#zelinkweek2023

It’s not unlike the one she uses when they are in Kakariko, albeit a few inches shorter, like everything else customized for a child in Purah’s lab. Zelda has to lay at an angle to fit and even so, her feet dangle over the edge when she straightens her legs. Symin offered her his bed, as Paya had in Kakariko, and like there, Zelda declined. 

When she traveled a century ago, families were forced to give up their entire homes to host her. Royal quarters were permanently built in Kakariko, Rito Village, Gerudo Town, and Zora’s Domain. Due to the hostile environment surrounding Goron City, the Gorons agreed to travel to Akkala Citadel whenever there was official business with the Royal family which, in addition to a military fortress for the Hyrulian armed forces, acted as a second residence for her family. Another bed.

But that was all before. Akkala Citadel is in ruins, all the Royal quarters have since been repurposed by their respective domains, and Zelda will never ask anything more of the people of Hyrule so long as she draws breath.

Still, selfishly, and in the safety of her own thoughts, she yearns for the comfort of a real bed. Nothing extravagant, no need for anyone in Hyrule to forfeit their comforts on her behalf. Just somewhere she can readily count on for rest when sleep decides to visit. 

That’s what Link says: a visit of sleep. 

They are alike in this way. Their internal clocks recalibrated in the prolonged absence of waking, such that their bodies don’t readily cue the need for sleep. In the beginning, it took her weeks just to register the sensation of fatigue again. She stayed awake for two full days after the final confrontation on Hyrule Field before collapsing abruptly during the climb up to Kakariko’s western entrance. Link had to carry her the rest of the way. She slept for ninety-two hours straight. 

When Zelda finally awoke, someone was smoothing her hair out of her face. Another sensory experience she needed to register again: touch. Not toxic oil on her skin, claws of shadow raking down her spine, or darkness pulling so tight it feels like it might become one with her. Actual human touch. 

She hoped it might be Link in a delayed return of her affections for a heartbeat, but when she opened her eyes, it was an old Sheikah woman at her bedside. Zelda’s expression must have soured or pulled with confusion, because the woman began to laugh. Laughter. Warm and inviting and familiar. The sound vibrated inside Zelda like a bell. She gasped, set her hands on either side of the women’s face and felt a sudden and painful ache that has accompanied every subsequent realization of her losses. 

She will never age like she was meant to. With the people of her time, with the people she loved.

And after a century in stasis, she is on the verge of being completely left behind.

“Now, it’s not that bad, is it?” Impa teased.  

Zelda didn’t answer. She wept.

It has gotten a little better in the months since she returned to her physical form. She’s started to suspect Link is “visited’ by sleep out of preference more than necessity. But really, he slept for a hundred years, so she can’t blame him for rejecting a more traditional sleep cycle. She, on the other hand, was frozen. Not sleeping, not waking, just there—like gravity itself. Holding everything and everyone in place, unnoticeable until she wasn’t, when the Calamity would slip free of her grasp, swirl about the castle, and remind Hyrule of the horrors that awaited them if she failed again. 

Zelda smudges a tear against the side of her face and turns onto her back. Regardless, she can’t help but feel like having a bed, a ceiling overhead she recognizes, and the freedom to get up and roam down to a kitchen for a slice of fruitcake when the night is still young, that she might be visited by rest more willingly when she wants it. Needs it.

Like tonight. 

“So, what you're really talking about is wanting a home,” Zelda tells herself, a habit formed in the decades of solitude. Sometimes, in periods of dormancy or resignation, the Calamity would growl back at her in a tone that was almost human. But for the most part, she started talking to herself in and out of days and throughout the years until her sense of time too was a thing Hylia claimed in penance for her failures. 

“That’s not accurate,” she chides herself and flips onto her stomach. Blaming the Goddess is a bad habit she is trying to change. When she finally unlocked her Powers, suspended in divinity, the closest to holy she’s ever been, the Goddess didn’t even answer her then. It was just the sound of her own voice, echoing back at her from inside the Calamity. 

A bed. Something simple and fixed, like the one Link has in his house right on the outskirts of the village. Zelda’s caught glimpses of it when they’ve stopped there to replenish supplies; nestled against the wall on the second floor, beneath the only window so natural light kisses him awake when he finally decides to rest. He has a small dresser for linens and travel spoils, and a bedside table that is home to a painted vase from Rito Village he often fills with fresh flowers. 

She wonders which flowers are watching over him right now. Has sleep visited him? Or is he rolling about his sheets, worrying about the Summit, trying to break old habits, or craving something warm from the cooking pot down the stairs?

If he is awake, it is likely the latter. He would be able to sleep on a night like this. The air is cool. Everyone at the Summit knows him personally; is indebted to him in some way, although he carries no ledger. He is known. Respected. Tomorrow is just another day. Sleep will visit.

Zelda’s role in all of this is yet to be defined. While news of Calamity Ganon’s defeat spread quickly, there was no whisper of the lost Princess’ return at first. Rumors focused on the disappearance of the shadow around Hyrule Castle and then later, turned into formal requests for Link’s presence in the aid of investigating the Divine Beasts sudden malfunctioning. No one asked about her.

And it was nice. 

For a brief moment, she fantasized about cutting her hair, burning her dress, and letting Zelda disappear with the embers into history. Maybe she would accompany Link as a traveling scholar under another name? Or join the Sheikah and train with the weapons she was forbidden to touch a hundred years ago?

Impa, however, had other plans. She suggested Zelda travel with Link to investigate Vah Ruta so the Zora could verify her identity. They found her old travel clothes, Link presented her with a descendant of her horse, Storm, and the dreams of obscurity ceased. The Zora instantly recognized her, adding credibility to the announcement of her return and soon, her identity grew heavy with an unspoken claim to a throne that needed rebuilding.

No one has officially said anything, but there is a generous amount of speculation surrounding tomorrow and the opportunity to reestablish a centralized and unifying governing body. If they asked it of her, she would have no choice but to accept, right? It is the duty tied to this life. This title.  

Maybe she could convince them of her usefulness as a scholar? She no longer has any restrictions on time spent researching. She could help the Sheikah redesign their technology. Perhaps to aid in the great restoration…if she could just get the Divine Beasts up and running again, they would prove so useful in the rebuilding! 

This part of her, shunned by her family and now forgotten with them, could be the key to proving her worth beyond a head to carry the crown. She will show them. She has to.  They don’t seem to know what else to do with her, otherwise. Rarely does anyone use her name, even after they realized who she is.

They all call her ‘Princess’.  

Except for Link. 

Zelda turns onto her side and inspects the empty sliver of cot beside her. She runs her hand across the weaving and thinks about how she used to be able to visit Link. When the Calamity was dormant and her Power was still new and untaxed, she would separate a part of herself from Hyrule Castle and ride the wind to the Great Plateau. She watched the seasons turn by Link’s side in the shrine until the Calamity would wake and pull her back into herself like a rubber band. This went on for decades. 

When he finally woke up and the shrine’s toll for restoring his life was realized, Zelda felt her strength begin to waver. She is not aware of a word that accurately describes the feeling of being forgotten by the person you tethered your heart to; to have it remain connected to that person and witness it drift behind them, becoming more of a dark cloud than guiding light.

Her love for him burned for a hundred years. Somehow, in the depths of a living, breathing, rageful hell, it grew. It grounded her within the swirl of eternal darkness, the unyielding burn of malice, the mourning of time. As his memories of their kingdom, their comrades, and of her, returned to him, his reckoning of it all remained indistinguishable. 

The last six months between them were uncomfortable. He never outwardly answered her question on the field. He extended his hand and led her away from the castle. He was gentle yet reserved, closer than the three paces he once stood as her appointed knight and still somehow further than when he sunk into the glowing waters of the shrine and she stepped into the center of the darkest night.  Did his love die with him on the field that day? Was it left in the spot where he bled out, where flowers now grow? Has one unknowingly ever made it back to his bedside table? Could he recognize it now? 

Did he want to? 

She glances over her shoulder quickly, half expecting him to be there like he always was all those years ago, appearing out of thin air, as a part of her as her own shadow. 

But there is no one else in the room. Her shadow is empty. Her window shut. 

Zelda turns her attention back to the empty spot beside her and begins to imagine the weight of his arms around her. The sound of his sleep. His breath on her face. The cot is small, like his bed, but in the way she imagines they might fit together, it would be enough for sleep to find her. Even on a night like this. 

But there is no one else in the room. 

Just her and a bed, that's not even a bed, that doesn’t belong to her. 

—

Sleep doesn’t visit her. 

Zelda eventually gives up and pours her energy into drafting up a proposal on how to repurpose the Sheikah Technology. The Divine Beasts will be a tremendous asset. Vah Ruta can create new water reservoirs. Vah Medoh can mass transport supplies and people across Hyrule. Vah Rudania and Vah Naboris will be essential for maneuvering the harsher terrains of each region. 

She is confident she and Robbie could reprogram the guardians and assign them different purposes. She will recommend they remove all of the mechanics for combat, save for a select few machines that will be assigned to aid in monster defense.

Their greatest challenge will be finding a new power source. When Zelda obliterated Calamity Ganon from the realm, her Light purified every non-living thing it held influence over; every pool of Malice evaporated instantly and every guardian -earthbound, skyward or decayed- from the North Akkala Beach to Daval’s Peak stopped working. Robbie has yet to find a working ancient core and hypothesizes Zelda “nuked the network”. Whatever that means. 

The Sheikah Towers and shrines remain functional, so once they isolate the remaining source of power, she is confident Robbie and Purah will be able to design and power up new cores. 

 If only she had access to the old blueprints in her study…

On her way down to the main floor, she scribbles a note about returning to the castle upon acceptance of the proposal. She folds the pages carefully and tucks them into the small leather satchel Link gave her. Purah assumes ownership of the Sheikah Slate whenever they come to Hateno, so Link presented her with a satchel enchanted by the koroks so she can carry multiple items outside of the Slate on her at all times. Link has an identical one. 

He jokingly calls it an ‘adventure pouch’.  

Purah, Symin and a few others are already buzzing about the lab. Purah has the Sheikah Slate in the Guidance Stone, a tear drop of crystal blue bouncing between the stone and the Slate every few seconds. Zelda always thought it was interesting that information takes the shape of a teardrop. Was it intentional by the Sheikah who created the technology all those years ago? Or is it just the natural form of data? Of memory? 

There is so much for them to learn.

“Good morning, Princess!” Purah says without looking up from her work. Zelda decided earlier this morning, just as the sun started peeking through her window, not to fight the title of Princess anymore. She would help them rebuild the kingdom, sit on a new throne if they asked it of her, but she would have a hand defining the responsibilities of the title. 

“Good morning,” Zelda answers. 

Purah rapidly flaps her hand in Zelda’s direction. Zelda moves into the spot beside Purah, who is balanced on her knees on a pillow in order to sit level with the table. There are sketches of the Sheikah Slate, looking very much like a six year old drew them, along with an unflattering portrait of Symin, and handwriting Zelda won’t even attempt to decipher. 

“I think I can duplicate the Slate,” Purah says, snapping her fingers.

Zelda grins. She imagines each region having their own Slate. The possibilities for research, for communication. How quickly Hyrule could share information…the problems they could solve! 

Link pushes open the door to the lab. Zelda imagines how his shoulders might relax the more Hyrule becomes connected. His burden would finally be eased...then maybe…

“Good morning!” She practically bursts. 

Link waves and crosses the room to the cooking pot. Symin starts explaining what he is cooking and Link casually dumps the entire contents into the fire. Symin sighs in relief and pulls out a notebook. Link produces the ingredients one by one from his pouch, displaying each carefully so Symin can copy the recipe. A dozen eggs, Hylian tomatoes, assorted mushrooms, a handful of greens, and a tiny bottle of Goron spice. Zelda’s mouth waters before he even starts cooking. 

She watches Link demonstrate how to slice the tomatoes before setting Symin to work, involving Symin in the salvaging of the meal and in doing so, lessening the blow of his failure. It is a change in Link’s behavior she has loved witnessing: he is eager to share his knowledge after awakening from the shrine; to spread it generously with everyone who asks for his help. In this way, he is teaching Hyrule how to need him less in the long run, a step forfeited a century ago by the pressure he felt and the structure of the role assigned to him. 

Hero, knight, swordsman; whatever title he is to carry moving forward, she will protect his freedom to define it as well. 

They eat quickly and head down the hill toward the village together. Hateno is the chosen location for the Summit because it has the largest settlement of Hylians, who, as a whole, have been without formal leadership for over a century. Central Hyrule was initially considered given the proximity for all participants, but the general consensus is six months of calm is not enough time for anyone to meet comfortably in the shadow of the castle. 

“I heard this is the first time King Dorephan has left his domain in two hundred years,” Purah whispers to Zelda as they turn the corner down the split in the road to Hateno Pasture. A farmer named Dantz offered up his land, which borders Lake Sumac, to host. The water provides an added measure of comfort for the Zora. Zelda spots King Dorephan sitting close to the shore with several elder Zora and Prince Sidon.

There are a handful of Hylians mingling with leading members of the Sheikah, Rito, Gorons, and Gerudo. 

Purah and Symin split off to join Impa, who is sitting in the shade of a nearby tree with Paya. Their movement pulls the attention of the crowd in Zelda’s direction. She watches recognition ripple across the group. The conversations soften and then die off completely at the mere sight of her. Just like old times. 

Zelda flexes her fingers. 

Suddenly, there is a hand in hers. She jumps, glancing to her side where only Link stands. He’s looking right at her, the same way everyone else is, but she doesn’t feel the weight of the crown on her shoulders in his gaze. He squeezes her hand and nods her forward.  

“Right. Okay, then,” Zelda whispers.

Link leads her around the crowd so she can make introductions before the Summit starts. She is already known to the Sheikah, who are represented by Impa, Robbie, Purah, Symin, Paya, and Cado, and the Zora. Prince Sidon embraces her and compliments Link relentlessly. 

It is Zelda’s first time meeting the Goron Boss, Bludo, who introduces Zelda to a young Goron named Yubono and emphasizes he is a descendant of Daruk, as well as the Rito Chief, Kaneli. He is joined by a Rito warrier named Teba, and his son, Tulin, who begs Link to go shooting with him later that day. Link offers the fledgling a thumbs up and then gestures like, you want to go now, quick? 

Teba scolds them both. 

Her favorite introduction is the last one. Chief Makeela Riju, who insists Zelda calls her Riju, informs Zelda the Gerudo sun has missed her and personally invites her to come meet her pet sand seal. 

