Chapter Text
If there is one thing Zelda hates about Heroes, it is their ability to get into trouble. First, they get chosen at the Picori Festival to be the Hero, then they get chosen at the Sanctuary to be the Hero again (times four!), then one of them just goes missing and comes back months later with a shadow in tow, then everything happens. Then they went to sleep because of music and something about time travel. Finally, after years of what they all assumed would be a peaceful life missing two-fifths of a whole, another one of them gets pulled into a portal leaving the remaining less-than-a-half behind.
And that’s not counting everything in between. Zelda has written way too many journals detailing her Heroes’ exploits with worlds mirror to their own, with shadows, with shadow and dark magic, with seals and with portals through time and space that took them who knows where. The latest stunt is just that, the latest one, and she often feared for what will come after them once the whole ‘oh, our wind is missing, help us because now there is no one around to be responsible’ matter is solved.
Well, whatever she was waiting for, the ominous premonition she felt deep in her heart, has now happened, and she is just so done with her Heroes’ bad fortune. Of course, right now she is too worried to be exasperated about it all, but once she can stop being worried she will rant about it to dear Octavo for as long as she can. The man will be pleased about it all, she is sure of it: he is always far too happy about listening to her rants, unlike another purple-haired madman she met in the past.
Why is purple always the colour of her bad experiences, anyway? First Vaati, then Vaati again, then Vio and Shadow just… dying on her, then Octavo! Octavo isn’t even a similar shade of purple, but he was at least the most pleasant of her bad experiences—he just put her to sleep, but that was yet another trip through unknown worlds that she doesn’t want to think much about.
Now, as she tries to keep the not-violet, not-shadow dying Hero beside her alive, she wonders if she isn’t letting her emotions get the better of her. Her thoughts are derailing somewhere she can’t control them, but she doesn’t want to think too much about having her hand stuck deep inside Blue’s chest trying to keep his heart from unravelling. Whatever this… thing that attacked them did, it damaged the Element her friend is made of in such a way it began seeping out, usually crystalline water tinted metallic red and smelling of rusted iron.
If it was the first time she saw this horrible, absolutely disturbing sight, she probably wouldn’t be able to keep her fist steady as the liquid sphere draws back into itself. Thankfully, or perhaps not so, she had been there when Vio decided to break his own Element in three for his brothers to keep; she had been there when she had to see them all bleed glass and metal and stone as their bodies struggled to not give in to the seal’s hold. She never thought she would ever have to try and keep the unstable, intangible hearts of her loved friends from simply dissipating into nothingness again, but at times the world plays cruel games with its citizens.
At times fate is simply terrible, and that’s not okay, not when her Link has already given up so much to keep their small, growing country together.
“This did not happen with the previous one.”
The Thing speaks with Shadow’s voice yet none of his attitude. It sounds uncaring when Shadow cared so much, calm when Shadow was always so exuberant, solemn when her friend and Hero was always full of mischief. It feels like Shadow, like a coalescence of magic and darkness and a soul made of a patchwork of colours; however, there was always a small hint of innocence to Shadow, to that precious child made almost purely of emotions and an instinct for chaos, a childish virtue of his no matter how dangerous and powerful he was, and that is… nowhere to be seen, in this creature.
Zelda remembers Shadow, as Vaati’s and Ganon’s harbinger, she remembers him well. She remembers the horror he layered over Hyrule, a loving hand harshly getting rid of what he didn’t like, of what he was created to not like; she remembers villages razed to the ground and pockets of the Dark World or the world beyond the mirror simply manifesting in this side at his will. She remembers a being larger than life itself, folded and hammered endlessly until he took a human shape—a being that came from Link, from her Hero, her best friend, someone who held such a deeply hidden hatred for his fated task it manifested as the single most powerful being after Ganon himself, an equal to Vaati no matter what the wind mage said. She remembers an endless chasm of pain turned into magic through a desire for freedom, pain that Shadow felt acutely and controlled masterfully as he destroyed his way across Hyrule.
Zelda also remembers Shadow as the Hero he rightfully was, the saviour of the world beyond the mirror, he who protected descendants of criminals that Hyrule hadn’t known should be able to exist and who held no blame for what their ancestors had done; she remembers the Hero who slipped between one world and the other and another, laying waste to one, perhaps two, for the sake of those who had taken him in—those who he identified as his people. She remembers the rage of a person betrayed by one he loved, then betrayed again by the one he was created to follow; she remembers darkness greater than anything ever seen, writhing shadows and countless whispers wrapping themselves around Hyrule and chasing armies of monsters, and Vaati, away for a respite in the war. She remembers a cheeky boy, far too small for the age he claimed—shorter than her, shorter than Green, Red and Blue were at that moment, and so thin he looked like he would break if he so much as dared touch a sword—, an ageless being who could understand Vio’s and her plans effortlessly yet was amazed by the existence of books. She remembers an overpowered being who puppeteered the shadows around him without thinking about it, magic fueled by a pure and chaste desire for acceptance, a Hero who stood between darkness and light without a care for what the laws of nature and magic itself stated.
She remembers Shadow, she remembers him well. It has been years now, but the memories of the one they now call Hero of Darkness are as fresh as if they happened last night. She remembers his words, both as the manic opponent hellbent on destruction and the exhausted yet curious and unusually pure ally who gave up his life for peace. She remembers, and that’s why she knows this is not Shadow.
This is definitely not Shadow.
The Thing looks like him, a boy, barely a teenager, forever stuck in an awkward phase of growth, wispy hair and dark skin and bright blue eyes, but his face is a blank slate of half-lidded eyes and a flat smile. The Thing speaks with the same voice and the same accent—something between Link’s own chirpy Minish-tinted Hylian and the lilting sibilants of those beyond the mirror—, but there is no emotion in it, no exaggerated intonations that were so distinctly Shadow. The Thing moves like him, smooth like his namesake and never touching the ground, but it lacks the rhythmical swaying and fidgeting of someone who hears more than Hylian ears can.
The Thing… doesn’t fight like Shadow, either.
