really stupid of me.”

Before Twilight could get away with denying the point Wild pushed on, speaking over him. “No, Twi. It was. Oi Legend–” Wild croaked, glancing over Twilight’s shoulder at the Vet, stalking past to fetch the fallen firewood. “–That was stupid, right? Tell me I was stupid.”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Came the drawling reply, drawing smiles from every angle. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

“That’s not– nevermind.” Wild sighed, sparing Twilight a sheepish grin. You win some, you lose some . “My point stands.”

“Why did you even want the fragment so bad?” Twilight whispered, face falling in anguish. “There was always going to be another. There won’t be another you.”

“Yeah.” He managed, staring at their locked hands and swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Yeah, I know. At the time, it was– Well I guess, it was for my Ancient helm? I only need one more for the Great Fairy’s last blessing.”

Positively gawking at him, Twilight had fallen back into his familiar brand of fond exasperation. “You chased that star up a frozen mountain in a midnight snowstorm, so you could upgrade a hat?”

“Well when you put it like that– ”

“–When you already have four spells on your diamond circlet?” Twilight groaned, braving a smile for him.

Wild swallowed again, mouth bone-dry all of a sudden. “I-It’s nice to have the set bonuses.” He finished weakly, smile wobbling. Twilight’s incredulous bark of laughter soothed his nerves slightly, Time just visible over by the fire scrubbing his face, looking a little light-headed.

“For the set bonus.” Twilight whispered, face turned skyward. “I am never letting you live that down. You literally broke your back trying to upgrade an antique hat.”

“You make it sound pathetic!” He whined, petulant and pouty as he sank further into his pillow. “That was definitely like two-hundred metres, and I–”

“Don’t.” Time rumbled, approaching with hands-on-hips and a rather constipated smile in place. “I… don’t want to know. Just tell me how you’re holding up.”

“Getting there.” Wild admitted, surprised by the honesty in it. “I’m loosening up– it was all stiff and sore at first, but… yeah. The bedding’s nice.”

“Good,” Time huffed, stretching out his back and reaching down to muss-up Twilight’s unruly locks. “Malon will be pleased it’s getting some use.”

“This is yours?” Wild said, trying not to squeak. It was far nicer than his ragged cotton sheet; no wonder. It was a challenge not to let himself melt further into the padding and bury his nose in the thick throw.

Time confirmed it with a light hum and one of his brief, cheeky smiles – offering him one last nod before turning back to the fire with an airy wave. “Keep it warm for me, cub!” He called. “And don’t drool on the pelt.”

Twilight was trying so hard not to look at him when Wild snapped his gaze up to glare at the man. He gawked. “Stop giving me the pelt to win me over!” Wild cried, scandalised. “It wasn’t necessary, I don’t blame you!”

Twilight shrugged, brows raised aloft as he stared at their joined hands. “Sorry cub, you’ve lost me. Dunno what you’re on about.” 

“You’re a menace and I hate you.”

“Nah you don’t,” Twi grinned, meeting his eye – whip-sharp as ever. “You love me really.”

Wild squeezed Twi’s palm in his own, forcing feeling back into his fingers one by one. “Duh. But this pelt is mine now. I’ve officially had enough of the leverage it holds over me.”

“What’re you going to do to stop me taking it back, hobble after me?”

“I may be bedridden I can still strangle you if I really try.”

“That’s the spirit.”