There certainly is a lot of personality, but Zelda feels certain the proposal will appease them all equally. The fact Link’s hand has remained in hers the entire time only boosts her confidence. Should she request the floor immediately or wait to see if there are region-specific needs she can weave into her proposal? She wants to emphasize the importance of each region’s involvement. 

“I think it’s time,” Impa makes her way out of the shade with the other Sheikah and takes the spot closest to Zelda. “that we begin again, don’t you all agree?”

“Well said. The Zora recognize the start of the Hyrule Restoration Summit,” King Dorphean says. 

“As do the Rito.” 

“And the Gerudo.”

“The Shei-kah!” Robbie throws his hand in the air and postures. 

“Gorons,” Bludo grunts.

“The Hylians have elected four representatives: I, Reede of Hateno Village, Elder Rozel of Lurelin Village, Hudson of Tarrey Town, and Traysi for the Stable Association. We recognize the start of the Hyrule Restoration Summit.”

“I officially call this meeting to order.” Impa claps her hands together and sits. She thanks everyone for traveling and for the village of Hateno for their hospitality. She summarizes the objective of the meeting as a gathering of the people of Hyrule in preliminary discussions about plans for a massive restoration following the purge of Calamity Ganon. She explains the forum will be open, but organized, in order for accurate minute keeping. Everyone motions in favor of detailed records. There are too many nameless ruins, too many stories and lessons lost to time scattered across Hyrule.

“Since there is no old business to attend to, I suppose it might be best to open the floor up to hear any initial recommendations for the restoration?”

Link raises his hand. 

He so rarely speaks out loud that the anticipation of it commands the attention of the entire Summit immediately. It might be her imagination, but Zelda swears the wind stops, too.  

“Let the record show the Hylian Champion and Hero of the Wild, Link, has the floor,”  Impa dictates and gestures for Link to continue. Zelda fishes her proposal out from her adventure pouch and folds it in her lap. Whatever he says, she’s assuming he will have some brilliant suggestions on how the former trade routes can be optimized or offer insight into the state of Central Hyrule for an exhibition, it will provide the perfect opportunity for her to follow. 

Link turns and smiles at her as he rises. It’s small. Relaxed. The kind of smile that’s only meant for the space between two people. Which means it is meant for her. 

She smiles back. 

With her plans for the Sheikah Technology, which will no doubt be strengthened by Link’s expertise, they can face this new Hyrule together. Self-chosen, this time, not forced by fate and the responsibilities of an old kingdom. 

Her heart flutters so rapidly at the thought, it takes her brain a moment to register what he actually says:

A gentle squall rose over the cliffside, not strong enough to wash away the sealife stubbornly clinging to it, but large enough to tip over a merman seated on the outcropping of rocks nearby.

He let himself fall backwards into the sea, head tilting up to look at the gray sky. The days had been passing slowly lately, yet the weeks were gone in a blink. He just wanted a moment to breathe without the watchful eyes of his father or the concerned gazes of his friends following him. 

He closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of the seawater, listening to the muffled noises of the waves hitting against the cliff. This is where he felt the most at peace–where the land met the sea, both pushing against each other in a battle neither would win. The water would eventually cause the rock to erode away, but the rest of it would still extend down to the bottom of the ocean. A disruptive harmony. He liked that.

“I knew I’d find you here, Link.”

Lifting his head, he turned to address the disapproving stare of his best friend. “Mipha.”

The mermaid sighed, red tail flicking in mild annoyance and concern as she drifted closer. “Your father’s looking for you. I think he wants to discuss something important.”

“Everything we talk about is ‘something important,’” Link rebuffed, shoulders slumping in resignation. “I thought he had an audience with Her Majesty this morning.”

“It’s already late afternoon,” Mipha answered, and one glance at the sun, partially concealed by the gray clouds, confirmed her statement.

He grunted in acknowledgment, pulling himself up on another rock. 

She watched him, her brow pinched with worry. “I don’t like it when you come up here. We really shouldn’t be so close to the Surface. What if we’re spotted?”

“All the way out here?” Link’s gaze swept over the scene. They were well away from the nearest human territory. “Frightened?”

“No, I just–don’t like it. Besides, you’ve been coming here more often. Do you really like it that much?”

He shrugged. “I like smelling the air. It’s different than Below.”

“It’s too loud. I get overstimulated on the Surface.” Her eyes narrowed in distaste.

Link didn’t respond because he couldn’t argue. Everything was more pronounced up here. Sounds were louder, smells were much easier to detect, the light was nearly blinding–it was all amplified in the air, so different from water. Where he was light and quick in water, he felt utterly useless moving his body out of it. Strange and unknown, yes, but also curiously exciting. He liked exploring this new world, despite everyone’s protests.

Apparently deciding enough was enough, Mipha swam over and nudged his fin. “Get down from there. I was serious, you know. Your father needs to speak with you.”

Link flicked his tail, splashing water at her. “As you command, Princess.”

“I told you to stop calling me that.” Red bloomed on her face, rivaling her tail’s color. “I’m not a princess, or your nanny. Let’s go.”

“You’re pricklier than an urchin,” Link grumbled, but obliged. He slid down into the water, careful not to let his tail catch. “Race you back.”

“That isn’t fair, you know you’re faster than anyone I know–hold on, Link–wait!”

He grinned back at his childhood friend, enjoying her look of exasperation as her flash of red chased his blue. “You used to beat me when we were kids!”

“For Hylia’s sake–I haven’t won once since I was a young nereid!” Mipha complained, doing her best to keep up regardless.

Link turned away as he swam. He knew the real reason Mipha was worried, and it only partly had to do with his time out of water. 

He’d been more listless lately, sleeping too often and isolating himself in various nooks he found. Even he could admit he’d been acting strange. The strangest part was that even he didn’t know why. He’d always been curious about the Surface, sure, but not to the extent of spending so much time there. His life had seemed so straightforward for so long, and he had always been content with that.

Still, the ache in his chest wouldn’t go away, and Link was at a loss to explain it.

Zigzagging his way through the coral with Mipha still hot on his tail, Link made his way towards the Queen’s palace, where his father, Arn, would surely be waiting.

~

“Where in the goddess’s name have you been?”

Link winced, his back ramrod straight and his hands clasped tightly behind him as Captain Arn, Head of the Royal Knights of Her Majesty Queen Faron, berated his son.

His father’s movements were agitated, jerking from side to side in frustration. “You know better than to disappear for hours. I had an urgent matter to discuss with you. I expected you to be training, not wasting your time. You aren’t a child anymore, Link!”

He swallowed back his guilt, bowing his head. “I’m sorry, Father.”

“That is not enough.” Arn’s lips tightened, his graying beard making him look his age for once. “You need to be more responsible. I thought you understood this already. You are not going to be just any knight–you are my son and heir.”

Link did not respond. His father wasn’t looking for one, anyway. This was a speech he had heard many times before. 

Arn sighed, rubbing his temples as he sank into a seat. “I do not understand you, son. You’ve put in an enormous amount of training. You are stronger, faster, more quick-witted than most fully fledged knights. I know you have the dedication necessary for your role. Yet your mind is elsewhere–bobbing around in the waves aimlessly. You are of age now. I expect you to behave as such.”

Link’s gut twisted.

Finally, his father raised his head, seeming to simmer down at last. “Which reminds me. I know you only recently came of age, but Her Majesty has given her approval to go ahead with your knighting ceremony.”

For the first time during Arn’s lecture, Link showed emotion: utter shock. “What…? I thought I was supposed to wait until–”

“If Her Majesty so wishes it, then there is no reason to delay,” Arn interrupted him. “While it’s true you are very young, you have also shown more potential than anyone else in the knighthood. Even I could not accomplish the feats you have shown in your training at your age.” Rising from his seat, the captain swam over to Link, who was still fighting to keep his composure.

Arn rested a hand on Link’s shoulder. “I understand your surprise, but I am also proud of you, son. You’ve finally accomplished your goal. You shall become a true royal knight. And I hope that…with this promotion, you will finally snap out of this haze.”

Link slowly looked up to meet his father’s eyes. Arn was battle-worn, scars marring his body from fin to fingers, and he was a proud merman. Isn’t this what Link had always wanted? To stand by his father? To earn his approval? To fulfill the destiny he’d been handed since he was a child–succeeding his father’s place one day?

“Let me tell you something, my son,” Arn continued, steering him toward a window in his chambers. “Look out into the throne room with me.”

Link stared down at the ornate throne room where the Queen usually resided. It was late enough now that it was empty besides a few guards, swimming around the grand oval-shaped room. An oversized throne sat prominently in the center, and large pillars led a long swimway up to Her Majesty’s pedestal.

“That throne symbolizes more than a seat,” Arn was saying. “It is where the Queen rests, where peace is secured, where merfolk look to for answers. Her Majesty has watched over her people for far longer than you realize. She was granted this position by Hylia herself, and it is the sworn and sacred duty of knights like myself to protect that peace. By securing Queen Faron’s safety, we are by extension safeguarding the entire ocean. Tell me, Link–do you remember the story of the Master Sword?”

Link nodded, head swimming. 

“Then you know of the legends. Long ago, when Her Majesty was appointed the position of Queen of the Oceans by the Goddess Hylia, she was also entrusted with a legendary sword said to vanquish darkness and evil. Queen Faron swore to protect this sacred object, but it was desired by dark forces. A fearsome battle ensued, and the Queen was victorious, but hid the sword away in an unknown place with only the words, ‘someday it shall return when the one meant to wield it has need of it.’ And so, Her Majesty and her knights protect her secret to this day.”

It was a story Link had heard since he was young, but he listened anyway. His father was insistent that old legends deserved respect.

Arn’s gaze fixed on the throne. “I have dedicated my life to protecting these waters and its ruler. Now, it is time for you to do the same.” His grip on Link’s shoulder tightened. “My hope is that, once you discover what it is you wish to protect, you will understand my fervor. I hope that you come to want to protect something sacred as much as I.”

He had always admired that steadfastness of his father’s–and for the first time, he was given an explanation as to why he was that way. 

What it is I want to protect… Link wished for an answer.

Was it truly the throne, as his father expected?

Or…did he have something else in mind?

“In any case,” Arn continued, snapping him from his thoughts, “the ceremony is the next coral moonset, next week. I expect you to be adequately prepared and mind your manners. Now you should return home and see your sister. It grows late.”

“Yes, Father.” With that, Link swam out of the palace with his stormy thoughts.

~

“Big Brother, you’re no fun to play with anymore,” Aryll complained, waving her coral sword in front of him. “You used to play knights with me all the time!”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, admittedly ignoring his younger sister. “I thought Father told you to stop playing with fake swords.”

Aryll harrumphed, dramatically swimming over to her bed and flopping onto it. “You’re the one who made it for me! Father thinks it’s a waste of time, anyways. What does he know? Why couldn’t I be good at it? You are, and your mind’s swimming around all the time!”

His mouth twitched into a grin. “You’re still too young.”

“Now you sound just like Father!” She groaned, tossing the sword away. It drifted, coming to land on the floor between their beds.

Link turned over, staring at it. He thought about knighthood. He thought about the legend of the Master Sword. He thought about all of his apprehension, symbolized as this toy sword he had crafted for his sister.

“Big Brother?” Eyes snapping up, he met Aryll’s stare from across the dark bedroom. “Are you excited to become a knight?”

Excited…?

Since he was a child, Link had done everything necessary to become a knight. Every early morning, every grueling training session, every missed meal, all of it would be worth it when he accomplished his dream and was awarded knighthood by the Queen. That’s what he’d always thought. So this should make him happy. He should be excited. All his hard work meant something. Right?

And yet…

A deep, unadulterated yearning filled the hollow of his chest, sprouting roots and spreading throughout his body from the crown of his head to the tip of his tail. He yearned to feel complete. He was terrified of never finding that “purpose in life” his father told him about. What if he was knighted, and this hollowness still didn’t go away? What if this feeling of incompleteness didn’t lift? What was he yearning for? Was it knighthood? Or something else entirely?

Was he truly the master of his own fate?

He turned away so Aryll couldn’t see his face when he lied. “Of course.”

There was a beat of silence so loud he could hear his heart hammering in his chest. Finally, he heard Aryll’s quiet response: “That’s good.”

The silence was suffocating. Link thought of Aryll’s dream of being a knight and the guilt clawed at him. How could he show ungratefulness in front of her? 

He was about to speak again when they heard a soft knock at the door. His head snapped up.

“It’s awfully late for visitors…” Aryll frowned, voicing Link’s exact thoughts.

“Wait here. I’ll see who it is.” Swimming forward, he left Aryll’s protests behind and approached the front of their sea home. Peeking out, he caught a familiar flash of red and sighed in relief, opening the door. “Mipha. You’re out late.”

She tried to smile at him, obviously uneasy. Her hands were twisted together, whitening her knuckles. He waited for a response.

“...sorry for turning up like this. I was just worried, I suppose.” Her expression was pinched. “I heard about it from your father. Congratulations, Link.”

“Thanks, but…” he reached forward to rest a hand on her twisted ones. “You don’t seem that happy about it.”

Mipha stilled suddenly, staring at their hands. Her eyes were cloudy. “I really am happy for you. You’ve been a hard worker since we were kids. You deserve this.” Slowly, she unclenched her hands, turning them over to hold Link’s. “I suppose now you’ll start thinking about your future.”

The future. Of course, that was only natural. He was an adult now, and adults thought about these sorts of things.

“I-I just hope,” Mipha stuttered, her voice a bit high, “that we can spend some time together…once your ceremony is over.”

“Of course we can,” Link answered naturally. “You’re still my friend, Mipha. Just because I’ll be busy being a knight won’t change that.”

“Yes, of course. My father will be pleased to hear that.” Her voice was still high, but gaining confidence. “He told me to congratulate you, as well.”

“That’s kind of him.” Mipha’s father, Dorephan, was a well-respected royal advisor to Her Majesty. Mipha was considered nobility because of that. 

“Yes, well, he also wished for me to ask you about…” her face pinkened, and she coughed, hands tightening around his. “About your plans for marriage in the future…”

“Marriage?” He felt like he’d suddenly been tossed into a whirlpool. “I…I hadn’t really thought about it…I’m still young, too, so…”

“Yes, of course!” Mipha yelped, releasing him to flail her arms slightly. “I just mean that, given you’re an adult and a knight to boot, everyone’s going to have their eyes on you.”

Link just blinked at her. “Really?”