Green is a sword dancer, swift and ethereal like the wind he embodies, a blend of swordsmanship styles from years of training; Red is wildfire as a mage, blindingly bright and searing like a fire should be, fierce in widespread and indiscriminate destruction; Blue is a jack of all trades, fluidly adapting to the battlefield, turning everything he can see and hold into weapons. Vio had been the outlier of the Elements: for Earth that is steady, permanent and nurturing, sprouting life all around, he preferred the range of the bow, constantly moving from one side to the other in complete silence to deal as much damage as possible.
Shadow… Shadow was a trickster in more ways than one: he was ruthless, with a single-minded focus that told him to use anything at his disposal to his advantage, feinting as he pleased and hiding when he could, the shadows following his command. Funnily enough, he borrowed from Link’s skills when fighting, but not from the Link he spent the most time with: he had Green’s deadly swiftness, Red’s overwhelming magic and Blue’s infinite resourcefulness, made all of those his and adapted them to a style that could work only for him. He was a mage first and foremost, his sword made of flimsy shadows that weighed less than a feather yet still struck true when needed; he fought like any hit would be fatal—he fought like it was his last day alive at all times. He could think things through, he just didn’t bother, much as he did with everything else in his life: if he had to take into consideration only two things, they would be his strength as a master of the shadows and his own physical limitations.
This Thing fights like Link, not like Shadow.
There was an unusual respect for the knights as it fought them, never underestimating them even when most of them were down—even now, its shadows hold the unconscious men and women in place, as if worried they would get up at any moment, and their weapons are all gathered in one corner far, far from itself. When it fought Blue, it didn’t take advantage of any opening, not to pull one of Shadow’s bomb tricks or shadow-step around for a better position, or even to land a killing blow the one time it could. It didn’t aim to kill at all: after knocking out the knights and making sure Blue couldn’t take their weapons, it just… toyed around with him, leading him on a deadly dance until it finally got the right moment to stab its hand through his chest.
Zelda watched, heart in her throat, and yet she hadn’t been able to help until the last moment when the Thing allowed her to get out of her shadowy prison to aid Blue. It knew she wouldn’t be able to hurt it, too busy trying to keep one of her Heroes from harming himself in an effort to continue fighting. It carelessly pulled away from them once it got what it came here for, and it watched them through uncaring eyes for some time as it cradled the piece of the Earth Element to its chest.
It bothers her so, so much, because no matter how hard she looks, all she sees is Vio in those times he acted traitor. The impassive face, the orchestrated movements, the lack of bloodlust. The way it holds its sword as if it wanted nothing to do with it.
The brief, almost unnoticeable moment of doubt and panic, when it realised the Water Element was damaged.
Currently, it looks perfectly content where it is, still keeping the knights restrained and simply looking at its price in its hands with longing in its eyes. It holds the third of Vio’s heart, the Earth Element, in claws stained with silvery blood and threads of gold; it holds it, him like he is the most beautiful being it has ever seen, cradled carefully in front of its own heart as if it wanted to keep him close. It practically coos at him, whispering unintelligible words at the shard of heart while Zelda struggles to keep both Blue and it in her sight.
Blue’s shadow flickers under him, unsure if to stay with him or follow after Vio, but unfortunately Zelda knows it won’t have a choice. The Thing, the disturbing amalgamation of Vio and Shadow in front of her, reaches for it with a single hand and drapes it, lovingly, over its arm and the Earth Element. Blue hisses and Zelda wants to do so as well: the Element’s presence, always there in the background of their lives like a doting soul watching out for them, is gone.
“That was a fun fight,” it says without a hint of enjoyment or mirth in its voice. Plain, placid, or as plain as Shadow’s accent allows it to be. “Then, I shall leave him in your care, Princess.”
It carefully pushes Blue’s Sword closer to him with its own, and then it’s gone. Gone without a trace, taking its shadow bindings and Vio’s heart with it.
Zelda can feel it, distant as it is: the seal cracking under its own weight, a wail of despair from the anchors as they lose what keeps them together. She can see it, right next to her: the Four Sword glowing in colours it hasn’t since the day when she had to craft a third of a seal through tears, Blue’s form flickering in and out of reality as he fights for the right to live. She can feel the balance of the Force shifting to favour one corner, and she hates it.
She hates that she can’t do anything but wait.
She holds Blue’s heart in place for an unknown length of time and only pulls her hand out once the molten metal begins trying to close the wound around her wrist, shards of glass clinging to her skin as if they didn’t want to let go. She rests Blue’s head on her lap, hoping he will wake up soon, hoping that he will wake up at all, as she commands her knights to send for Red and report to the King. She runs her fingers through Blue’s hair as her maids and some other staff members start clearing the ballroom from the debris left behind by the fight and treating the wounded knights who have yet to see to their wounds.
She waits.
She finally looks away from her dear and beloved friend, who has yet again sacrificed something he shouldn’t ever need to, when Octavo sits (very casually, too, she would applaud him if she wasn’t otherwise occupied) by her side. With the Lute on his lap, tugging at the music and magic of this time that has always been his to control, he plays a haunting melody she recognizes as the Song of Healing.
“Dance practice has changed a lot since I left this morning,” he says. He isn’t paying much attention to her, too busy working his magic on Blue to hopefully speed up his recovery. Hopefully, the Song of Healing will work on this kind of damage, on this ragged wound on the soul and the Elements of the world itself.
She doesn’t bother responding, just lets her forehead rest on his arm so he won’t see her tears. Dance practice, they said. It is necessary, they said.
She doesn’t know how dancing will help against the danger that is soon to come.
Let it be known, Link Igos Hyrule hates Hyrule Castle’s library. Not only are its denizens annoying, he has also spent far too long in it helping Zelda and her historians restore and reconstruct ancient records lost from Ganon’s tyranny. Yes, he enjoys knowing about the past, about other nations and their histories and stories, but he hates the place with a passion.
Thankfully, the library is well organized: they have been rebuilding it tome by tome, book by book, transcript after transcript, and each finished manuscript is archived where it should. That’s why when he runs away from his house (not from Ravio’s fussing, not from Four’s unseeing gaze, no) intending to research the Force Era, he knows exactly where to go. He also knows he will find almost nothing because the only Hero with fewer records than the Hero of the Four Sword is the Fallen Hero (and the one in between, but that one… there’s nothing about that one), but maybe they managed to find more ancient, damaged texts while he was away.
