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The heavy breathing of the boys and the soft crackle of the fire broke the stillness of the night.

Four sat beside the flames, slowly running a whetstone along his sword. His eyes remained alert, constantly scanning the shadows beyond their small camp as he kept watch.

Then he heard the uneven rhythm of approaching footsteps.

Four looked up.

"You're supposed to be resting."

He set his sword aside as his companion approached.

"How am I supposed to sleep when the farmer snores like a war horn?"

The captain raised an eyebrow.

Four was certain it was nothing more than an excuse.

It wasn't the farmer's snoring keeping him awake.

It was the weight of his thoughts.

"Of course. Blame the farmer."

Four picked up his sword again, drawing the whetstone along the blade in slow, deliberate strokes. His gaze briefly shifted toward the captain's injured leg.

"You should've taken a potion."

"Our supplies are running low. Someone else might need it."

The captain lowered himself carefully beside Four, his movements betraying just how much pain he was actually in.

"If we're lucky, we'll find a village and have a chance to replenish our supplies."

Four's sharpening slowed.

"That'll be difficult when we're wandering blindly through the wilderness."

His gaze drifted toward the wall of trees surrounding them before returning to the captain.

"Not like we have the luxury of choosing."

The captain ran a hand through his hair and let out a weary sigh before lying back, his face turned toward the cloudy sky.

Four watched him from the corner of his eye.

"We'll figure something out."

The captain closed his eyes, offering no reply.

Four turned his attention back to his sword. For a moment, he stared at his reflection in the polished steel.

Dark circles hung beneath his eyes, and exhaustion had settled heavily across his features. Anyone else might have mistaken it for nothing more than the aftermath of battle.

But beneath the layers of his clothes, a wound stretched across his back.

A wound he had carefully kept hidden from the others.

A wound inflicted by the Shadow's blade.

It wasn't fatal.

Not yet.

But the weakness slowly spreading through his body was anything but reassuring.

Still, Four had no intention of telling them anytime soon.

They already had enough problems.

The last thing they needed was another burden.

"We'll figure something out."

He repeated the words under his breath, quieter this time, as though he were trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

Here some midnight sketch and the starat of my fic

The captain leaned heavily against the tree, biting down on his lip as he pressed a strip of cloth against the wound in his leg.

“That was one hell of a mess,” he muttered, his voice worn with exhaustion.

“No kidding,” the veteran replied dryly. His battered body was covered in bruises as he helped the old man secure the splint around his broken arm.

“It changed on us. We weren’t prepared for it,” he said through a grimace, hissing as pain shot through him.

His gaze drifted toward the unconscious sailor nearby. A fresh wound marked his head, and he lay motionless atop the Skyloft Knight’s scarf while the knight tended to him.

“How is he?” the old man asked, unable to hide the concern in his voice.

“I gave him a healing potion. He should wake up soon,” the Skyloft Knight assured him, carefully drawing the scarf over the younger boy.

“We look like Ganon chewed us up and spat us back out,” the champion remarked from where he sat, his shoulder freshly bandaged by the blacksmith.

The farmer let out a faint sound from where he leaned against Epona. It might have been a laugh if exhaustion hadn’t drained him of the strength to manage one.

Nearby, the blacksmith sat gathering firewood, his hands moving absently as he stared into the flames, lost in thought.

The traveller noticed his silence and limped over, lowering himself beside him with a tired sigh.

“I can practically see the smoke coming out of your ears,” he teased.

“We let him get away.”

The blacksmith didn’t look away from the fire.

The traveller’s expression tightened. The bitter truth was finally settling in.

“I know. And that isn’t even the worst of it,” he said quietly. “He was right there in front of us. If I’d been just a little faster, I could’ve taken that bastard’s head off.”

The veteran muttered the last words as he dragged a hand through his dust-covered hair.

The captain tightened his bandage one final time—harder than necessary—and bit down on the inside of his cheek.

“You wouldn’t have had the chance. Not with that blood-black dragon circling overhead, threatening to roast us alive.”

“Enough. Leave it for now,” the old man interrupted, his tone firm enough to silence any further argument.

His eyes swept over the exhausted young men.

“We’ll talk about it when we’re not busy bleeding to death.”

He placed a hand on the veteran’s back, a quiet gesture meant to keep the boy from sinking deeper into self-blame.

“Get some rest tonight. We’ll figure out our next move in the morning.”

No one argued.

None of them had the energy to.

They simply remained where they were, surrounded by the crackling fire and the quiet sounds of the wounded, each man left alone with his thoughts.

The shadow had escaped.

He had sealed the time portal before they could catch him, leaving them stranded in an unknown era with no idea where their enemy had gone—or what he intended to do next.