“Yes,” she stressed with no little amount of exasperation. “Honestly, Link, you know how the nobility think. Many suitors are going to start approaching you. You may as well begin thinking about it.”

“I–I don’t think I’m getting married anytime soon…” he mumbled, embarrassed. Mipha was right, as always, but romance was foreign to him. Wielding a sword he could do. Flirt with a girl…? He’d rather eat rocks. “Is this really what you wanted to talk about?”

Her shoulders sagged, and it looked like all the spirit was knocked out of her. Link winced, not understanding but still feeling guilty. 

“I suppose it is late. This is a conversation for another time,” Mipha sighed. “Just…think about it, okay? You’ve got to start taking things more seriously.”

“Right,” he mumbled, and Mipha leaned in to kiss his cheek before hurrying a goodbye and swimming away.

He watched her go, melancholy settling into his chest. 

~

“Revali, wait.”

The seagull scoffed, barely sparing Link a glance as he approached the Surface. “I thought I told you to go away.”

“You just met with Her Majesty, didn’t you?” Link asked, ignoring his rebuff. “Was it about the human territory?”

“Hah! That is between me and Her Majesty. Besides, that is information for royal knights only. You’re still just a guppy.”

Link frowned. “I’m being knighted, you know.”

“Yes, yes, I heard–tonight’s the big night. Congratulations. They’ll make anyone a knight nowadays, won’t they? I suppose they’re not as important as they once were.”

Irritation coated Link’s words. “And you are?”

Revali squawked out a laugh. “Of course I am! I am Her Majesty’s main source of information! How else would merfolk hear news of the Surface?”

“So it was about humans!” Link’s eyes glinted. “Tell me about it. I’ll be a royal knight soon, so I should know, don’t you think?”

“Hardly.”

“Bet you don’t actually have news,” Link mumbled. “You just pretend you do to feel important.”

Revali whipped around, feathers ruffled. “How dare you! I take my job very seriously, unlike you. If anything, I should be a knight. I’ve heard about you, you know. You drift through life with your head in the currents. Utterly ridiculous.”

“And yet, I’m being knighted and you aren’t.”

Link knew he was riling up the bird, but he knew Revali. It was the only way to get what he wanted out of him–information. He was curious about the human world, but it was so shrouded in purposeful mystery that he didn’t know much. He knew his father hated them, and they were merciless when it came to merfolk.

“But I know far more about Hyrule,” Revali countered.

Link’s ears perked at the unfamiliar word. “Hyrule?”

“The human kingdom, you dolt. The kingdom of Hyrule.”

“Humans have a kingdom? Like us?”

“Naturally. You don’t look so different, besides the tail,” Revali snorted, eyeing Link’s lower half distastefully. “Humans are odd, but beautiful too, in a strange way.”

Link had heard of this. Instead of a tail, humans had two appendages called ‘legs.’ Like a crab. It sounded weird to him, but if Revali, the vainest bird he knew, was calling them beautiful…

His curiosity grew. “Beautiful?”

Revali sniffed. “Don’t take that too seriously. They don’t even have wings. But, well, the princess is pretty…for a human, I suppose.”

“The princess?” A human princess. He wondered what she looked like.

“Instead of a queen like Queen Faron, who is reasonable and brilliant, humans have a king. He looks rather pompous to me,” Revali stuck his beak upward, and the irony didn’t pass by Link. “He has just one daughter, the princess. I forget her name. Something odd.”

The human world, which seemed odd to Revali, was even more so to Link. He didn’t know where this curiosity was springing from, but it was like an itch he couldn’t quite reach. Another kingdom, above the water. Another throne, with a king sitting in it, not a queen. And a princess, which he often teased Mipha for acting like, but he’d never actually met one before.

What was she like? Did she have knights, too? Did the king?

“What does she look like?”

“That’s quite enough,” Revali tittered, and Link knew he’d reached his limit for the day. “Don’t you have something more important to do than wonder about princesses you’ll never meet?”

With a jolt, Link came to the realization he’d spent too much time here. His knighting ceremony would be starting soon, and he had to get back to the palace.

Ignoring Revali’s lingering contemptuous look, Link swam as fast as he could away from the messenger bird and towards his looming future.

~

Unbeknownst to Link, two sets of eyes were watching him from the shadows. The eels snickered, the sisters amused at the sight of the young merman.

Their master, watching Revali and Link’s conversation through the eels’ eyes, felt a chill of anticipation. His mouth twisted into a grim smile.

“So this is Arn’s boy,” he rumbled, his deep voice echoing through the chamber of darkness he resided in. “He is very…curious. This might be the chance I was waiting for. Kotake, Koume, follow him. Do not let him out of your sight.”

The eels slithered out of their dark nook, chasing after the unsuspecting merman. Meanwhile, their master focused on his image with glowing eyes.

“At last, a weakness. Her Majesty will not be able to stop me a second time.”

Deranged laughter filled the cavern, floating up from the dark abyss.

~

“I can’t believe you’re late to your own knighting ceremony,” Mipha tutted, hurrying to straighten the ornaments he was wearing. “You’re lucky the Queen hasn’t arrived yet. Your father would’ve been furious.”

Link shrugged, his nerves causing a blockage in his throat. 

“Big Brother, you look like you’re gonna puke,” Aryll piped up unhelpfully from where she’d been looking out the window at the gathering knights. 

His mouth forced a grimacing smile. “Thanks.”

“She’s right, though. Breathe, Link,” Mipha told him, swimming back to admire her work. “You do look…dashing.”

He was wearing a royal knight’s regalia, a navy blue sash across his chest with silver ornaments depicting three crescent moons draped on top. Around his waist was a thick silver belt bearing the same insignia, and his unruly shoulder-length hair was tied back neatly for once. He had never felt more uncomfortable.

“Thanks for your help, Mipha.”

“Of course. I shall always be willing to help you,” she smiled, reaching up to tuck an errant piece of hair away. “Aryll and I will go join our fathers. We’ll be cheering for you.”

As Mipha swam away, Aryll followed with a: “Don’t puke on the Queen!”

Right. Easier said than done.

Now truly left alone, Link swam to the mirror to look at himself. He didn’t recognize the merman he saw. Not just because of the ornaments, but because of his expression. Since when did he look so scared and uncertain? 

“My son,” a deep voice spoke from behind him, and Link whirled around to face his father. “I have something to give you before we begin.”

He blinked at his father in surprise, naturally straightening his spine and nodding. Wordlessly, Arn swam forward and presented Link with a gift: a necklace with a small pendant in the shape of a sword. 

“This is a present from me, to remind you of what you’re protecting with the honor of a knight,” Arn spoke, his voice unwavering. “May you carry that burden with the strength and courage I know you possess.”

Link took the necklace, speechless, before fastening it around his neck. It rested against his sternum, a gentle weight to remind him of how fast his heart was beating. “Thank you, Father.”

Arn stared at him, his eyes full of too many emotions for Link to count. Finally, he sighed and briefly rested his hand on Link’s shoulder. “The ceremony begins soon. I will be waiting, son.”

With that, Link was left alone with nothing but the sound of his blood roaring in his ears and his heart in his throat.

~

“…In the name of the Goddess Hylia, I bless you, Knight. Over the seas of time and distance, when we need the golden power of the Goddess, our hope rests in you, to be forever by the Queen's side. We pray that you will be strong, in the name of our kingdom. Rise and receive the Queen’s blessing.”

Link lifted his head, hoping his face was stoic. The Queen stared down at him from her massive throne, and he shivered despite himself.

Queen Faron was not like the normal merperson. She was a water dragon, said to be almost as old as the ocean itself, and one of the last remaining relics of an era long past, when Hylia herself roamed the Surface. Huge and striking an awe-inspiring picture, Link could understand why she was so respected.

“In the name of the goddess, and my crown as Queen of the Oceans, I bestow upon you the title of a royal knight.” The Queen’s voice was powerful yet oddly soothing, and Link bowed deeply as the merfolk assembled cheered. “Turn now, and face the people you swore to protect.”

Having somehow made his way through his oaths and the formal part of the ceremony, Link turned to look at everyone–the assembled nobles, knights, and common folk curious to see the young prodigy. He spotted Aryll cheering by his father’s side, and Mipha next to her own father, smiling brightly.

Link waited for the feeling of completeness to come. He waited for his moment of proud realization that he was exactly where he was meant to be, and finally a sense of duty would fill his chest. He waited for the feeling his father described to arrive.

It didn’t.

Instead of pride or joy, dread filled his chest, strangling him with panic. He did not feel fulfilled. He did not feel complete. He only felt wrongness clawing at his skin, anxiety at the back of his neck.

This is wrong.

The thought, so small, flitted across his mind, and he was unable to banish it. He hated it. He wished so desperately that it wasn’t–that he’d found his path, his sense of duty, surely he was wrong, surely if he just tried harder–

Link couldn’t breathe. The sounds of clapping and cheering faded away. He couldn’t see his friends or family. He was going to erode away into grains of sand, cursed to float along the currents. His body was not his own. 

He fled.

It was something he had never done before. Never had he run away from his responsibilities. He had always done everything asked of him. So why now? Why was he choking back sobs? Why did he feel so panicked? What was happening to him?

Did no one understand how much that terrified him, realizing the path he’d led his entire life was wrong?

A hand roughly grabbed his shoulder. It stung, but was able to draw him back to himself. Belatedly, he realized his father was there. They weren’t in the palace. It was dark, and the open sea.

“–happened? What in the name of the golden goddess were you thinking?! You will take your tail right back in there and–”

“No.” Link’s tongue unstuck. “No, I can’t.”

“Excuse me?” He had never seen his father so angry. “You disrespected Her Majesty and her entire court. You are a knight. I expect you to–”

“I’m not!” Link finally snapped, shoving Arn’s hands away. “I’m not a royal knight! I don’t belong in there!”

“Nonsense!” Arn shouted, his eyes sparking with anger. “You’ve prepared for this your whole life, I will not allow you to–”

“I can’t, Father, I won’t–”

“Stop acting like a child!” Arn’s bellow reverberated in the waters around them, shocking Link to his core. “Your destiny is to follow me! To become the next captain!”

Link’s throat stung. His hands balled into fists. When had his father ever asked what his thoughts were? Wasn’t he worried about why Link had fled in the first place? Or did he truly only see him as a successor? “How can you say I’ll be the one to follow you when you just called me a child? You won’t even let me near the Surface!”

Arn’s gaze sharpened. “You know why.”

“It isn’t fair. If you truly saw me as a man, you wouldn’t keep me ignorant about humans!”

“Don’t mention them here,” Arn hissed. “They are dangerous, evil creatures–”

“What if they aren’t? What if–”

“You are speaking nonsense. I’ve had enough.”

Link felt his chance slipping away. The Surface and his curiosity about humans were the only things he’d ever felt were his own decision to learn about. The only things that made him feel interested in something. Why couldn’t his father see that?

“I just want to know more about them!”

“They killed your mother!” Arn screamed, and the resulting silence was worse than anything Link had heard before. The words hung between them, thick and heavy, and suddenly there was no fight left in him. Just emptiness.

“That’s enough.” Apparently his father felt the same. “You are not to speak of this again. I will apologize to Her Majesty and the court. Go home. I hope the morning will bring you back to your senses.”

Watching his father’s retreating figure, Link wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. He’d never felt so alone. 

Arn didn’t understand, which he couldn’t even be angry about. Link didn’t even fully understand it himself. All he knew was that when he was sitting in that spot where land met the sea, he felt alive for the first time in his life.

A shadow passed across his face. Duly, he looked up, only for his eyes to widen.

He must’ve swam further out than he thought. Well, he’d always been a quick swimmer, but still, he was closer to human territory than he should be.

Because that form above him was most definitely a human ship.

He’d seen them before, of course, floating along the Surface. He’d never gone near one, though. At the time, his father’s warnings of humans rang in his ears and his fear and respect were too great.

Link hated the flicker of curiosity in his chest. Hadn’t he learned by now? 

Yet, in the wake of his argument with his father, he realized if he didn’t do something, he’d be like this forever. Doing what his father asked without question. Fulfilling a role he was given, not one he chose. Marrying and continuing the cycle for the next captain. Wasting away for the rest of his life.

No. He couldn’t. It was time for a little courage.

She starts to raise her hand to protect him like she did that day, only to remember she hasn’t felt the hum of power, nevermind summoned the glow of golden light to her fingertips, since they destroyed the Calamity six months ago. She’s a star burnt out with nothing to show of her once formidable brilliance, but an ugly scar on her hand.

“All of it?” Impa asks, calmly.

Link nods. 

“Even the Divine Beasts?”

“Especially those,” he asserts.  

He has yet to make eye contact with Zelda again since the smile; that red herring of a smile that had her daydreaming while he nocked a kill shot. She gives up on trying to summon his gaze with her mind and glances desperately at Impa. The keeper of their histories, a guardian of lost tapestries and lessons of the past, a voice of reason in the hundred year storm—

But Zelda sees none of the women she thought she knew in the way Impa considers him. She’s got her head tilted pensively, like she might actually be contemplating what Link has said, which is impossible because he is suggesting they dismantle all the ancient relics of her people. 

Impa rotates her gaze out to the crowd and extends her hands to welcome the discussion, looking like a statue of the Goddess herself. Zelda’s heart drops into the pit of her stomach with a splash. She wants to scream, at both of them, but the continued and calm silence of the crowd is starting to feel less like they are preparing to strike and more like Link’s found the hidden door they’ve all been searching for. An emotional outburst could compromise the cogendy of any argument she might make. 

Goddess, she can still hear her father’s voice in her head after all these years. 

“Where would it all go?” Reede finally asks. 

Link crosses his arms over his chest, thinks about it for a half a second –1 like they are talking about something as simple as mending a pasture fence – and offers, “Sheikah Slate has a limitless inventory. Load it all into the Slate and then get rid of it.”

“How do you suppose we do that?” 

“Smash it with a hammer?” 

Purah gasps. “That would be such a waste, Linky! We still haven’t unlocked a quarter of the Slate’s potential.”

“You’ll build something better.” 

“Like what?” Robbie says, visibly shaken and pale.

‘That’s your thing, isn’t it?’ Link signs.

“If I may, wouldn’t destroying the Sheikah Technology prolong restoration efforts?” says Hudson of Tarrey Town. 

Link nods. 

“Did you yourself not benefit from the technology during your travels?” Traysi asks in a strangely formal tone. She lifts a pen and paper out of her lap without looking away from Link.  