They did, somehow.
He stalls.
He spends some hours (two days) reading about Lorule, the Dark World, the Sacred Realm and distant nations from the older ages, and everything else that doesn’t matter to the present time. There are some new records to go through, and Legend is a hoarder of all things, including knowledge: he reads about the Interloper War for another few hours, then finally decides to do what he actually came to the library to do.
The corner of Hyrule’s Royal Library dedicated to the Goddesses and their Forgers, Keepers and Jurors, is very small. They haven’t found enough about the topics for it to grow bigger: there is some information about the Chosen Hero and the Master Sword, about the Goddesses’ duties, one line about Hylia as far as he knows. There is a lot about the Hero of Legend since that is being written right now, but there isn’t enough about the Heroes that came before him. For being the Hero’s Spirit, the Jurors of Courage, those who wield the Master Sword tend to fade in history while their contemporary Keepers are remembered best.
Legend doesn’t hate this corner because of that, though: he hates it because it reminds him of his failures.
The thin, too thin manuscript on the Fallen Hero, and the tear-stained journal of the Musician—the Royal Family’s ancestor—painfully detailing the fall of Hyrule, are kept on the top shelf, unread by anyone except Zelda and Legend himself (they were the ones who cried on the journal, but no one else knows that, and it will remain that way). The slightly bigger tomes on myths and legends, on the Hero of the Sky and the reincarnated Goddess, on the founders of Hyrule, are kept on a more accessible shelf because everyone loves reading those. Legend’s own exploits are kept on the two bottom shelves, where hopefully no one will ever bother to grab them.
The small collection of tales from the Era of Prosperity to the Force Era is… negligible. They have found almost nothing about Four’s predecessor and almost nothing about Four himself, though Legend is more than convinced they are the same person. They have absolutely nothing on the Hero of Light that came between the Hero of the Four Sword and the Fallen Hero except for mentions in the Musician’s journal, and those are maybe a century or three of history lost to the annals of time—who knows, maybe that one is also Four, or perhaps Time. Most probably Time, since they know he lived sometime pre-downfall.
They do have, however, more on the Palace of the Four Sword and its purpose, than those three Heroes combined: it is a small, string-bound book written in Legend’s own hand through the years from what he remembers, or rather slowly comes to remember again, on the most traumatising event in his life next to the Wind Fish’s dream. At times he remembers the murals, stories told between torches and the steps of a far-too-young Hero, and at times he remembers what was written in waterlogged books he found deep in the palace. His photographic memory is both a blessing and a curse when he wakes up after a nightmare and dutifully records what he can now remember, then Zelda will grab his writings, decode them and add them to the growing collection of scribbles, and Legend will go on with his life after locking those memories away far, far inside his head once more.
He hates that book.
Unfortunately, it is the book he has to read now, because if there is one thing he is almost completely sure of is that Four and the Palace are related—he is the Hero of the Four Sword and that cursed place is the Palace of the Four Sword, so unless there was another Hero wielding that particular sword between Four and Legend (almost impossible, as no Heroes appeared between the Fallen Hero and Legend himself) it has to be the same. Apparently it is also a book that gained a sibling while he was travelling: there is a thin, too thin book simply titled ‘Darkness’, so he reads through those two.
Then he reads them again.
He spends a day doing that, clutching his head and screaming into the void, then reading some more; he grabs them, the transcript in the original language (who knows, maybe Time can read it) and Zelda’s notes on the translations, and returns home once he feels he can think coherently once more.
The others look at him, expectant. Ravio is busy keeping Four entertained with his endless inventory and some of his more… palatable adventures (after learning of what Ravio went through, Legend understands why the man decided to retire midway through his quest, coward or not), so Legend brings them all outside and dumps the books on the ground.
Warriors almost has a heart attack. Historians, honestly—even Zelda isn’t like that.
“The books—“
“They have gone through worse,” Legend says, waving his hand dismissively.
He brings out a foldable table from his endless inventory (it belongs to Ravio, but he is not using it!), puts the device between them all and watches as the table solidifies from who-knows-what: Ravio’s design, Ravio’s ridiculously powerful magic he denies he has, Ravio’s nonsense. Wild pokes at the table with interest, as does Wind because ‘this would be so useful out at sea!’, and the others show their amazement by trying to break it with their fists.
He doesn’t stop them, but he does pick up both books from the ground to drop them on the table. What did they say, restored and reconstructed records should be treated with care? No, one is practically his journal and the others are very thin leather-bound books, the only things that merit care are Zelda’s notes.
“Ok, so.” He throws open the ‘Darkness’ book to the page he had marked, and ignores everyone’s looks as he speaks; “Preface by saying these are reconstructed records blah blah they aren’t complete because Ganon is a piece of shit and I had to scour the Dark World from corner to corner looking for all this, appreciate my hard work or I will end you—“
“Is this all you found—?” Warriors is also a piece of shit and will be muted with one of his rings. The Captain audibly pats his mouth, eyes wide, but there isn’t much he can do since he has been silenced.
“No, this is just what we could find about the Four Sword,” Legend motions to his almost-journal, then at the open ‘Darkness’ book; “and of one of the Heroes that lived after the founding of Hyrule and the first dark mages’ war but before the downfall, maybe earlier than that. May I remind you that’s circa Four and Time’s estimated time, give or take some unknown number of centuries.”
“Hyrule should really work harder keeping track of time,” Time, who doesn’t know what year it is, not even when he lives apart from it being ‘sometime before most of you’, says as he shakes his head. “Or at least how long an Era lasts.”
“You said Prosperity was a few centuries, Force was another few, so who knows… It has been what, a millennia? A little less? Since the downfall?” Hyrule taps his fingers to his chin, a fairy nested on his hair doing the same with her small hands.
“Time is a social construct and society doesn’t exist,” Legend adds, completely done thinking about the timeline. It is currently the 9th Year of the Refounding, but how that relates to everyone else, he has no idea. He doesn’t care right now. “The main thing here is that this Hero probably existed around the age of the Hero of Men and Four, and we are all in agreement that those two are the same person, right?”
