Chapter Text
Kohga, Grand Master of the Yiga Clan, held no illusions about himself. He knew he wasn’t exactly a ‘refined’ man – he and his people lived inside a cave for Ganon’s sake – but that didn’t try to stop him from putting on a pretense of some dignity.
The Royal Family and their mongrel Sheikah dogs had forced them to live in squalid conditions like rats in the desert, but Kohga tried to remain sanguine about the situation. Hence the red outfits – sanguine in body, sanguine in mind! Or, so his theory went. Plus, the red made their enemies think of spilt blood, and the tight cloth was perfect for showing off all those muscles Yiga assassins had – all the better to tell to anyone that got in their was ‘hey, I should not be messed with!’ The masks… well, Kohga would like to forgo the masks (there were a lot of pretty people in their order, and while Kohga himself wasn’t exactly the best-looking of them all, he did have a glorious beard and lovely singing voice that, if he’d been born in another life, he would’ve easily made a living as a bard. He could’ve had a stage name and everything, something like ‘John Ebony’), but anonymity was their greatest protection.
He didn’t enjoy living in a dusty old cave infested with spiders so big they looked like they could put on a stage play, hiding their faces at all hours of the day, or… well, anything else, but it was necessary, in the end.
The master before Kohga had been content to hide out, out of the way. Never sending their people up to the surface, other than for the occasional bit of raiding lone travelers on the roads. There was no longevity in that, no perspective. No planning for the future. It was the story of all the masters of the Yiga before him – hide away. Bleed into the shadows. Never speak of the clan, for secrecy was their greatest asset. In that, there was survival – but no future. They’d keep sitting in the dark, wasting away while the ones who forced them into such a state thrived on the surface.
The Yiga would walk in the light again. But that meant doing some things Kohga found unpleasant on principle.
Like messing around with a kid’s severed hand.
Now, he didn’t care about the fact that it was a severed hand from a kid. He couldn’t have cared less, actually. Some of those snot-nosed little brats walking around in Castle Town all high and mighty needed a good kick in the head.
No, he didn’t like it because, well… it was a severed hand.
A still-twitching, still-warm severed hand. That it wasn’t dead was both a miracle, and something gagworthy. And now, they were messing around with it, trying to figure out how to use it to kill the Hero. Both of them.
The things he did for his clan.
Anyway, the hand in question was affixed to an odd contraption, made of old Sheikah Tech. Now, it bears remembering that the Yiga were made of the Sheikah that didn’t want to give up their advanced technology, so some of it had survived with them, but after ten-thousand years, and having to move from location to location whenever they were discovered, plus a dozen-odd great schisms, civil wars, natural disasters, and the clan being exterminated wholesale except for one member who survived and rebuilt, a lot of the knowledge of how to use it had been lost to the ages.
But there was still some knowledge floating around, and the will to make use of it.
The Hero’s severed hand was upside-down, hanging from a shining, copper wire. A brass ring with nails and electrodes was around the wrist, like a bracelet made of shiny thorns, with wires snaking into the points. Tubes – some solid black, others clear – went right from where it had been cut, up into a machine from above.
Kohga took one look at the device, and his manservants working at it, and scowled.
“Honestly, Sooga, can you believe it!?” Kohga huffed. “’Figure it out’ he says – like we’re a bunch of mechanical voodoo masters with nothing better to do with our time!”
“Indeed,” Kohga’s ever-loyal, second-in-command, attendant, and rescue, agreed with crossed arms. His mask had been repaired – but Sooga had made the peculiar decision to actually repair it, instead of just getting a new one. There was a crack going diagonally right across the porcelain, like a scar. An easy thing to fix with putty and a paintbrush, but Sooga still let it be. “Such presumptions are…”
“Totally blood-boiling!” Kohga stomped his foot angrily. “Like, honestly, do you see him jumping to help, any, at all!? No! He sits in that friggin’ altar of his all day, looking at that glowy star-ball of his, and rubbing his hands, while we do all the work!”
Sooga humphed, looking down. “Master Kohga, forgive me for any… impropriety on my part, but I must ask a question.”
“Ah, don’t worry about it, Sooga!” Kohga grinned and flapped his hands. “We’re all friends here! If you don’t have trust in a secret society of murderers and thieves, when do you have trust?”
“…indeed.” Sooga cleared his throat. “Might I ask: Why do you keep Astor around?”
“Ah, you weren’t around for that, were ya?” Kohga spun around, wiggling his fingers. “Right, you were just a runt back then!” He leaned forward, as his voice took on a low, dangerous, growling quality. “Stealing our food…” He suddenly straightened up, his mood doing a total one-eighty. “I knew I saw something special in you back then, sneaking into our camp! Full-blown adults couldn’t even manage it, I’ll tell you. Why, it… it warms my cold, shriveled heart.” He sniffled theatrically, rubbing his mask like he was wiping away tears. “I’m so proud of you my boy!”
“Thank you, Master Kohga.”