He shrugs and Traysi’s expression sinks. She must be remembering he’s Hyrule’s worst interview subject. She rolls her shoulders back and tries again. 

“Wasn’t it Sheikah Technology that saved you from death?” 

An unbearable amount of guilt seethes out from wounds deep inside Zelda. Questions she’ll never feel brave enough to voice echo in the silence that follows Traysi’s: Did I make the right call? Is it what you wanted me to do? She can’t see his face, but she imagines it is unsettlingly neutral, as it always is in crucial moments of outrageous tension.  

Do you resent me for what I did? She’s screaming inside her head, glaring at the back of his skull. Unbearable heat swirls in her chest like dragon’s breath. You must! Just say you do! 

“It trapped his soul inside his body,” King Dorephan says.

Link’s body flinches. It’s microscopic. Zelda only catches it because she’s so focused on him, but she sees it, and pain blooms in the very center of her chest. 

“Mipha’s soul was trapped inside Vah Ruta after all these years, too.” King Dorephan continues. He is a monolith of a presence and yet, when he speaks about his late daughter, somehow, he’s transformed into something smaller and broken. This is the price of a long life. The Rito who flew with Revali, the Gerudo who marched with Urbosa, the Gorons who laughed with Daruk; they have all since passed. If there is grief, it is distant and therefore, instinctively more bearable. Only the Sheikah can begin to relate and still, with the Champions, the Zora stand alone. Zelda’s here. The Sheikah’s Princess returned.

The title suddenly feels too heavy again. 

“Father, her body was gone,” Prince Sidon says gently. He has tears in his eyes. Unapologetically emotional as ever, and instead of responding with rage or shame, the great King of the Zora places a hand on Sidon’s shoulders. His eyes, set beneath the mighty crown of his people, swim with tears as well. 

Zelda wilts with envy. 

“The Zora second Link’s motion to destroy all Sheikah Technology.”

“We-we would be forfeiting artifacts that have withstood the test of time and have proven immensely useful,” Robbie proclaims. For the first time, he looks his age. Shaking where he stands, shoulders crested with fatigue, his hands braced on the back of Purah’s chair.  

“When they function properly,” Teba’s chimes in. He has the kind of call that booms across the Tabantha sky. A few Ritos whistle in consensus. “Vah Medoh terrorized our people for decades. Too many Rito warriors took their final dive after it claimed the sky for the Calamity.” 

“It didn’t get you though, Dad,” Tulin says. 

Teba grins, “Right. Thanks to Link. Kaneli?”

“The Rito soar with Link.” Kaneli flashes his massive wingspan. “Destroy it all.” 

“Forget a hammer, the Gorons will take care of anything that needs smashing,” Bludo grunts.

Yubuno clenches his fists and blows out a sphere of molten light around him. “Yeah, goro! We got this!”

“We passed many guardians and shrines during the march here from the desert. They are a map of tremendous loss across Hyrule. The Gerudo cannot remember a time when this technology was useful. We only know its devastation. It is time to let the past go. Hyrule is ready to move forward.” Riju sets her hands on her hips and nods in Link’s direction. 

“Our research…we would be throwing it all away!” Purah cries, and like Robbie, she’s looking her age. Six and completely devastated the grown ups are planning to take away her favorite toy.

“Correct me if I'm wrong, Purah, Robbie, but weren’t the shrines and the Slate originally created specifically for Link? For the chosen hero?” Impa asks.

“Yes, that is correct,” Robbie says.

“And we all believe Calamity Ganon is finally vanquished, yes?” Impa turns to look at the crowd. 

“Mipha’s Grace.” One of the elder Zora crosses his fins at the same time Buliara and the other Gerudo soldiers raise their spears. Teba whistles and the Hylian’s offer the sign of the Goddess with their hands. It is a resounding and unanimous ‘good riddance’. 

“So, with this in mind, have the shrines and the Slate not served their purpose?”

“Well, yes, I suppose that’s true,” Robbie says. Purah starts pouting. Zelda can see the defeat starting to take root around the Sheikah researchers. Feels it starting to wrap around her own ankles. She feathers a hand up to touch the spot where her voice is trapped in her throat. All those years resisting her father’s guidance and now, it’s the one thing keeping her from damning herself. To this group, so revitalized by new hope, united and rising from a hundred years of ruin, her proposal of clinging to their ashes might feel like poison. 

Like malice.

“I know it feels like a waste, dear sister. Robbie. But I ask that you both consider the possibility this is not another squandering of our efforts.”

“It’s the fulfillment of them.” Paya’s voice is exceptionally steady. She folds her hands over Robbie’s and helps him peel back his fingers from the back of Purah’s chair. 

“The Zora will continue to look to the Sheikah for guidance,” Sidon says.

“It would be foolish to ignore the knowledge of the Sheikah,” Kaneli agrees.

“Like Link said, this is our opportunity to build something new for Hyrule.” Yubono pumps his fist in the air.

“Something better,” Riju adds.

“We will all have a hand in rebuilding Hyrule. From the ground up this time.” Hudson rubs his hands together like he’s ready to get started.

Tulin lets out a cheer. His voice is youthful and hopeful and infectious. The perfect song for the future of Hyrule. A few out Rito echo him and then the Gerudo join in. Then the Gorons, and the Zora and the Hylians. Impa holds her arms out to Purah and both she and Robbie lunge forward to embrace her. Link claps a few times and then finally looks over his shoulder at Zelda. His eyes are brighter than luminous stones.

He has no idea what he’s done. 

The smile was just a smile. A pathetically desperate misinterpretation on her part. He smiles because he’s polite, not because she’s something special or they are together in any of this. 

Link died on the field that day. And with him–

The pages slip from her hands. Her proposal scatters across the grass at her feet. 

She scurries to gather them up and Link immediately takes a knee to help her. Zelda snatches the pages back into her chest and recoils like the wounded animal she is. He blinks at her, a wordless question forming on his lips. The hand outstretched for the pages turns over slowly to offer his palm to her. He’s trying to help her up without any idea he’s the one who put her here.

“What says the Princess of new Hyrule?” It's Traysi’s voice. Probably ready with her pen, eager to draft a report and spit the plan for the restoration out to the Rumor Mill by sunset. 

Her hands are shaking. Dozens of eyes on her, fire in her throat, nothing but a scar on her hand. She glances down at the mark, a nameless cluster of triangles. In stasis, she decided they represented the holy Springs. For a time, she held all three in her hand, but Courage and Power only flowed through her. For some reason, predetermined by fate that has proven nothing but cruel, she is the vessel for Wisdom. 

And Wisdom tells Zelda her thoughts have no value. They never have.  She looks around at the faces of her people. Unknowingly, they’ve not only stolen her newfound sense of purpose–they are making it forbidden. 

And now they are asking for her blessing. 

She swallows what feels like acid and looks back at Link. At some point in her reeling, she’s risen to her feet without realizing it. He remains on his knees, looking up at her with an innocent tilt of confusion, Master Sword strapped to his back. Her body blocks out the sun and casts a looming shadow over his face. The pasture falls away from her. She’s surrounded by cascades of water and trees twisted with age and swarms of fireflies. Beneath her feet, an altar with a space for a traveler’s gift lifts her even higher above him. Zelda tries to keep the horror from washing over her face, but the restraint necessary only makes her feel like she might turn into stone. 

Is it a crown they want her to wear or a halo?

Zelda gathers herself and says the only thing she can summon from the depths of her panic, “May the Light of the Goddess shine upon you.”

—-

The Summit lasts four days. Link has all of the shrines, towers, and the majority of the remaining guardians already mapped out on the Slate, so it is only a matter of divvying up the work. Each group is responsible for their assigned regions and are free to do what they please with the guardian parts once the cores are removed. The Gerudo and the Zora verbalize their intent to destroy all the Sheikah tech in their territories, but the Gorons, Rito, and the Hylians (who stand the most to gain from recycled materials) plan to repurpose. 

The plan is to harvest the ancient cores and store them in the Slate. Link will travel across Hyrule to load the cores into Slate, along with any unwanted materials it has the capacity to absorb.  Once the guardians are taken care of and they figure out how to dismantle the shrines, they’ll destroy the Sheikah Slate, smother the ancient furnaces, and bury the Divine Beasts. They will reconvene as needed to collectively approve next steps. The Sheikah are tasked with what to do with the towers because everyone agrees there is value in preserving a modern mapping system as long as a new network is created.

It is Link’s task to figure out how to handle the shrines since he is the only one who can enter them. He disappears into the shrine near his house the first night only to emerge several hours later, circling it like a wolf. He eventually settles down and appears to just glare at the terminal until the sun rises. He does the same thing the following night and the night after that. Zelda knows this because she’s been watching him from Purah’s second floor window.

Seeing him struggle with it doesn’t make her feel better (okay, it helps a little), and it’s hard to stay upset when she sees how well-received his recommendation is; how necessary it feels for the rest of Hyrule to start planning their future. It’s just when this anger completely deflates, she knows she’ll be left to deal with what actually lies beneath it, as is often the case with her anger, and it’s a sorrow she’s afraid she will drown in. 

“He’s still at it?” Zelda jumps back from the window at the sound of Purah’s voice. 

“What? Link? I wasn’t–” Zelda sputters.

Purah waves her tiny hands and tip toes across the floor to a desk. “Don’t worry about it. He’s a fascinating subject.”

“Why are you up so late?” Zelda wraps her arms around herself. Purah gets a guilty look, but as Zelda draws closer, she hears a soft, excited hum coming from the researcher. Like Zelda’s presence alone lit some internal fuse and Purah is on the verge of bursting into sparkles. 

“If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell anyone else?”

Zelda knows this is a dangerous game, Purah used to say the same thing a hundred years ago, right before she launched into an explanation as to why the western castle wall was damaged, again.

“Did you break something?”

“No!” Purah sets her fists in her hips, insulted. 

“Are you going to?” 

“Princess!”

Zelda lifts her eyebrows. 

“Come on, do you want to see what I’m working on or not.” Purah stomps her feet very softly in an exaggerated manner, obviously trying to keep the noise level down. 

“Okay, okay, I promise.”

“Pinky promise! I mean it, I need you to have my back like old times. You were the only reason my research didn’t get shut down back then.”

“It was threatened.” Zelda smiles at the avalanche of memory that befalls her. It didn’t feel funny at the time, – lying to her father, tempting his wrath – but it felt good to protect something she was equally as passionate about. 

“I know.” Purah rolls her eyes. 

“Multiple times.”

“I know! So, so, so?” Purah holds up her pinky and wiggles it at Zelda. Zelda rolls her shoulders back and sighs. 

“Okay, pinky promise,” she says and loops her finger with Purah’s. 

Purah flings open a wide drawer filled with blueprints. She throws the top half of pages to the floor with enthusiasm, mumbling about how Symin can pick them up later, and rummages around the rest with a hushed frenzy. Zelda spots a copy of the new Hyrule map from the Summit with the restoration territories outlined. Purah’s already marked all the Sheikah tower locations and made notes on possible spots for relocation.

Even she’s found a purpose in the path forward. 

Purah fans out the papers hidden at the very bottom of the drawer out on her desk. “I’ve expedited my experiments with the Anti-Aging Rune. I just want to reverse this,” she gestures to herself extravagantly, “and then they can do whatever they want with the Sheikah Slate.”

“You’re going to return to your original state? You’ll be over a hundred and–”

“No. I just want to look old enough so people stop telling me I need to take a nap whenever I raise my voice.” A beat. “And I want to be able to reach the jar Symin hides the honey candies in.”

Zelda scans over Purah’s design, which calls for the Guidance Stone, the Sheikah Slate, and something called ‘cellular maturity milestone marker’ coding. 

“Does Impa know you're working on this?”

“It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than seek permission, Princess. And besides, I’ve already got ideas for a better Slate with an even better name, so that should buy me a royal pardon if I need it, right?” 

As if Zelda holds any authority in any of this. 

Zelda backs away from Purah’s desk and the ugly feelings of jealousy starting to bubble up inside her. She ends up back at the window and turns her face to the cool night air. Link’s pacing in front of the Shrine again. 

“Do you think he’ll figure it out?” Zelda asks.

“The shrines? Yes.”

“He’s always been good at puzzles.”

“Yeah, but so have you. Aren’t you going to help him?” Purah quips innocently. With the way her hushed voice carries in the night, it’s like she's speaking from Zelda’s shoulder.  

—-

Zelda hasn’t spoken to him since the first day. If he’s noticed, he hasn’t made it known. He’ll occasionally catch her eye and smile, but she’s learned not to read into that anymore and hardens herself to any tenderness that attempts to sidetrack her thoughts.

Purah asks her to retrieve the Sheikah Slate from Link when he’s done with it so she can run a trial on the Anti-Aging Rune before Symin wakes up. If nothing else, it gives Zelda an excuse to wander down to the shrine while she’s still deciding if she wants to help him. 

He’s sitting cross-legged on the terminal gate with his chin in his hand when she approaches. The Master Sword lays unsheathed beside him. Weathered and dull, unable to glimmer even in the moonlight. Like her, it hasn’t glowed since the final battle.

It takes a second for him to return from wherever his thoughts are, but she can tell he’s been aware of her somehow since she started climbing the hill up to the shrine. He paws his chin with his fingers and then flops backward in the grass at her feet with a frustrated sigh. 

“Can’t figure it out?” She asks. 

He puffs some hair into his bangs and signs, ‘Not yet.’

She sits down beside him. “Do you think there is a core inside?”

He crinkles his nose and shakes his head.

“You told me you think the Shrines, like Divine Beasts, run on some kind of spirit-based energy, right?”

He nods. 

“But when you clear a Shrine, the spirit of the Sheikah Monk inside disappears?”

“Right.” Link sits up on his elbows and rolls his head around his shoulders.

“But the Shrine stays semi-active, doesn’t it? Wouldn’t that imply a power source remains?”

Link shrugs. Zelda follows the curls of cerulean along the walls of the shrine up to the peak where the Sheikah Eye glows. The symbol always brought her comfort. The presence of a friend, the company of like minds—a buffer of protection against the unbearable amount of pressure building on her shoulders since the day she turned seven. But the symbol feels different now, as most symbols tend to do with time. It doesn’t bring her much comfort. It’s just another thing from her past she has to let go of; the sign of something else evolving without her. 

It stares unblinking and focused on some distance point she can’t see. 

He taps her on the shoulder to pull her attention back to him. A tiny pulse of electricity moves from his fingers down into her belly when he seems to appraise her face before he signs. 