There is a unanimous nod and affirmative sounds, though Four would say the opposite: there is proof they aren’t the same person! However, the Hero of Men’s depictions and Four look exactly the same and time travel is a thing they deal with often, so who can tell if Four won’t go back in time a whole century, forge the Picori Blade for his younger self and then go on his merry way? No, Legend is still not convinced Four will remain static in time, especially not considering the Palace of the Four Sword.
“Then, who is this Hero?” Wind leans forward in anticipation, peering at the book with wide eyes, but he can’t read Legend’s Hylian so he is just looking at the detailed reproductions of carved charms and statuettes from the estimated era, recognizable because they come in sets of four and depict four vaguely divine entities.
There are four Goddesses, but Hylia never, ever appears in art, at least not from what they know so far. She is represented by the Triforce itself, the Sun at times, and maybe once she appears as a bird in an ancient mural. The only other references they have found of four deities are from Lorule, where the existence of Lolia is well known though the other three not as much (since Lorule just… doesn’t care much for deities), and from Time, but Time gave Hylia and the Golden Goddesses the middle finger in favour of a weird pantheon none of them knows of so hopefully it is completely unrelated.
(Maybe he is, indeed, Four’s direct successor. Who knows.)
However, the reason why this Hero is connected to Four is mostly the gemstones.
“This is the Hero of Darkness,” Legend says, showing them the one image they have of the Hero as a person instead of a concept.
Zelda has the real thing under seven locks and inside the strongest protections she could make: putting together the broken glass figurine that Legend had once found in one of Lorule’s ruins had been difficult, almost impossible, and she didn’t want it to break again. At least the thing had been broken very purposely, probably by a Hylian who found themselves lost between worlds who knows how long ago: the base had been cleanly removed and the four little decorations had somehow survived, the upwards Triforce (the reason why Legend picked it up) had both of the Hero’s arms attached, and the legs were almost intact. The head was missing, as was the sword—he had tried picking up all the shards but only the sword’s handle remained.
All in all, exquisite craftsmanship, Legend appreciated his discovery and how amazingly well preserved it was: the colours have long since melted away, but light stains of black and grey can still be seen in the original thing. He doesn’t know how it survived so long, but he will thank Lorule’s weird magic for it until he finds out.
Of course, as he admires the drawing of the figurine he ignores the others as they let out disbelieving sounds. Hero of Darkness? That’s impossible! Well, too bad, because they might have little information of this particular myth, but what they do know is that he existed, he wasn’t from Lorule but perhaps from another parallel world, and he died.
Purposeful death is still death, martyrs will not be praised in this era.
He continues speaking without waiting for the others to go quiet, but they slowly realize he is speaking and shut up on their own. Amazing.
“The Hero of Darkness was a contemporary of the Hero of Light, or one of them at least.” He flips the page to Zelda’s, and some other people’s, assumptions and endless speculations. “We don’t know which one, since that’s a title that has been used three times: Four, the one after Four but before the Fallen Hero, and myself. We know it’s not me though, since I never had a contemporary Hero who isn’t Ravio, and I know this guy isn’t Ravio because of the Triforce being the right side up.”
“It could have been flipped for consistency,” says historian Time, probably holding his chin or tilting his head the way he tends to do. Legend doesn’t look away from his book—he doesn’t want to look at their reactions.
“No, this was found in Lorule. They wouldn’t have turned it around no matter what.”
“Maybe the reconstruction is wrong?” That’s Twilight, but he sounds unsure.
“The hands are holding the Triforce, try again.” He doesn’t let Twilight try again, continuing with the story as they have assembled it: “Apparently, this guy was the Hero of a realm much like Lorule, but not Lorule. We translated it as the Dark World, but that isn’t… quite right, the word the original used was, what, Realm of Penumbra?”
He flips through Zelda’s notes, nodding to himself and ignoring the deafening silence. He also ignores Twilight’s hand tightening around the edge of the table in the corner of his eye—not his problem.
“Yeah, Penumbra. There was a community growing there, a whole civilization, and he protected them from monster attacks and the like in exchange for room and board. Very transactional, very simple, he might have been two people.”
“What is that supposed to mean—“ Wild whispers to himself loud enough to be heard, so Legend answers the question like a good professor.
“At times he gets referred to in plural, but we couldn’t figure it out since the records are ancient. Four also gets mentioned in plural, myself as well at times,” a few times, for the one adventure. “From what we know, what we have managed to reconstruct, Heroes don’t often get mentioned by name—try never, only by their title, and this guy is the Hero of Darkness and something else. Emphasis on the ‘and’, what comes next is always scratched out, Zelda absolutely hates it—“
“Did you see the originals?” Sky reaches for the book, and Legend lets him take it.
He taps Zelda’s notes with a finger: “I read Zelda’s anger, I can’t read Pre-Downfall Hylian. Even if I could, this is from some centuries before and it is all damaged. We mostly work with what is left behind in ruins, and that’s usually pictorial, so…”
He brings his almost-journal closer before Wind can grab it but lets Time take the originals’ transcript. Hopefully he can understand a bit? The old man seems to understand it since he takes a few steps away from the table.
Historians.
“If he was the Hero of another world, how did he get to Hyrule though, did he just warp around or—“ Wind does manage to grab a book, and it’s the ‘Darkness’ one, but thankfully Legend has memorized it so he doesn’t need it for now.
“Unclear, but he did end up working for one of Ganon’s generals of the era. Brought the other to the light side later, or might have been the one who switched sides? Zelda could only puzzle some of that out from some military reports.” This, he doesn’t need to look at to know: he read the book earlier and his memory is perfect. The iteration of Ganon that the Hero of Darkness and his contemporary Hero of Light fought had two generals: one dealt exclusively with the Castle and the Royal Family, while the other was a poor overworked fool in charge of everything else. “So, he—“
“Helped bring Ganon back, and then take him down,” Time interrupts, still reading through the original transcripts at the speed of, well, Time. For someone raised in the Woods, he sure reads fast. “A little counterproductive, but understandable.”
“Counterproductive, I understand, but understandable?” Twilight asks, bringing Wind closer by the arm so he can flip through the book as well. Legend doubts either of them understands anything in it, so they are probably looking at the pretty pictures instead.
“Ah.” Sky confirms that they are looking at pretty pictures by stopping their page-flipping to a single one, the one he understands on sight being who he is. “Understandable, yes. This kind of seal requires something physical to latch onto, three of them I think?”
“Bingo.” Legend snaps his fingers at Sky, who smiles for a second before his face melts into a frown. “They needed Ganon physically there, so they did that and then sealed him and two other things away. Ganon, Ganon’s general, and an ‘indestructible archway’ that I can’t figure out what is meant to be. But of course, it also needs—“
“A sacrifice.” Hyrule joins Sky in frowning sadly, like crying puppies, and everyone else stills. “It was the Hero, wasn’t it.”
“It is one of the reasons why he, or they if it turns out they are two people, is called a Hero.”
Legend refuses to look up at everyone, but he can feel the mood taking a nosedive into doom and gloom. He taps a rhythm with his fingers on the Palace journal’s cover, thankfully already done processing the information about the ‘Hero of Darkness’, a title that should not be possible, someone who is not supposed to exist yet did in the past. Regardless of his deeds—joining Ganon’s army, helping bring him back to life—, he was still a Hero to the people he helped, those of the World of Penumbra, and then a Hero to the people of Hyrule even if they might never realize it.
He was a friend of his contemporary Hero of Light. The man must have been devastated. Not only had the two, three, five of them not been enough to defeat Ganon and get rid of him for good, they also had to sacrifice a precious person for the seal to hold…
All this, and that’s not even considering what the seal actually does. Sealing Ganon, or Demise, with the help of the Master Sword is one thing. Sealing Ganon in another world where he will hopefully never come out from is another. Sealing Ganon the way they did, forcing his physical body into dormancy, is nothing less than torture; well-deserved torture perhaps, but torture nonetheless. Ganon’s soul, whatever is left of it, would be unable to move on, held in its mortal coffin until the seal breaks or someone strong enough to kill him shows up.
“Four’s brother… The essence behind the seal,” Warriors repeats Four’s last words from those weeks that seem like an eternity ago. “It does seem… awfully coincidental.”
“There is still nothing connecting the Hero of Darkness to the Hero of the Four Sword, is there?” Wild’s voice has a small glimmer of hope to it, but unfortunately Legend will have to destroy it.
He retrieves the book and turns to the last page, the image of one of the murals that talks about the Hero of Darkness. The thing was faded where he found it, horribly so, centuries of disrepair doing away with most of it: there were probably never meant to be people, but there was a sword, and an awfully familiar pedestal, and—
“See these?” He turns the book to the others and points at the Four Elements depicted by the pedestal: endless swirls that had once been emerald green, thin tendrils that still had a tint of ruby to them, countless bubbles layered atop one another with remnants of sapphire clinging to it, and the three tear-drops put together like the high mountain peaks. “Look familiar?”
Of course they look familiar, they are the Four Sword’s life and soul. Most importantly, one of them is—
“Four’s heart.” Hyrule’s voice is small like a whisper, like the flutter of a fairy’s wings, as if he didn’t want to word what they are all thinking.
“And now’s where I go on to tell you about my worst nightmare,” Legend says, loudly, trying to break through the gloomy atmosphere with fake cheer in his own voice.
He opens the Palace journal to its first page, where an artist sketched the thing’s central chamber as Legend described it: hours and hours of speaking about a place he never wanted to remember again when the memories were still fresh, hours and hours of the scratch of coal on paper. The artist had managed to capture a lot of what Legend could not express through actual words: the overwhelming dread, the sorrow that clung to each stone, the desperation of the monsters and himself as he tried to fight against what he would later identify as the heavy weight of a life cut short. The sword, stained and rusted as it should never be; the pillars, each with the remnant of an element in them; the four shades hiding in the shadows of their respective corners, painted as wisps of what Legend couldn’t, still can’t put to words, though he can voice them easily enough.
(He does it at times, when the nightmares get the worst of him: a ragged howl guiding loved ones to the depths of the void, maddening cackles and screams of frostbite rage that forever go unheard, sobs in the middle of an uncontrollable fire as the world cracks beneath one’s feet, the steady mumbling of warnings that fall on uncaring ears. Despair and anguish, self-hatred and weakness, a deeply rooted fear for that which they could not control.)
The artist did a great job, and Legend shudders whenever he sees the drawing. The others, apparently, feel much the same. As much as he wants to tell them it’s just a sketch, he knows it is not: he knew Yuga, he knows very well how much emotion goes into a painting, how much dread art can inspire, and this one…
It is a masterpiece, yet it is just a sketch. The final version couldn’t even be completed, the artist fell into a dangerously unhealthy state of mind through her work, and she is still recovering. Maybe one day it will be finished, but they all sincerely doubt she wants to see what could become the work of her lifetime ever again.
“What is this place?” Time puts down the ‘Darkness’ transcripts, leaning closer to the journal with Time’s particular brand of a frown: a blank face. “It feels—“
“Dreadful? Miserable? Like the weight of the world atop your shoulders?” Legend nods because he understands perfectly what the others are feeling when they look at the reproduction of what he had to face once, too young and terrified for his life. “This, this thing, is the Palace of the Four Sword.”
Once again, deafening silence. Legend spares a glance to his house’s window, where Ravio, hoodless, looks at them and is probably listening in as well. Four doesn’t seem to be near him, but he still raises an eyebrow at the (legitimate) Hero of Lorule, who shakes his head. Good, good.
He returns to his fellow Heroes and breaks the silence, deadpan: “Guess what is kept in it.”
“The Master Sword,” Sky says, trying for a joke that falls flat. They can all see what sword is on the pedestal, it is impossible not to recognize it when it is currently wrapped, scabbard and all, and leaning unassuming by a catatonic Four’s side.
“Four has a whole palace?” Despite his attempted cheerfulness, Wind’s shifty eyes that try to never look at the picture say enough about his true feelings.
“It’s…” Legend tries to put his thoughts into words, but no matter what he can come up with, nothing would truly explain what kind of place the Palace is. He tries anyway. “It’s despair and failure given shape, or… something close to that. Currently I try very hard to not think of it as a grave.”
“Ah.”