‘Any ideas?’ He looks tired. Overdue for a visit. She can feel sleep reaching for her as well. Her attention drifts back to the Sheikah Eye and she imagines it closing shut. Resting like they both should. Like she could if she had a bed.

A home. 

“You said you think the Shrines work like the Divine Beasts? So in theory, those stopped working because our friends—” Grief, unexpected and sudden, crackles in her voice. She clears her throat. Pivots. “You can’t use their gifts any longer, right?”

Link flexes his fingers slowly. Like he’s just missing something that keeps passing through his fingers. “I let them go.”

She thinks about what King Dorephan said about the Shrine of Resurrection and Link’s soul. How he had been unable to die because the Shrine kept his soul tethered to his body while the waters healed it.  She thinks about eyes closing and Tulin’s cheering and the sadness that comes with at last fulfilling one’s purpose. 

“Can I see the Slate?” She asks. Link unclips it from his belt and slides it over to her in the grass. Purah would slap him if she saw just how casually he handles it. Zelda wants to tell him to be careful, that Purah might be tall enough to reach his face soon, but she has a pinky promise to keep, and the Slate will be gone before too long, anyway. She weighs it with her hands a few times and then stands to approach the terminal. 

“How do you activate the Shrine if there isn’t a slot?” She feels Link come up beside her. He leans over and mimics holding the Slate over the Sheikah symbol with an empty hand. The hair on her arm stands on end in his closeness. Will this feeling ever go away? Or will it always feel like she is about to be struck by lightning whenever he’s near? 

“Have you ever tried to do it again once the Shrine is activated?”

“No.”

Zelda lifts the Slate up to the terminal. Nothing happens. The shrine glows calm and blue, the door stays shut, the Slate screen blank–as she suspects it would. She bites her cheek and hands the Slate back to him. “You try.”

The second he holds the Slate over the terminal, the light at the center of the Sheikah Eye blinks once, calling the Slate to life. He turns over and inspects the screen. The name of the Shrine, which Zelda assumes is the name of the Sheikah Monk whose soul powered it for thousands of years, has a check mark next to it. She assumes it is because Link completed the trial inside. 

Below the name is a single, pulsing command:

> Rest? <

They snap their heads up to look at each other at the same time. 

Link’s shoulders collapse. An irritated puff air escapes his nose. 

Zelda leans over him, presses her thumb against the word, and watches it dissolve into the darkness of the screen. The steel shifts under her feet, and they immediately scramble off the back of the entryway because the Shrine has started disintegrating around them. Link wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her flush against him so his body breaks their fall when they hit the grass.

They watch the last bit of light in the Sheikah symbol disappear into nothing. In a matter of ten seconds, the only evidence the Shrine was ever there is a round footprint of dirt. There are no materials to sort through, no cavern to fill in. She shifts and sits between his bent legs, frantically turning on the Sheikah Slate where, on the digital map of Hyrule, the symbol marking where the Shrine was is completely gone. 

“I…I can’t believe that actually worked!” She laughs, collects herself, holds the Slate out at another angle and laughs again.“You were right about the spirit energy,” she insists. Funeral pires, ashes in the wind, a deliberate letting go; one way or another, a soul needs to be put to rest. Otherwise, it just spins like a windmill blade even after the wind is gone. 

“How did you know?”

“I’m just good at solving puzzles.” Purah deserves a honey candy for reminding her of that. “It will speed the restoration up significantly if that’s all you need to do…” Her voice trails off slowly. He’s got his head next to hers, eyes fixed on the Slate in front of them. It takes everything inside her not to fold back against him, so viciously desperate for touch – for his touch – her hands start to tremble with urgency. The last drop of anger left inside her vanished with the shrine.   And as predicted, the misery left behind is deep and agonizing and it goes by another name:  

She narrows her eyes and glances about the room, everything ordinary and untouched, save for her trunk of belongings, which is also missing. She frowns at this, having wanted to spend her free time reviewing Tauro’s research notes again. In addition to possibly connecting the Thyphlo Ruins to the Zonai, he recently presented evidence that the Labyrinths in Akkala, Hebra and the Gerudo Desert are Zonai as well and hypothesized that the Zonai maintained a presence in the sky and below the ground.  

Something about the Zonai has caught her attention, a tug on a line from the depths of the past. Sure, it could just be her energy shifting from one technologically advanced civilization to the next, but whereas the Sheikah Technology felt more like an escape, the Zonai and their ruins feel like a calling. 

Who knows. The fact of the matter is, right now, it's all missing with the rest of her things. 

Recently, Purah has been reorganizing parts of her laboratory at random. She claims it’s another bizarre side effect of her re-aging. Symin thinks it's the result of being held responsible for cleaning up after herself. 

Zelda sighs and back peddles to the stairs, pulling the strap back over her shoulder.

“Purah?” 

Zelda descends into the main floor and nearly trips over a box of scrolls. Dozens more clutter the space; filled with papers and construction parts and other miscellaneous items. Zelda spots fishing nets, a dozen yellow paper lanterns, and massive coils of hollow wire, but her belongings and the Sheikah Director are nowhere to be found. Link isn’t here, either. Not that she was expecting him, he told her early in the day he would be with the Hateno monster defense team, helping to clear out a hoard of bokoblins that moved into the Milda Woods to the west of the village. Since he’s teaching them how to properly handle the monsters and safeguard the woods with traps more efficiently, he estimated it would take a while. 

She, on the other hand, spent the majority of the day helping a man Bolson with the final touches at the school. Zelda originally commissioned Hudson to help her build out Hateno School, but he wrote back with the recommendation his former boss be the one to handle it as he was responsible for the revitalization of Hateno following Calamity Ganon’s attack. 

There is something to be said about starting something and being able to see it through, you know? Hudson had written. 

Zelda formally nominated him for a position of leadership in New Hyrule the same day. 

Bolson showed her how to put together the small chairs, explaining where to put the nails to create a lasting, sturdy joint. He also taught her how to hold the nails to minimize the risk to her fingers under the glare of a hammer. When they were done, he shook the sawdust out of his thick fur collar, kissed her on the cheek, and handed her the blueprints so she could put together more in the future. She’s got a few splinters she’ll need to dig out of her fingers, but they come with a sense of accomplishment and hope she hasn’t known in over a century. 

Zelda peers into the kitchen. “Symin? Purah? Hello?” 

The lab is completely empty. She crosses the room, pushes the door open, and steps back out into the fresh air. The village of Hateno is always busy in the afternoon. Today, there is a nice breeze turning the giant windmill blades lazily. There has been recent talk about updating the village face, specifically the market front to entice more travelers. There is a rumor that a new business owner, a fashion designer, has proposed integrating mushrooms into the architecture.

Zelda wonders if the windmills will stay.

She has a few books at Link’s place, so she decides to head that way while she looks for Purah. She’s almost immediately stopped by a group of children, the same she will be teaching once the school is open. One of the children asks about the first day of school and another formally requests - please, oh pretty please, Miss Zelda! - they have a designated time every day for coloring. Zelda sends them on their way, slips into Kochi Dye Shop, and asks if Sayge can donate some dye for her to make courser beeswax crayons. 

“Basic colors, okay? Or, I could experiment and come up with an extensive palette for you, if you like?” Sayge says, filling up five small vials with concentrated ink. 

“I think this is a great start, thank you so much. Perhaps you would be interested in presenting to the class in the future? I wo—”

“Say no more! An opportunity to share the traditional craft of Hateno dyeing with the younger generation? It would be my honor! ‘We live–”

“To dye!’” Zelda smiles and takes the vials. “I’m writing out a curriculum with Symin. I’ll let you know when it makes sense to have you come in.”

“Splendid! Oh, and–” He looks over her shoulder and she knows he’s searching for Link. Sayge continues in a hushed voice. “About that order we discussed. I’ve almost landed on the correct shade of blue. Should be able to replicate the tunic exactly. I do have additional armor I’d recommend to go with the piece, in order to protect it from wear and tear moving forward. How do you feel about leather?”

“If it will offer protection without restricting mobility, I think that’s great.”

“Come by in a week or so. I’ll send Link on an errand and then I’ll show you what I’m thinking.” He winks at her.

Zelda tucks the ink away carefully and smiles. “Perfect.”

Pruce waves her down as she passes the East Wind. He anxiously invites her into his shop, shuts the door to prospective customers, and immediately asks for her thoughts on phasing out the bomb arrows. Apparently, he had been threatened with a fee by Reede for improper dangerous weapon storage. Zelda can tell he’s offended and embarrassed, having previously displayed the explosive arrows in a straw basket for anyone, including a curious child, to handle. She gently reframes this as an opportunity to be a model business owner and that seems easier for him to stomach. He donates his entire stock of arrows to her for Link and the monster defense efforts. Luckily, she has a quiver in her adventure pouch that she pulls out and attaches to her belt so she can carry them safely. 

Prima catches her just outside the shop and enthusiastically introduces Zelda to her fiance, Worten. They’ve met, many times, and Zelda was made aware, multiple times by Prima, of the engagement, and still she smiles and waits for Prima to finish telling the story of how he proposed. 

She makes it a few more steps before a Zora warrior stops her. There has been more traffic from the Zora through the village in recent weeks, a source of massive curiosity with the children (and most of the adults, too) who had never seen the “fish people” from the north, except for during the Restoration Summit almost two years ago. They come up from the Necluda Sea from Hateno Bay, restocking supplies, sending messages back to their Domain via courier. Divine Beast Ruta was put to rest in the deep waters of the ocean, an arrangement struck with the settlement of Zora that call the seas home. Apparently, Prince Sidon had been hidden away there for protection for a time during his youth after Calamity Ganon’s siege and Mipha’s death. He formed a strong bond with the Princess there. 

The Zora shares, rather cryptically, to be on the lookout for “exciting” news from Zora’s Domain, regarding Prince Sidon. There have been rumors of leadership following in Impa’s footsteps, whispers of the great Zora King finally stepping down from the throne. The Rito are already turning feathers. Most recently, Zelda heard Teba was the popular choice to ascend. 

She parts ways with the Zora, who heads back in the direction of the bay, and picks up her pace to convey urgency. Not that she minds the interaction, she sees all the hands reaching for her now, and finds great purpose in the quiet ways she can nurture Hateno Village especially, but sometimes it takes her an hour, like today, just to walk from one side of the village to the next. And now that Purah has seen fit to move all her things without much consideration to the very specific order to her chaos or the possessiveness of what little Zelda has to her name, her cot feels more impermanent and insecure than ever. 

If only she had a hidden place, like her study in the tower, where she could keep her things and be with her thoughts in peace without worry of interruption…

She spots Link’s house on the hill.  Zelda glances to the west, at the empty spot in the horizon atop Marblod Plain where the Hateno Sheikah Tower once stood. When the shrines were finally all gone, they realized the blue flames inside the towers and the furnaces were dying off. Without power, the towers began to crumble in on themselves, leaving a pile of rubble and dust that will be dealt with in time. Purah intends to go through what remains to see if anything can be repurposed for the new towers, but by the looks of her laboratory, the design is better suited with materials that are new and synced to her Purah Pad. The skeletons of the Sheikah furnaces will be tossed off the cliffs and into their respective surrounding sea by the Sheikah this summer.

Like pyre ash. 

She’s so distracted by the finality of it all and the comfort she feels that she almost runs into him.

“I’m sorry!” Zelda exclaims, and then upon recognizing who it is, grabs Link by the shoulders to steady herself. He laughs, a sound more frequent and unburdened since the Great Plateau, and steps into her, threading a hand up into her hair at the base of her neck.

He kisses her until she’s dizzy. 

She’s not sure she’ll ever get used to this, or if she even wants to. The luxury of this closeness, the casualness with which he always seems to reach for her, like it’s always been the easiest, most obvious thing in the world for him to do. 

“Hi,” she says when he finally pulls back. His eyes linger in a hungry way on her mouth, long enough to twist her stomach pleasantly.

“Hi.”

“I thought you’d still be gone? Did you clear all the monsters already?”

He tucks her hair behind her ears. “I lied.”

Zelda blinks. “You lied?”

He nods, looking a little smug.

“What do you mean, you lied?”

He steps back enough to sign. ‘I wasn’t taking care of monsters in the woods today. That’s tomorrow. Are those for me?’ Link slides his hand down the length of her side to her hip where the quiver full of bomb arrows sits. She shivers.

“The arrows? No–well, I suppose yes. I finally convinced Pruce to remove them from his store front. Bit of an odd and hazardous mix, you know, wheat, eggs, goat butter, explosive arrows. I suppose you can have them for the monster defense…which you said now is tomorrow?”

‘Always has been.’ He turns and starts walking them up to his house. Zelda follows him curiously, still a little too giddy from the kiss to be cross with him.  

“Why lie about that?”

‘Didn’t want to spoil the surprise.’

“Surprise?”

Link pulls out a key from his pocket and unlocks the door. His house has been almost completely gutted. The weapon mounts are gone, a few empty picture frames hanging from the nails in the wall. The furniture has been cleared out, the table empty. He’s added a stove. She can see a few boxes under the stairs, perhaps where all of his things are tucked away or the restart of provisions storage for next winter.

“You lied so you could clean out your house?” She furrows her brow at him.

“Your house.”

“W-what?”

“It’s your house. Here.” He leads her around the space and then up the stairs. The bed is there, tucked in the far wall, still under the lone window for natural light, and guarded by painted vase on the nightstand with a single flower- a daffodil - to watch over her.  She’s a little surprised it’s not a Silent Princess or another blue nightshade, but it's the first of the flowers to bloom after winter. A symbol of new beginnings.

“Purah’s going to forward all your correspondence until word gets around. I already wrote to Tauro and let him know he can send the next batch of his research here. Riju, too. You can keep the furniture or swap it out for something different. Bolson offered to help redesign the interior. Whatever you like.”

Zelda stands shell-shocked in the center of the loft. There is a desk to her left. She can smell the freshness of the cedar. He built it for her. Across the top, her research notes and books in the same chaotic order they were kept in on the cot at Purah’s. Her trunk sits ready at the end of the bed. 

“It’s really mine?”

“Your home,” he says plainly. Like he’s giving her a cube of sugar for her tea. “I’ll leave you to it. Probably should survey the bokoblin camp before the team head’s out tomorrow. Make sure a Moblin hasn’t joined them.” 

She feels him starting to move, but she can’t take her eyes off the bed. It's more vast than any cot she’s ever known, even with its twin frame, with four sturdy posts and modest pillow; there is enough room for two people to lay side by side comfortably, so long as they fit together. 