As their good friend, the deafening silence settles around them once more, Legend flips through the pages to get that abomination of an uncannily lifelike sketch out of his sight. The reproductions of the murals he remembers aren’t precisely… well done: he might have photographic memory, but back then his skills with brush and pen weren’t as good as they are now. He, like many of his family tree due to their ancestor’s only known name, has always been more of a musician than a painter. He has been practicing though, and his hand has gotten steadier around charcoal, so maybe he can re-do them? Or describe them to Ravio— who would probably make the whole thing come to life on accident, so perhaps it is not the best idea.
(Funnily enough, despite the Lorule Royal Family focusing on the visual arts for generations just like the Hyrule one focused on music, Ravio is also bad at drawing. Guess some things stay the same no matter the upbringing.)
As he looks at his childish drawings, he feels his memories wander to that particular adventure. The Gatekeeper, whose appearance is apparently forbidden as he can’t remember it no matter what, and his(?) words, the promise for a story he had to piece together slowly across years of nightmares. The entrance that led to the chamber he calls the hub was the only place where he felt at ease, scarcely decorated as it was, and when he remembers it nowadays he can easily tell that it was added after the whole thing was built. It was a small chamber made almost haphazardly, something he could vaguely recognize as either a tunnelling shield or maybe an archaeological excavation’s entrance point. The Gatekeeper disappeared afterwards, and the entrance after he tried going back was… older, somehow. As if years had passed, completely forgotten, with the few items he found looking as if they had been abandoned in a hurry.
(A short letter inside a jar, faded in its longevity, signed with Hyrule’s royal crest in gold and with only one recognizable word: Cadence.)
Of course, a young Legend wouldn’t have been able to identify such things. It is only now that Legend can see the Palace for what it was probably meant to be, mostly because he now has the experience to notice oddities in ruins and recognize signs of tampering. The Gatekeeper’s words, perhaps, definitely the entrance and even the status of what he found in the deeper rooms, items perfectly preserved where they belonged despite being unable to take them out.
(A library of tomes, their titles written in Force Hyrulean that took them years to decode, unknown branches of magic and other techniques hidden away; a whole armoury’s worth of weapons on display, barely damaged from use and maintained through magic and glass cases. Magician staves and bottles of potion ingredients, blacksmithing tools and other items well used and loved, hidden in crevices as if waiting for their owners to come and take them back.)
The Palace had been built to be completely sealed, a massive grave for a time long forgotten. Nothing was meant to go out, nothing was meant to come in, grief and misfortune and a tiny bit of hope left to fester for who knows how many centuries. Whoever had tried to enter had given up their attempt either from royal decree or by own choice, and then Ganon had come around and broken the magic that kept the Palace stuck in the time it was built in.
Legend just finished that transgression.
He slaps Warriors hand away when he notices he’s being shaken around, but he doesn’t know how long he spent lost in those memories. He looks at the others through his own fading sight and it takes him a few seconds for his brain to reconnect to his body.
“Oh, you’re back with us,” Warriors, now unsilenced, says with a crooked grin. Legend should slap him again.
“Oh, you’re speaking again.” He lifts his hand and the threatening presence of his ring is enough for Warriors to back away. “Okay. So. The Palace. And Four. Yes, let’s go back to this.”
He ignores the others’ worried faces as he goes back to his almost-journal, looking for the piece of information he needs. They had tried to put in words the story the murals told, but because of the unusual structure of the thing they don’t know if they got it right. However—
“This place? It was covered in murals,” and artefacts, and weapons, and the vague sense of ‘home’. “Most of them were kind of… faded, because Ganon did something, but we managed to get something out of it and it’s just, the Hero of the Four Sword’s adventures.”
“Wait, really?” Sky tries to take the book from his hands, but Legend slaps his hand away. “So it really is Four’s, ah…?”
“Grave? Kind of.” He also ignores how the word makes them flinch, almost in unison. “The thing is, after the whole Picori blade thing, the Palace, the story, the murals, they split.”
“Into four,” Time says, voice heavy, but at least he doesn’t try to take his book away. “Like Ravio said.”
“I don’t know what Ravio said,” he will have to ask later; “but no, not into four. It splits into five.”
“What.” Incredulity fills everyone’s voices and Legend can’t really tell who said what exactly. He looks to the window, and Ravio isn’t there anymore, and he can feel something will go wrong sooner or later.
“Yes, five. As if the rule of four the whole Palace was built around wasn’t bad enough for my poor Hylian sensibilities—“ The whole thing felt odd from the beginning, uncanny, for someone well used to Hyrule’s rule of three; “the thing had the story of a fifth ‘Hero’ spiralling around. It was mostly—“
“Wait, why ‘fifth’ Hero?” Wild asks, making everyone look at him as he counts with his fingers, gives up and shakes his hands as if to shake off water. “We know Four splits into, well, four, but are each of them considered a Hero?”
“Yes, there were four Heroes of the Four Sword, and each of them had different trials,” Time replies and Legend snaps up to glare at him. If he knew, why didn’t he tell before, uh!? The man raises his hands in a pacifying motion. “A friend dragged me on a quest to find out about the Heroes before us. We couldn’t find much of Four, though, or the Hero of Men.”
“And you didn’t tell us— Wait, you found things?” Legend only knows about this whole mess because he got to see the Palace, records of Four’s adventures are practically non-existent as if they had been scrubbed off history.
“I almost fell into a volcano for it, yes.”
“Where did you find things?”
“Uh…” Time tilts his head because he is an actual child, or puppy, or something, and scratches at something on his neck. Hyrule is quick to grab his hand, though, so hopefully they won’t have to deal with injured scales today. “Inside a volcano, scattered all over the inner wall after it erupted and then more inside some lava caves, for the red one. Some skerries offshore the coast, then an underwater forest and river, for the blue one, but I think I missed some parts of that, the river was quite fast and Sheik didn’t help at all—“
“Wait, was the river underwater?” Wind practically hops in excitement as he goes to grab Time’s arm, eyes glimmering with interest. Cute kid, still a menace.
“How can a river be underwater…?” Sky, as always, looks confused about everything regarding the surface, but then again underwater rivers aren’t all that common.
“It just was, very annoying, uprooted a vine, you know how it is.” Time doesn’t even notice his slip-up and continues talking through Hyrule throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Last one was in some very high peaks where the wind almost pulled me with it—it pulled Sheik, it was so funny, what a good memory—and it was the only one I didn’t find in pieces, but that was for the one travelling with us, so.”
“The one travelling with us?”
“Yes, the green one.”
“And you knew—!?”
“Shouldn’t there be a fourth one, then?” Someone else interrupts Legend’s complaining and he doesn’t pout, not at all.
“As far as we know, it doesn’t exist.” Time shrugs and then hides one of the vines shrugging with him under his sleeve in a hurry. “We looked everywhere, but couldn’t find anything, even went hunting around landslides and a fissure after that one big earthquake. I went back to the Woods to ask if they knew, but they didn’t remember much of the Heroes at all.”
“How about you tell me the locations—“
“Ah, they don’t exist anymore, the earthquake did away with most of it except for the one underwater, and that was probably dealt with through erosion.” Great, there goes the only hint Legend will ever have. He could probably check the locations either way, but Time is right: time is harmful to anything left outside, and it has been… an unknown number of centuries. “We wanted to continue looking but then we were told off by the King…”
“Excuse me, how old were you?” Warriors is probably the only one who still bothers asking Time about his age, and rightfully so. Time, as always, just shrugs.
“Sheik was, what, fourteen? Sixteen? So maybe something like that? I have no idea.” The fact that he also doesn’t bother keeping track of his friend’s age is such a Time thing to do none of them are even surprised anymore. He probably doesn’t know how old Malon is. “We were technically not supposed to be messing around with history after everything, so I just say I didn’t know of that particular mandate whenever it gets brought up. Changelings, you know how we are.”
“Hyrule isn’t even half as annoying as you,” Legend mutters because he knows two changelings and only one of them is a nuisance. It is still hilarious that Time, old man Time, got told off by the King, even if he was younger at that time. This is also the only thing they have learned from Time in a while—he was a rowdy teenager! That’s just, it is so different from the Time they know, it is hard to think about it.
“Technically not a changeling,” Hyrule responds to Legend’s muttering because of course he heard.
You know who else heard? Four, who slipped into the group like a ghost who knows how long ago, who Legend noticed just now (and he didn’t make any weird noises, shut up, Warriors), and who is looking at the Palace book like it is his personal nightmare. Get in line, Four, this is Legend’s personal nightmare and you can’t have it, even if it’s your grave or something.
He snatches the books from the table, away from Four, and throws them into his bag where they will hopefully vanish into the void and reappear in Ravio’s hands later. Four follows his movement with his eyes, emerald green glowing unnaturally the same way they do when he summons the winds, and Legend has maybe half a second to leap back before sharp gales slash directly where he had been, leaving a large gash on the ground.
The others rush to action, Twilight and Sky holding Four in place as everyone with some degree of control over magic attempts to keep the damage of the miniature hurricane to the minimum. Legend feels his heart beat loudly inside his chest, memories of a similar attack long ago in a dark, heavy room where four siblings were laid at rest flashing before his eyes, his body hopefully frozen and not reacting to the threatening aura coming from Four.
This is the last time he opens up about anything ever again.
In the end, Four’s tantrum is ended by Ravio’s magic slamming everyone and everything down to the ground at a single word, except for Legend—who thankfully can’t be affected by most of Ravio’s magic, the only reason why he is still alive after witnessing the cowardly Hero lose control of himself. His parallel self looks mildly infuriated, the way he does the rare times he is very, very angry, and then he ushers the others away with all the emotion of a Lorulean needing some time alone.
(Loruleans need lots of ‘me’ time, they are very volatile.)
Unfortunately, Ravio loses his spine right afterwards, so bringing an unconscious Four back inside ends up being Legend’s task as the other man hides inside his cloak tugging at his hair. Sheerow, bless his tiny feathered heart, keeps him company while Legend recomposes himself, and then they meet again in their ‘anything and everything’ room with coffee for their together-alone time. The books remain safely hidden inside Ravio’s endless void of a bag, to be returned to the library at a later date when he feels safe enough to head to town once more.
They sit in silence for a few minutes, maybe an hour, neither of them can tell right now.
“I owe you one,” Legend says eventually, raising a fist. Ravio bumps it with his own, grinning, and it is only then that Legend realizes his mistake.
“A debt owed, to be repaid.” His voice shimmers with magic, and sadly this isn’t one Legend is immune to as it doesn’t technically come from him. Rupees, he hates owing debts to Ravio, to Loruleans in general but to Ravio most of all: the ridiculous oath bindings feel like physical chains around one’s heart, and his idiot of a roommate is strong enough to bring that particular part of Lorule’s nature into Hyrule without a thought.
“We are in Hyrule.”
“It is still a debt, and a debt is an oath. I can draw a contract if you want, Mr. Hero?”
Yeah, he can’t break it, the oath is there to stay. Hopefully he can clear this debt without parting from all his money, but— Wait! Ravio owes him a lot, doesn’t he?
“You’re staying here for free—!“
“Different values!”
“Pretty sure they aren’t different at all!”
“Ha, try it! See if the oath recognizes it as equal value.”
It doesn’t, of course it doesn’t, Legend has gone through this same exchange countless times and he always ends up losing. Why does he even bother? Lolia is playing favourites again, he is sure of at least that much.
“Okay, fine.” He gets up and takes both their coffee mugs to wash them. Ravio follows because he’s in charge of cooking in this household and that isn’t going to change anytime soon. “Now tell me, what did you tell the others?”
He gets a rather long version of Ravio’s diagnosis because he keeps getting distracted by explaining different forms of shadow magic, Mr. Hero, it is truly an amazing branch of magic to study! What he understands is, there is a curse, there is a weird soul anchor-repellent, something broke in an unnatural way bad enough Ravio can’t understand how Four is still alive, and whatever was taken now made it so Four’s body has been struggling keeping his whole self as a single being.
What a mess.
“…And that’s what I told them!”
“Okay, and what you didn’t tell them?”
Ravio freezes on his ingredient prep for a few seconds, eyes shifting left and right as they do when he is unsure of something, but eventually he sighs and puts the knife away.