Is having a bed what makes you feel rooted to a place? Is it the memorization of cracks in the ceiling to count when you're tired, or having someone who helps you heal the cracks buried deep inside you? Is it a kitchen to escape to in the middle of the night for a slice of fruitcake or a bowl of meat and rice, or having someone who knows how to make it just for you? Is home just having the people you love simply love you back? 

She glances from the bed to the flower to Link and her heart leaps into her throat.

Zelda doesn’t feel any guilt this time, none at all, when she reaches for his hand and tells him:

She listens to the rain drumming against the roof and makes a mental note to let Paya know the thatching is in need of some repair. 

“That’s not very ‘bright side’ of me,” Zelda says to herself, scooting back from a particularly steady stream of rainwater leaking down beside her. She sets her jaw and looks out over Kakariko. The rain is so heavy, all she can make out are soggy blobs of color that resemble the houses and banners and fences she knows are there. 

Water pours down the slope from the northern entrance. Beneath the gate, shadows dance in the narrow pass between flashes of lighting, playing tricks with her eyes. She spots shadows that look like tree branches growing out of the rock, a horseless carriage, and a lone figure. 

All traffic in or out of the village has completely stopped. The clouds are angry-looking and thick, trapped by the valley so the moisture collects in the air. It’s grown so heavy, Zelda tastes it in every breath. The Sheikah say this happens from time to time. The Pillars of Levia are thought to resemble a giant hand that catches clouds foolish enough to pass overhead. The storm swirls above her, fingers of heat lightning crawling across the sky, threatening to reach for the peaks surrounding Lantern Lake. It has kept the Rito messengers away. 

Zelda squints. The last shadow she spotted in the pass, resembling a figure, has remained steady between the sheets of rain. She leans forward quickly, her heart in her throat, fingers braced against the nearly stable beam. 

Someone is approaching the village. 

The Rito wouldn’t use the pass and even though it’s muddled, she would know this outline anywhere. She studied it stubbornly one hundred years ago, and then with urgency and desperation during her stasis. She’s missed it for ten long months. 

A loud clap of thunder jolts her out of her shelter, urging her forward, and his name bursts from her lips before she can stop it.

“Link?!”

The figure stops and turns in the direction of her voice. The storm slows enough so she can see the spaces between drops of falling rain and for a heartbeat, it’s almost like they start slowly moving in reverse, back up to the clouds. Another random moment where she swears she can taste magic, where the candle inside she’s constantly searching for temporarily explodes with Light. It’s so bright, she might be able to reach it this time, but she’s not focused on finding where her magic has been hiding. She’s looking at Link.

He’s soaking wet, clothing plastered with mud, hair smeared across his face. The luminous stones behind his eyes flash in her direction, like a wild animal in the dark, and then go out completely. He slumps against the gatepost and collapses forward. In the same instant, all the rain crawling back up into the clouds bursts free of whatever strange reversing she’s set off and it all accelerates back down in real time. Zelda sprints forward, slips in the mud, twice, and has to crawl through the flash flood from the pass the rest of the way.

He’s unconscious and pale. She scans his body for evidence of injury—blood, bruising, torn clothing. At first glance, he’s intact, but that only worries her more; turns her heart into a humminbird that beats against her ribs. She knows things can be broken inside, and briefly recalls Mipha once told her injuries you can’t see are often the worst. She feathers her hands over him hesitantly, whimpering his name, and then gathers him up in her arms. 

He’s hot. Hotter than should be possible. Like he’s a stone on Death Mountain that would be sizzling in the rain. It’s uncomfortable to palm his forehead, to hold him tight against her chest, but she endures, grits her teeth, and tries to lift him. Between the mud and the entire weight of his body and gear, they end up falling face first after a few steps. 

She smacks her chin hard. Stars swim in her vision, metal fills her mouth and the pitter-patter of the storm on the cliffs starts to sound like too many legs running toward them. Chimes in Kakariko red whirl like gears in the wind. The entire world leans over her, dangerously close, and she knows it’s the storm playing tricks, like the shadows in the pass, but he’s really in her arms, and they’ve been like this before, and if she’s losing him again–

She waits for the next boom of thunder to pass and starts to scream.

—-

Eventually someone hears her. Dorian helps Zelda carry Link to Impa’s House. Paya has to pry her fingers out of Link’s tunic. They hastily set up a cot between the stairs to the second floor and Impa offers one of her pillows for his head. They strip the clothes off him, dry his skin with a towel, and wrap him in a blanket. He has some bruising on his arms, a few scratches on his hands and knees, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary for what can be expected with travel. He’s thinner than she remembers. Paya retrieves his hand and gently pinches beneath his knuckles. His skin remains raised where she pulled when she takes away her hand.

Paya immediately rises and disappears under the stairs. A century ago, Zelda was told the gift of healing was known to others touched by her Power. Her mother died before she could pass along the important secrets of weaving magic over skin, stitching up wounds, washing away sickness. Her father told her the Goddess would reveal everything once she unlocked her Power. But a hundred years suspended by it, so divine she hemorrhaged molten sorcery every time she opened her lips, and still she heard no wisdom. No secrets. 

She tries to summon gold to her fingers, pressing them against his skin, focused on his suffering even though it physically hurts her to do it, but nothing comes. Paya has to pull her hands away again when she returns. 

“Here, he needs water.” Paya helps Zelda lift him enough to guide a cup to his lips. Most of it spills down his chin and pools on his neck. He sighs, limbs coming to life enough to wrap his hands around hers on the cup. He keeps his eyes shut and drinks the rest. This is more than a bad fever or a traveler’s virus. She can see all the nights he’s refused to sleep in the rim of fatigue around his eyes, so dark they look like smudges of coal. 

“You lied,” Zelda says, voice quivering. She blinks back the sting of tears. “About the rest. You lied.” 

Link falls back against the pillow. His eyes open for a second, an apology in his weakened gaze, before he passes back out. 

It is the same look he gave her right before he died. 

—-

The fever breaks the next day. Paya tries to coax some herbs and tea into him, but he pushes them away and signs for his pack when he has enough strength to sit up. He pulls out a tonic, noxious green, and a spiky yellow fruit that smells like rotting meat when it cracks open. He takes down both with a grimace and only then accepts the tea. Paya inspects the fruit and jots down some notes studiously. It’s what Zelda should be doing, but she’s still too angry to learn anything from him. 

Zelda, instead, sits in the corner of the room and studies the journey logged by the Sheikah Slate. He has four hundred and twenty seven ancient screws, twelve dozen guardian legs, a hundred and four ancient gears, and fifty one burnt out cores. She can see where he used fast travel by the abrupt gaps in his trail, and while it’s more than she likes, there are plenty of paths where he traveled on foot, so at least he kept his word about that. There is an intricate weaving of journey between the Great Plateau and southern Hyrule, where he jumped back and forth during the initial hesitancy to enter the Shrine of Resurrection. He didn’t clear it after he wrote to her. It’s the single glowing dot in the southwest entirety of the map. His trail moves up into Central Hyrule, all the way to the island north of the Quarry Ruins. Any evidence of the shrine she assumes brought him there is gone.

Then he moves in the direction of the castle, circles the foundation of the sacred grounds a few times, fast travels to Great Hyrule Forest, and then fast travels again to the shrine at the base of the Whistling Hill. Strangely, he doesn’t clear any of the shrines he traveled to. He passed through Riverside Stable, maybe to grab a horse or to rest, and then follows the road through the Dueling Peaks up to Kakariko. 

“When did you start feeling ill?” Zelda asks.

Link balances the tea carefully in one hand and motions for the Slate with the other.  Zelda moves over to him, and takes a seat by his cot. 

‘The shrine here,’ he points to the island next to Hyrule Castle. ‘Was situated deep in a cave covered by thorns. Hadn’t been back since the day I found it, so the thorns grew back.’

“How did you get around the thrones? Fast travel?” 

‘I always burn them when I see them. Bad for horses.’ 

Zelda knows smoke to be deadly, but it wouldn’t cause fever. She takes the Slate back from him and pinches her fingers to zoom all the way in on the island. 

“Was there anything different about the cave since the first time you were there?”

Link shakes his head.

“Nothing strange?” Zelda presses. 

‘The cave runs deep. Smelt funnier than I remembered.’

“Funnier?”

‘Like fumes. Decomposition. There was a lot of moisture inside. The Central Hyrule team said they got hit with a bad storm recently.’

“I believe it. Probably the same storm that's stuck in the valley.”

“You didn’t drink any of the water inside, right?” Paya interrupts gently. 

Link gives her a flat look. 

“S-s-sorry!”

“It’s not a ridiculous question, you're known to eat dubious food when you're desperate enough,” Zelda says. 

Link shrugs. 

“Did you immediately feel sick?”

He thinks for a beat, and then signs. ‘No. Maybe the next day?’

“At the sacred grounds?” 

He lifts his eyebrows up at Zelda and she bristles. “I was curious.”

“Should we put out an alert to avoid the cave until it can be properly investigated?” Paya asks.

‘There are a lot of old places in Hyrule people should avoid. Lots of unchecked and forgotten old magic. This was just a cave with damp air. It could have easily been something I ate.’

“Did you take any mushrooms from inside the cave?” Zelda says. 

He glares at her. 

“Again, a fair question, is it not?” Zelda straightens her spine. He huffs and shrugs.  “It doesn’t look like you rested much in the last two months.” Zelda points at the Slate. “It was probably a combination of small things- too much fast travel, monster patrolling, dehydration, the lack of a proper meal on the road. You are strong and you recover quicker than most, but you aren’t immortal.”

Link gets a far off look in his eyes. Before she can take it back, he signs, ‘It’s a fine line.’

He sinks down into the cot, paler than before, and rolls over. Paya goes back to studying the smelly fruit. Zelda sits beside him, stuck with the memory from a hundred years ago she summoned without meaning to. She is good at giving warnings, urging caution, chastising recklessness, and then quick to be left behind a tree, or in town, far from the fight or the hazards. Or worse, she gets herself stranded – the Yiga attack a century ago, slipping face-first in the mud yesterday – and requires rescue. Only when it is too late, like after the Calamity burst from the castle and their friends were slain, does she seem capable of offering more than words. 

She thinks about when she tried to send her response out to him at the Shrine of Resurrection, how brave it felt to send her letter. How she imagined he might feel reading it, whether her words alone would give him the courage to face his fears, or inspire him to come racing to Kakariko to see her. 

At the end of the day, like the proposal still at the bottom of her adventure pouch, like all her prayers to the Goddess, it's just more words.

—-

Purah and Robbie arrive in Kakariko three days later. With more tonic, fruit, and tea, Link’s strength returns, and he sets to work in the village. The rain moves away from the valley with his recovery. He gathers up cuccos, repairs the thatching, overpays for and cleans out the inventories of High Spirits and the Curious Quiver. The Sheikah are quick to forget how sick he was. Zelda doesn’t hear anyone warning him to take it easy. The requests for his aid are plenty. 

She can’t help but feel like he’s keeping busy to avoid her.

The village hosts a communal meal to celebrate the storm ending. They pull out a large pot, set it over the fire by High Spirits and serve bowl after bowl of creamy vegetable soup until every belly in the village is full. Koko’s surprises everyone with her signature hot apples, made possible by a donation of all the goat butter Link bought from Trissa. He also supplies a handful of rare big truffles from his travels for the soup.

He just gives it all to them. 

It shouldn’t bother her, but she can’t seem to shake the weight of his body in her arms or the coal under his eyes, or the way he looked at her the day he died. She catches herself staring at him, unapologetically, searching for signs he needs rest. She’s doing it now, as he finally sits down with some food with the Sheikah elders, Purah, and Paya. 

“You with us, Princess?” Purah says. Zelda drops her spoon in her bowl.  

“Me? Yeah, sure. Yes. What were you saying?”

“I was just summarizing what is left in phase one of the restoration. Link only has six shrines left in Central Hyrule and then all the shrines in Akkala. We got a report from the Central Hyrule guardian team. Link was able to gather a handful of the cores when he was there, but they have the greatest concentration of guardians in all of Hyrule. He’ll need to go back and aid with the–”

“He was sick,” Zelda says.

“I heard you used durian from Faron. Do you have any more? Smells like feet, but does wonders for my joints,” Robbie says between bites of apple.

“Thank the Goddess our Linky is feeling better!” She snaps her fingers. “We could probably head out tomorrow–”

“He only just started feeling better.”

“I’m fine.” It’s the first time he’s spoken out loud since he arrived. His voice is raspy and tired. It only fuels her momentum. 

Zelda snaps her head toward Link. “You were so sick you couldn’t stand. I saw how much ground you covered those last few weeks. All of Faron and the rest of Necluda? The terrain surrounding Mount Floria–the Zonai Ruins alone should have taken you a month.”

He switches back to sign, his eyes narrowing slightly. ‘I’ve done it before.’

“Yes, but just because you have doesn’t mean you should. What if you fainted on a mountain? Or slipped crossing the falls. You won't be able to fast travel away from danger much longer.”

‘I know that.’

“You still have to clear the Shrine of Resurrection.”

Link gets dangerously still. She’s seen this stature before, mostly when he’s preparing to strike. In the calm before an ambush, or when he’s surrounded, plotting out the next ten moves in the space between seconds. 

And that’s his problem right?

Zelda sets down her bowl, digs her heels in, and turns to Impa. “I propose we pause the shrines. It doesn’t need to be done in a year. We are already behind schedule. We can focus on the towers, or the Divine Beasts for a little while.”

“I can finish the shrines,” Link says. Zelda doesn’t look at him. She looks at Purah. “It would be a good opportunity to compare the Sheikah Slate to your new prototype.  Probably the last time you’ll be able to run any pending mechanics before the Slate is gone. The plan is to destroy the Slate when the shrines are gone, right?”

Purah adjusts her crimson glasses and looks down at the Sheikah Slate. She grips it like it might grow legs and leap off her lap at any second. Zelda can see the gears begin to turn in her head. The Anti-Aging Rune is calibrated for the Sheikah Slate. How could she justify keeping the Slate functional after they complete the initial restoration phase for a personal project no one sanctioned.  

“I do want to review the…camera function. Yeah, yes. I still need to build out the software for the Purah Pad so it compiles relevant photos into a compendium like the Sheikah Slate.”

“Can’t you just load all the data Link has already collected from the Sheikah Slate? Master Link spent three years collecting it all for you,” Paya says. At least someone else appreciates his efforts. 