“We got… a guest, a few days before you got here,” he says, gesturing towards the vague general direction of the Castle to indicate ‘we’ means the country as a whole and not their tiny, messy home. Legend nods in understanding. “Should have been the day after your relative got attacked, if I’m counting the days correctly—not that it matters since time travel is involved, another branch of interesting magic, that one, but, well.
“Your sister sent her knights to deal with it, but they couldn’t do much; whatever it was wasn’t precisely corporeal, a shadow more than anything.”
“Oh.” And isn’t that awfully coincidental, that a shadow shows up right after Four loses his own? Nah, neither Legend nor Ravio believe in coincidences.
“The Princess called on me. Apparently, to her senses, it felt Lorulean so I should know how to deal with it, but…”
“It wasn’t Lorulean.”
“No, it was… off.”
Ravio makes some attempts at a motion, arms jerking oddly as he tries to figure out how to word his thoughts, so Legend stops looking at him and picks up the knife to continue cutting up vegetables. At times, it is better to let Ravio think, though it usually ends up with some insane scam schemes or wild theories on applications of magic. Legend has learned to deal with it.
It takes a few minutes until his counterpart lets out a choked sigh.
“You know the shadowy one.”
“Yes, I know Twilight.”
“Okay, take all the sun out of that one and throw in some gravestones,” he says as if it was a completely normal thing to say. Legend’s descriptions of magical signatures tend to be weird and incomprehensible to most people who aren’t Zelda or either of their Lorulean selves, but Ravio’s are something else. “—Oh, they should be very old gravestones. And music. And dust, can’t forget the dust.”
“So where are you going with this…?”
“Mr. Hero, dearest friend. Link.” Ravio touches his arm for Legend to look at him, so he puts the knife away and does so. They will never be done making dinner. “It was slightly off, more stale, older perhaps, but…”
“But it is Four, isn’t it?”
“Not him, exactly. It is what was taken off him.”
Time splits from the others after Legend and Ravio chase them away, arguing that he also needs some ‘me’ time as Legend had said. They let him go, not without wariness, but Time has lived for far more than they could ever hope to and he isn’t letting some children worry about him. He wanders off until he finds a camp of monsters, and only then does he allow the Deku child to pull him down.
Darmani surges up with a grumble, fixing their gauntlets so they can punch some monsters into submission. They are in complete sync today, which makes coming down to their tree slightly awkward: Time can feel their body go through the motions, can hear Darmani and themselves complaining all the while, but everyone else is in a similar mood so it isn’t like it matters.
They share more than a body and a soul space, these days. Time doesn’t know how long it has been since their feelings have been completely in sync, but they also can’t be bothered to care. They might not have chosen to be like this, but at least their transition into their weird hivemind was probably smoother than Four’s… whatever it is.
Mikau is floating inside their pond when they get to their tree, wording what Darmani can’t speak out loud in the body: endless complaints, curses and everything that Time would never allow themselves to speak in front of the children. They all think their actual child self, their Deku fragment, is more mature than the others most of the time, and all they do is meditate all day. Time sure wishes they— he could join their meditation sessions when he has been dealing with the other Heroes for too long.
“Our eye will, should close in two more days,” their Deity self says once they are all gathered, or as gathered as they can be with Darmani punching things to death and Mikau going along with his flow. They can still feel their Goron and Zora selves’ attention on their impromptu meeting, as they both go quiet despite the irritation remaining.
“It isn’t our eye, though.” They all agree with that: the moon of Hyrule has no power over them, nor do they hold any power over it.
“Correct, we are wide awake in our land.” Termina runs on an opposite cycle to Hyrule, so it is currently the four, five days of the full moon. Day one, most precisely. “We will be at our most powerful then, so should we try to tug on the wrinkle of time to happen then?”
“Whose wrinkle is it this time?” Mikau speaks up, words bubbling inside the water yet still intelligible, not as wordy as they usually are as they aren’t fully present.
“The jailor’s.”
Ah, it is that woman’s turn to fling them across time. Curse Hylia and everything she stands for—and that’s a sentiment shared through all five of them no matter how out of sync they can be at times.
“Going against the jailor’s portals will leave us weak for some days,” Time adds, picking at the overgrown nails of their corpse before their soul’s self returns to their usual younger appearance. “Where should we redirect it to?”
“To the light and bright colours, music’s chosen time. We should try and fix the child of nature’s issue first and foremost, before our senses wane towards blindness.”
New moons in Termina are the worst, and they are all well aware of that. A groan of annoyance comes from wherever Darmani is, their body punching a foe hard enough to twist its neck unnaturally, but Time just hides their face in their hands with a sigh.
“Still two days to go. Why the hurry?”
“We fear two weeks is too long for what is to happen.” Time’s childish voice replies carelessly, almost as if disconnected from the future they have predicted. They aren’t completely unrelated, though: if what they fear happened did indeed happen, then it is probably their fault for being unable to keep the timestream straight.
“Then, to the Craftsman’s era we go?” Darmani takes off their gauntlets to clean them, covered in monster goop as they are. Disgusting, but nothing new to them.
“At least until Four stops breaking apart.”
“He gets worse with each hour, the shifting magic makes us uncomfortable.”
“He survives, though.” Mikau flips around so they stop having their face under the water, waving a finger. “We know this.”
“Indeed, he has yet to craft the instrument of Time we must use in our adventures. Without it, we would unravel as we would never have met, and as Termina continues breathing so do we know things have yet to change.”
“Maybe there was someone between us,” Darmani adds as they join their congregation, the body left working on a mask’s maintenance as they often do when they are all down here paying attention.
“There was not, and we have proof!” Mikau, back to their usual self, leaves their pond after splashing them all with more water than should be legal. None of them care, of course: water is good for their skin. “Time is going on its right track.”
“We also have proof we are related to Sheik, though, and we all know that’s not true.”
“We just spawned fully grown.”
“The timestream is more important than the fake records used to annul an arranged marriage, we would think.”
“Imagine being related to the jailor.”
“We are a Deity, powerful at our own right and land, and we shudder at the thought.”
“That happened before we came to be like this?”
“But it happened to Link, so it happened to all of us.”
“We are one and the same…”
Time simply sighs again, deciding to go lie down by their tree. They aren’t going back to the other Heroes anytime soon, apparently.