“What’s the fun in that?” Purah waves her hand dismissively. 

‘I still think we should call it something different…” Robbie grumbles.

“No one will trust a device called the ‘Divine Switch’. Let it go.” 

Impa looks at Link quietly, absentmindedly pressing two fingers to her third eye. Zelda can see something registering across the Sheikah’s face. Was she still seeing the Hero of the Wild, warden of Courage, Hylia’s fist? Or was she seeing the only sparring partner that ever matched her intensity, who always used to return with a pumpkin in his early campaigns because he knew how much the Sheikah missed home? Is she finally remembering the boy behind the Champion blue?

She looks at Zelda next. Zelda holds her breath. Does she see the avatar of the Goddess? The lost Princess of Hyrule? Or is it the girl all those years ago Impa stumbled upon, wandering the empty halls of a stone castle in the middle of the night, desperate for a friend? 

Impa takes her hand away from her face and nods. “Vah Rudania is already resting. We should support the burial of the remaining Divine Beasts. Purah can take the Slate and run any final tests. It will give me time to formulate the announcement of my retirement.”

Zelda blinks. Paya drops her food. “G-grandmother? What are you talking about?”

“The abdication of my title.”

“W-when?”

Impa squints at the night sky. It’s the clearest it’s been in a week. “Now? Now sounds good.”

“What are you talking about? Who will–” Paya freezes as Impa pulls off her hat, revealing a thin coil of silver braid on the top of her head that partially uncoils and drops down by her ear. 

She sighs and sets the hat down in Paya’s lap. “Here you go.”

“Grandmother. No! No. You can’t be– Princess? Master Link? Tell her she can’t do this!”

“You think we’ve ever been able to Impa what to do?” Link says. Zelda finally looks at him. The brief flash of irritation she ignited with her comment about the Shrine of Resurrection is gone. He’s painfully unreadable again.

“Great auntie?”

“Don’t look at me. I’m just a kid.”

For now, Zelda thinks. Purah winks at her.

“R-r-robbie?”

“Will you give me the ranking authority to name the next Slate?”

Paya grimaces. Robbie wilts. He stands, takes the hat, and places it atop Paya’s head. Her eyes disappear from view beyond the weighted brim. “Celebrations, celebrations then. I’m getting another apple.”

Everyone starts laughing. Everyone but Link. It takes Zelda a second to come back to him, but when she does, she finds him just staring at her from across the fire. It’s how she imagined she looked the day he involuntarily destroyed her plans, except Zelda knew exactly what she was doing to him when she recommended they pivot. He isn’t exactly neutral or angry. It’s an odd look she catches between the flames. Rare, for someone who is always ten steps ahead. 

Almost like he’s surprised. 

—-

Someone brings out a batch of pumpkin ale once the children are all put to bed. Zelda lets Robbie fill her mug twice, enjoying the slow spread of warmth up from her toes and the hint of nutmeg and rum from the Lurelin barrel that lingers between each sip. There is music and easy conversation and more food. It isn't after midnight that she takes her mug and wanders away from the group, in the direction of her cot on Impa’s second floor. She pauses in the foyer and drifts toward the wall with the Calamity Ganon tapestry. 

She reaches out and drags her fingers over the depiction of the ancient princess. She’s tracing the threads of pale yellow depicting the Sacred Power when she hears him come up behind her. He only makes sound when he wants to be noticed, so assumes he’s been following her since she left the group. Old habits.

“It is really a terrible way to chronicle major historical events. The craftsmanship is beautiful. I can’t imagine the hundreds of hours it took to stitch all these little guardians, but it leaves an awful lot up to interpretation. Calamity Ganon could easily be mistaken for a dragon. Can you imagine? Facing off against a wicked version of Dinraal or Farosh?”

“I prefer the demon boar.” Link stands beside her. He smells like campfire and forest. It’s the first time they’ve been alone in almost a year. Zelda tells herself the heat in her face is because of the ale. 

“I’m sorry about the shrines.” She extends her mug to him. He accepts and takes a sip without taking his eyes off the tapestry. 

“No you aren’t,” he says finally, offering the drink back to her. She takes it and pulls it close to her chest like a shield because he’s right. “Probably for the best. I’m not good at stepping back once I’ve started something.”

She lets out a puff of laughter and rotates her gaze back at the tapestry. The ancient hero’s hair is fiery red, a detail that always amused her. Zelda is an exact copy of the ancient princess. You can clearly see she was Hylian by the ears, but the hero has none of Link’s features. He barely looks human. They chose the Champion blue from the color found in the threads that make up the ancient hero’s armor, but up close, she can see it’s a blending. They could have just as easily gone with green. Perhaps her father had wanted to harness the protective glow of the sacred blade…the sacred blade…

It wasn’t strapped to his back when they fell in the mud. Wasn’t at his bedside while he rested. She hasn’t seen it since he left for Eldin all those months ago.  

It isn’t in the sheath he wears now. The hilt carries the same pattern on the snowquill set he gave her before Mount Lanayru. Rito. Same as his bow. He’s replaced his blue hoops with an amber set from Gerudo Town. Urbosa owned a similar pair. Under his tunic, which has tiny stamps of mushrooms along the collar, she can see the scales of Mipha’s feather-light armor.

“Where’s the Master Sword?” Zelda asks, a sudden bitter aftertaste building in her throat. Link reaches for her ale again and finishes it. He smacks his lips, sets the glass down, and faces her. 

‘It needed to heal,’ he signs. ‘I decided to let it.’

Zelda sees the journey captured by the Sheikah Slate again. The Great Plateau, Central Hyrule and the cave shrine, the sacred grounds, and then…and then…

Great Hyrule Forest. 

He put it back after all the letters. Without her. Not that she owned the moment in any way, but it was something she always envisioned them doing together. Hand-in-hand. 

It served its purpose. He served his purpose; freed her from the Calamity and vanquished the Scourge of Hyrule Castle—

Suddenly, his letter feels less like a prayer and more like a confession. He admitted to running from destiny, as fast and for as long as he could, and only after experiencing an uncomplicated wonder (not her warnings or her reassurances or her memories) did he finally take up the Sword.

And now he can offer something different—his hands. And everywhere in Hyrule, people are reaching. They are burying the past and starting anew, and they still call her Princess, but no one is reaching for her.

How can they? You can’t move forward and still look back.

Link is able to choose this new life and he has. He already did. The thing that brought them together at the start of all this, the weapon that bound him to her, is gone.

Zelda flits her eyes toward the tapestry—to the ancient princess who looks unquestionably like her.  She’s eternally reaching, but for what? When the Calamity was gone and her magic burnt out, was the hero standing across from her then? 

Zelda leans her back against the banister lining the loft that overlooks the main floor to his home. There is a bundle of blue nightshade in the vase by his bed. It glows dimly in the absence of sunlight through the window, like a children’s bedside candle. She used to have one to ward off nightmares after her mother died. 

“I’m sure,” Zelda answers and glances back at the nightshade. Does he just prefer them or does he need the glow? After he emerged from the Shrine of Resurrection, when she was still able to watch over him while he slept, in the shade of a tree, in a corner bed of a traveler’s stable, by a small fire in the wild, she would sometimes catch him jolting into consciousness. Frantically reaching for whatever weapon was laid to rest beside him, pulling back from the spot his body had been, as if trying to escape something unseen and unyielding. For some reason, she always imagined a dozen hands reaching out for him from the dark of his dreams.

He stops sifting through the chest at the foot of his bed and turns to face her. ‘It’s cold.’

“Yup.”

“Really cold,” he says out loud.

“I remember.” She flinches as the words roll off her tongue. Such a simple phrase and yet, spoken to him, after all he’s been through, it feels like a knife in her hands. She knows he’s just being honest, thoughtful even, but the insecure parts of her claim he doesn’t want her to come. She crosses her arms over her chest and tries to keep the edge out of her tone. “I’d like to see the Spring.”

It's the last shrine in the region for Link to clear. Tomorrow he’ll be off to Eldin to start on the shrines there and then he’ll work his way east. An urgent message came in about a week ago from the Gorons. The lava appears to be cooling and they fear Death Mountain will fall dormant before they can commit Vah Rudania into the central vent. No one can recall a time when the Gorons expressed urgency, so Link’s original journey was revised. 

It’s taken two full months to plot out Link’s path. They have to be somewhat strategic about the shrines because he loses the ability to fast travel when he clears one, which isn’t much of an issue at the start, but as the shrines disappear, he will need to rely more upon horseback or foot to navigate back and forth. He is to clear a region, take a monster census, check in with the group running point on the guardian removal, load whatever is left into the Sheikah Slate, and then move onto the next region. They estimate he can clear at least three shrines a day. Originally, the plan proposed more, but Link hinted at the unpleasant side effects of excessive Slate travel and the Summit unanimously agreed to accept whatever he could manage. 

Purah estimates if they stay on track, all Sheikah Technology could be gone in a year. 

A year. 

Link turns back to the trunk. He fishes out a tunic, vest, and trousers, embroidered with the symbols of Rito Village, and tosses them in her direction. Zelda lunges forward to catch it all, weighing them in her arms carefully. Impossibly light for how thick the material is, she can smell the crispness of Tabanthan wind, like it’s woven into the fabric itself. 

She blinks. “Is this your snowquill set?”

He nods. 

“You’ve just finished telling me how cold Mount Lanayru’s peak is.”

He nods and holds up an emerald green doublet. The right sleeve is badly torn. 

Zelda shakes her head, holding out the snowquill set to him. “ I don’t need–”

He gives her a look. It will take him all of a minute to clear the shrine with the Slate, but they have to travel by foot down the mountain to Kakariko because he’s already cleared the rest of the surrounding shrines (hence the need for strategy moving forward). 

“I can wear the doublet,” she insists. He rolls his eyes. The ease with which he accepts personal discomfort has always bothered her, but especially now when it is on her behalf. She wants to tell him doesn’t own her anything, not his best cold gear, not his smile; that she’s better equipped to handle being uncomfortable than most after standing in a festering spring of rot and oil for a hundred years, but before she can protest further, he lifts his shirt up over his head. 

Scars weave like roads on a map across his chest, memories of pain etched forever into olive skin, the worst of which a blossom of twisted flesh on his left side where the guardian carved an entire piece of him out with a fatal glare all those years ago. It’s memory she wishes would erode with time, but clear as the day it happened, she can still feel the scream he let out when it hit him in her teeth.

He pulls his head through the hole in the doublet and makes eye contact with her.  Zelda busies herself with folding and refolding the snowquill set over her arm. She can see him shifting in her peripheral, pulling off his pants, rummaging around the trunk for another pair and some boots that will protect him against the mountain. When he’s satisfied and set, he grabs the Master Sword and exits the loft wordlessly, gifting her privacy when he takes none for himself. She’s left to change and try to diffuse the electric current running across her skin.

Somehow, she does, only for it to return the second she comes down the main floor and he tells her they have to be touching in order for the Sheikah Slate to transport them both. 

“What?” She tries to keep her voice steady. Link holds the Slate out, inspects the space between them, and then steps directly into her. They stand toe to toe, so close she can smell the pepper from the elixir on his breath. “You’ve- uh- you’ve done this before?”

He shakes his head and lifts his gaze to look at her through pale lashes. She can see specks in his eyes so blue it’s like something is always lit behind them. “It’s only meant for me, right?” he says. “It has to register you as part of me.” 

“Oh,” Zelda would be fascinated if her stomach wasn’t knotted so tight. “Should I…?” She lifts her hands toward his chest, hesitating. 

He nods. Zelda swallows. Come on, you walked into the mouth of ethereal darkness completely alone, you slayed the Great Calamity and purged all its malice from the realm, you can touch him. She wraps her arms around his middle and tucks her head into his shoulder. She feels him lift up onto his toes so he can see the Slate, hears him select the shrine, and then the world bleaches white. 

It’s an incredibly awful feeling; to exist and then just not; to splinter into a million pieces of burning magic. At least when she was with the Calamity, her physical body remained, acting like an anchor inside the neverending storm of magic. If there is any doubt inside her about the validity of Link’s theory, about Sheikah Technology being powered by spirit energy, there isn’t now. With her soul is exposed and pulsing like a nerve, she can sense the entirety of the Sheikah Technology network - all the shrines, every guardian, the towers stretching up into the sky, the furnaces burning outside the Labs - all these things without a mouth suddenly have one, and they open wide and desperate, and begin to siphon energy from her.

She comes back to herself in pieces, and when there is enough for her to cling to him, she does, gasping Lanayru’s frigid air into her lungs. She immediately starts shivering violently– although it feels more from shock than from cold. 

He leans back enough to see her face, his hands on her, smoothing hair back from her eyes. He opens his mouth, but his voice doesn’t quite leave his throat. She watches him give up on speech quickly, and instead, tilts his head with concern. 

“D-does it feel that terrible to you?” She gasps.

Link nods. She can see all the color has completely drained from his face. His eyes are sunken, the glow in the speckles now dim, like he’s been wounded and is bleeding out. 

She hates that she knows what that looks like. 

“Every time?”

He’s still inspecting her. Maybe making sure all of her made it back. When he’s satisfied, he steps back and bends over to retrieve the Sheikah Slate which sits in the snow, several inches deep, at their feet. He must have dropped it when he reached for her face. Or it just fell when they reappeared. That’s more likely, she tells herself.

He nods again, and signs, ‘I didn’t try it again for a year after the first time.’ 

Zelda often thinks about why it took Link so long to enter the Sanctum. Initially, after he gained the paraglider and the Runes, he launched himself off the Great Plateau and made a beeline for the castle. Zelda watched him march through the ruins of their fallen kingdom, seemingly fearless and determined to reach her, until he walked into the nest of hostile guardian stalkers crawling over the bones of Castle Town. Calamity slipped out of her hands for a moment, and swirled into the sky to greet him, spewing a fountain of malice so high into the atmosphere it stained the moon. Link ran all the way to Blatchery Plain and didn’t step foot in Central Hyrule again for nearly two years.  

Fear was a big part of it, but as Zelda watched him grow stronger, as memory started to return to him, she couldn’t help but feel like he was searching the Wild for something that could strip him of the destiny he could barely remember. Something that could sever the connection between them. She willed herself to give him grace, to smother the resentment that began to fester in every extra inch he put between himself and the castle. How could she damn him for running from fate when she herself resisted it as long as she could?

Those thoughts are even uglier now, having experienced what it was actually like to use the technology that waited ten thousand years for him. That was made for him.

“Link, you can’t do that more than once a day,” She wraps her arms around herself and shakes her head. 

‘It’s what needs to be done,’ he signs. 

“No,” Zelda steps forward. He doesn’t retreat, so they are close enough to touch again. She holds herself tighter to keep from reaching for him. “It’s not. I’m serious. We don’t need to do this so it's over in a year. We have time. We have help, now. ” 

He looks at her for a long minute. His expression is painfully neutral at first, guarded, but then it softens and at the same time, life starts to bleed back into his cheeks. He reaches out and grips her shoulder, firm enough to register between the layers of Rito feathers; enough to reach the parts of her that feel lost and guilty and alone. 

Link makes for the shrine. Zelda inhales and blinks the tears from her eyes, trying to hold onto the warmth he’s ignited inside her while his back is turned. The Spring invites her forward. She sets her jaw and glares at the eerily still water, unable to lift her eyes to the statue even though she can make out the reflection of the Goddess in the water. 

Does she pray? Speaking of running from destiny and owing nothing. Is devotion all she has to offer? Is it all they expect of her? She can see Link at the shrine in the cave just beyond the Spring. There is a flash of bright light and then a slow creep of darkness as the shrine disappears. She’s squeezing herself so tight her arms begin to ache, fighting against the muscle memory of where her hands go when she’s standing in this spot. 

No, she’ll never pray again, but the thing that was supposed to occupy her hands, the key to her new sense purpose, all of it will be gone in a year. It’s already gone from this place. All that is left is the statue and ice and waters that know her more than she seems to know herself.  

The wind on Lanayru’s peak is as brutal as it was a century ago. It rips at her exposed skin, and she’s immediately grateful to be wearing more than she had the last time she climbed to the top. When she climbed to the top…

Something pulls at the back of her skull, a nagging tiny detail she’s suddenly aware she is missing. It’s enough to force her gaze up to the Goddess, who has her blank eyes fixed on Zelda, waiting, as unhelpful as ever. 

Zelda can’t stop the question from pushing past her lips the second he’s within earshot.

“What’s the date?”

He pauses.

“Today’s date?” She repeats. “What is it?”

He tells her.

It’s her birthday. 

The same day a hundred years ago she failed in this very spot and the Calamity emerged, bringing terror and death and the near end of the world. If he remembers, it doesn’t register on his face. He just looks cold and a little confused. No one else would remember the date, everyone it was significant to is dead.

‘What’s wrong?’ He sweeps his hands in front of her face to get her attention. She didn’t see him approach her through the swarm of her thoughts. 

Above their heads, Naydra, a ribbon of ice, circles the mountain and lets out a groan.  

“Nothing. It’s just I’m…I’m 18.” Zelda replies in a hollow tone. Even as she says it, it doesn't feel true. She can’t decide if she feels eighteen or a hundred and eighteen. It is just a date, and somehow, it’s the same as the moment he recommended they destroy the Sheikah Technology and Hyrule rallied, the instant she realized Purah has been circling Sheikah Towers on maps, when the shrine by his house disappeared into nothing before her eyes. 

It’s time to move on. 

Link was right. It is cold. Pillars of crystal blue ice curve into fingers that point down. Away from the Spring and prayers she will never say again, in the direction of a spot in the distance, maybe the same the Sheikah Eye looks to now, that Zelda can’t quite see, but everyone else seems to trust. 

Snow begins to fall in sheets of white, a storm summoned by Naydra’s descent. It rapidly begins covering the path ahead.  If she doesn’t move her feet soon, she risks becoming trapped. Frozen. 

The fire his touch lit inside her goes out. She looks at him and the light behind his eyes. She’s so desperate for warmth and Purah said it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, anyway-

Zelda lunges forward into his arms, buries her face in the doublet she should be wearing, and lets out a sob that is swallowed by the wind. 

—-

Three weeks after Link leaves for Eldin, a letter arrives in Hateno addressed to her.  

Zelda stayed behind to focus on phase two of the restoration efforts. That has always been the plan, but when she watched Link disappear, face caged by the helm of his flamebreaker armor because he was teleporting right into the beating heart of Death Mountain to see the cooling lava for himself, she couldn’t help but feel regret she didn’t ask to go with him. 

Purah put her to work immediately. There are a few moments that have felt good even without Link there, like when they helped Reede figure out how to update the irrigation system, meaning the village can plan to double their crops next year; or whenever Purah pulls her aside to get her thoughts on the Anti-Aging Rune. 

It’s what needs to be done.

His words replay over and over again in her head. They keep her from doing selfish things, like looking over the proposal stuffed under her bed or cocooning herself away from the world in her tiny cot in Purah’s study. They have a kingdom to restore and jobs to be done; roles to define. Now is not the time to be self-serving. It is time to move forward. To let go of the past. Bury what she can’t destroy. 

Zelda,

I’m hoping the letter survives the heat. When I’m close to the belly of the mountain, my arrows start smoking. Took your advice. There are only ten shrines in Eldin and no one seemed to notice I was a day behind schedule when I reached Goron City. I’m not saying I won’t use fast travel when I need to, but it feels easier to travel how I prefer after what you said. Thanks. 

The bike helps. Did you know I have one? It is shaped like a horse. Climbs the rocky terrain around the mountain pretty good and I don’t feel guilty like I would if it was one of my own. The horse god would have my head. I’ve never asked her what she thinks about a Divine Beast in her liking.  

Anyway, it’s the only thing I think I’ll miss about the Tech. 

Will you write to me? I meant to ask before I left, but it never felt like the right time. Would give me something to look forward to.

Link

Zelda rereads the last sentence three times. Every inch of her is warm and buzzing. Her heart rabbits against her breast so hard she has to set down the letter and fold over herself, pulling air in through her nose until everything slows enough for her to form a coherent thought. 

She has a response ready before the sun sets the same day. 

Link,

I’m glad to hear you are taking care of yourself. Have you been able to rest, too? You said you were a day behind schedule, which means you still traveled dozens of miles of craggy terrain in record time. If you are looking to make a habit out of my taking my advice, please prioritize your rest. 

I didn’t know about the bike. It was more challenging to watch over you toward the end and I’m assuming that’s when you received it. Did I ever tell you I did that? If these letters are meant to have a theme, I suppose I should share something, too, right?  

I would be happy to write to you. I will be leaving for Tarrey Town in a month’s time. I’m not sure when this letter will reach you or when you’ll have time to respond, but I’m to meet with Hudson to hear the rough proposal for rebuilding efforts across Hyrule once the Sheikah Technology is gone. 

Everything is moving so fast. I suppose it all feels fast to me now. It’s a good thing, right?

Zelda

His letter breathes new life into her final days in Hateno. She borrows an old shirt out of Link’s trunk, rolls up the sleeves, and volunteers to help Dantz and his sister Koyin build out the fence for more livestock. The learning curve is pretty steep, she’s never had so much dirt cakes under the fingernails, and although Koyin seems a little annoyed with her at the start, when Zelda shows up with the sun the following morning, ready to work, the tension dissipates by noon.

His next letter comes a week later. 

Zelda,

I’m resting when I need to. I hope you are, too.

We never talked about that, but it makes my memories of that time feel less lonely now. Thank you.

Eldin has the least amount of shrines and guardians, so I’ll be heading east soon. I’ve got the cores.The Gorons plan to use most of the guardian metal in their restoration territories to reinforce the mines closer to the volcano since it withstands the heat well. 

They are sending Vah Rudania into the fire tomorrow morning. It still feels as hot as hell up here, but they are convinced something is changing inside the mountain and want to get it over with. They will be splitting their aid between Central Hyrule and Akkala to help the Hylians once it's all said and done. Yubuno is leading the charge to Akkala.  Say hi to him if you see him. He’s more useful than he gives himself credit for. 

Hudson’s an interesting guy. Watch yourself – not like he’s dangerous or anything, but he’ll have you running errands for him if you aren’t careful. He’s good at selling what he’s invested in and nothing is more important to him than forward motion. Except maybe his wife, Rhondson. I think they had their baby girl right before the Summit. He was anxious about being away. Can’t remember the name. 

If the building is up to Hudson, it’ll be in good hands. 

It does feel fast, but at the end of it all, it's just another year. Important things take time. 

Link

His penmanship is challenging. She can tell he’s either walking or riding while he writes by the blotches of ink and the aggressive slant in his writing which means either he’s lying about the rest, or he’s multitasking because of it. 

They exchange several letters in the six months she spends in Tarrey Town. Hudson is passionate about what he’s good at, and she learns more about infrastructure and the philosophy of construction than she imagined possible. She watches him raise three new homes from nothing in the time she is there.  Everyone in the village plays a part, down to the children who paint the stamps of the town’s symbol; a heart, which Hudson says is the most essential resource they have for the restoration ahead. It’s the kind of thing a real leader says. She’s learned better than to get ahead of herself, but the idea Hyrule could grow without her needing to take the throne, where she is bound to fail them again, if someone like Hudson guided them takes root. 

She half-jokingly starts referring to him as President Hudson. 

Zelda also spends time with his infant daughter, Mattison, whose tiny fingers and bright emerald eyes give Zelda enough strength to keep her teary eyes on the horizon when Purah announces she and Robbie have a plan for the Sheikah Towers– tear them down, too. They propose erecting brand new towers, called Skyview Towers, and they think they can power them entirely with sunlight. A formal prototype of the device to connect them all is also in the works: the Purah Pad. 

Link makes it to Hebra. There are significantly more shrines and a graveyard of decaying guardians in the canyon that splits Rowan Plain and southern Tabantha. The Gorons he traveled with take most of the metal back to Death Mountain, so he goes up into the snowfields alone and takes out a white-maned lynel by the North Lomei Labyrinth. This is one of the regions their strategy must be followed closely, otherwise he risks getting stranded in a blizzard without shelter. He bounces back and forth between Rito Village and the shrines scattered across the mountain range over the course of several weeks. He sends her feathers, and braids of colored rope, and receipts from his stays at Swallows’s Roost and Snowfield stable. She sends him a cherry red Akkala forest leaf and an order from Hudson for a hundred and thirty six bundles of cedar. 

Link sends back a twig.

He’s surprisingly witty, but by the time he’s reached Faron, his humor runs out. His letters grow taciturn, more reflective of how he is in person. He reports on cursory things like the weather and the lack of ingredients for a proper meal. The only glimpse into what he’s feeling comes with how he signs his last letter:  

I never want to see another shrine again. 

By her estimate, he’s still got at least three dozen shrines left between Central Hyrule, Necluda, and Akkala, so she avoids mentioning anything about them and instead, asks where his favorite place in Hyrule is, hoping to break up the droning routine of his days and coax something hopeful back out of him. 

She doesn’t hear from him for six weeks. 

Impa tells her to try not to worry, that he’s known for disappearing for much longer and now that he is known, someone is bound to recognize him and will send an update of whatever has sidetracked him in good time. The lack of urgency from the Sheikah makes her blood boil. Even Paya, who has been known to worry about too much dust and heirlooms, doesn’t seem all that concerned with Link’s whereabouts. It makes Zelda wish she was anywhere else; makes her long for a home she could run back to and slam the door. It’s not their fault the way the wind moves through the pass to Telta Lake reminds her of the sound he made when his last breath rattled past his lips, or the fact she’s barely slept because she’s watching the skies for a Blood Moon (there hasn’t been once since Calamity Ganon defeat). Even though she has no way to warn him properly, it's the only way she feels useful. Like visiting the Spring of Wisdom, or the pause that grips her everytime she passes the inlet to the Goddess statue in the center of Kakariko, or blaming Hylia, it’s another old habit from her old life that activates whenever she feels useless.

She’s about to write to Prince Sidon for help when the updates come in. All the shrines in East Necluda, including the one that sat on top of Eventide Island, are gone. Link was last seen riding a draft horse in the direction of Central Hyrule. Another report says he’s been seen near Lake Hylia, heading north toward the Great Plateau. 

The letter arrives soon after. 

I’m standing in the broken cathedral on the Great Plateau. I guess they call it a temple. It feels like it might have been holy once. Maybe it was the place where something significant happened, or something important was hidden, but if that is true, it's long gone. It's just the first of many empty, rusted places that have told me about myself since I woke up. This is the place where I learned ghosts could speak and I could hear them. It’s also where I first heard your name. 

I followed the plan and came here after the Gerudo region was done. It took me half a day to clear all the shrines. Only the Shrine of Resurrection was left. I was going to paraglide off the northeast wall toward Lake Hylia and prepare for Faron. That’s my problem. I’m always ten steps ahead. Most of the time I have to be.

Zelda, I completely froze. I stood outside the Shrine for an afternoon that turned into another and then another, trying to pull myself together, screaming at my feet to just move, but I couldn’t do it. It feels like the Shrine knows I’m here. Like it’s waiting for me to step back inside. The more and more I stare at this stupid cave, the more I see a mouth that will close the moment I’m inside. 

So I left, took care of Faron, came back, left again and went to Necluda. 

You want to know where my favorite place in Hyrule is? There is a spring on top of a waterfall north of Lake Floria. It's where I first saw Farosh. Came right out of the water and climbed up into the sky above my head. Nearly scared me to death. I can’t really explain it well, but it's where I realized I wanted to actually be here. Ruins and wild and all. It's where I realized I wanted to be the one to save Hyrule. To save you.

I followed Farosh back to the plateau this time. I took one of her scales for courage. Imagine that. I know what I have to do. Just like I did back then, even when I was running and telling myself they had the wrong guy, or if I made them wait long enough, they would find someone else. 

It’s just, sometimes it feels like this destiny asks too much, you know? 

I know what I have to do. And I will. As selfish as it sounds, I just wish you were still with me.

Link

She wipes her mouth. As much as her fingers shake with it, as badly as she wants to pour her heart into a reply – because she knows exactly what he’s saying when he talks about destiny and feeling selfish and needing courage– the letter feels like a plea–

A prayer. 

She shivers like she did on Lanayru. There is gold on her tongue, the taste of pure sunlight and falling stars. Why is it only in moments when he’s suffering can she summon this Power? She pushes the words as they form in her head across all the miles between them, trying to imagine them soaring like birds to where he waits. She tries to imagine them reaching for him and his head turning to the sound–

But there is no way for her to see him now. She’s not confident the magic is even really there, so when the buzz leaves her fingertips and she can actually grip a pen, she sends those words in a letter, too.

Link, 

Come to Kakariko. I’ll go with you. I’m always with you. 

You don’t have to do this alone. 

Zelda