“Anyhoo!” Kohga clapped. “Seventeen years ago! We were in kind of a bit of a bind back then! Not enough recruits, ya see? We hadn’t managed to whack that shrill harpy running the country yet, so nobody knew the Yiga Clan was legit! We had to take what we could get – kids from orphanages, homeless brats who stole our food, people with simple and exploitable addictions, ya know?”
Sooga nodded. He hadn’t risen to the rank of Blademaster at that point, but he had been in the Clan long enough to remember just how empty and desolate the halls of their hideout were. Then they managed to off the Queen – and suddenly business was booming. With the news of Ganon’s return, and the Yiga’s successful assassination of their best hope to stop him, the recruits were numerous. From people with grudges against the crown, to prisoners the Yiga had liberated themselves, to people just joining up in a desperate bid to escape the coming fire.
“Some of us just wanted to join because the government wouldn’t stop hounding them.” A woman looking at the machine’s readout display, without her mask on, allowing a view of her sandy hair and eyes that seemed to glow, spoke up with a smile.
Kohga seemed to stumble a moment, before nodding at her. “Well, yeah, that too. Tax fraud is something they’ll really try getting you for. You’d know, wouldn’t you Sadi?”
“Not tax fraud,” The woman, Sadi, corrected. “Tax evasion. I didn’t pay a single green rupee of that crap. What’s the government ever done for me?”
“Took your property… half of the money your wife left you when she died…” Kohga recited, listing it off on his fingers. “Seized the shop you ran and turned it into a fancy coffee bar… hunted you halfway across the kingdom… blamed the debt collectors getting whacked on you…”
Sooga cleared his throat.
“Anyway!” Kohga got himself back on track. “Look, point is, we were desperate back then! Couldn’t afford to be picky and choosy about who we recruited – long as they didn’t go running to the big kahuna, lettin’ ‘im know where we were, it was good enough. Astor,” Kohga rolled his head and shoulders. “Used to be part of a lesser group of Ganon worshippers back then. Like, you thought we were tiny and pitiful back then, but there were only, like, seven of them, total!”
“I used to be sweet on a girl from that cult,” Sadi reflected with a thoughtful look skyward. “Before they…”
“Yeah,” Kohga dropped the act of irreverence. “They used to come around here ever-so-often. You know how it is with Ganon worshippers – moment we’re seen, anywhere, it’s straight to the authorities! So we do what we can to help each other out, but we keep each other away from civilization too much. It helps with the secrecy.” He leaned forward. “Then, one day, they just stopped showing up. Altogether!” Kohga gestured, before clearing his throat. “The leader of that cult stopped sending us letters to our dead drops, we stopped seeing their people, then a few weeks later, Astor shows up with that freaky orb of his, the Harbinger, and a story about his whole cult being wiped out.”
“Really?” Sooga, intrigued, tilted his head.
Kohga eagerly nodded. “I’m not gonna lie, I thought it was bullsh*t at the time myself. I mean, a big glowy vortex opens, spits out a little Guardian, and it bodies your entire group? Awfully convenient, if you ask me. But the Harbinger looked legit,” Kohga shrugged. “And that glowing orb of his proved too convenient to let go, and none of us could figure out how it worked, so I chose not to give him the boot. Although, maybe I should…” Kohga thoughtfully stroked his jaw. “Especially now that it seems to be going awry…”
The machine suddenly dinged, causing all of them to look at it.
“Ah!” Sadi gasped out with a huge grin as she jumped over to it. “We’ve got another charge! Shall I?”
“Ohohoho,” Kohga chuckled madly. “You shall.”
Sadi took hold of a big red threatening lever on the console, and yanked it down, causing the wires to light up with blue sparks.
The Hero’s hand began to twitch and spasm out of control, the motions causing it to swing around in its hammock of tubes and wires. The skin began to smoke and smoulder, sizzling and turning black, before one of the wires blew, and the machine cut itself off.
“Five seconds that time!” Sadi jotted it down in a book.
The hand began to shine a cold blue, becoming a solid source of light, before the glow dissipated, leaving it appearing perfectly unharmed.
“You know, I can’t help but feel like we’re wasting our time here.” Kohga crossed his arms. “We’re just zapping a hand! I mean, the time it takes before it regenerates is getting longer, but that’s not exactly… useful.”
“Technology,” Sooga derisively snorted. “Why bother wasting time shooting electricity at the Hero to kill him? Surely there must be better ways – like arrows, or poisons.”
“Don’t be stu- Wait,” Kohga held up his hand. “I’ve just had a brilliant idea!” He clapped his hands. “We’re wasting time here trying to jolt the hand to figure out how to stop that freaky regeneration it can do, so the Hero doesn’t get back up when we kill him, but why don’t we just poison the Hero?” He rhetorically posed aloud. “I’ve got an idea! Sadi! Get me an alchemist!”
Sadi obediently nodded, dashing out of the room.
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The Yiga’s alchemist – the sole person responsible for making all of the clan’s elixirs and poisons – looked at the hand with a massive set of goggles. It was like something a jeweler might wear to examine a gemstone, but with a set of magnifying glasses in front of it.
The alchemist had been around since before Kohga had become master of the clan. And even back then, they were as old as dirt. So old that it literally could not be told if they were male or female. Just really, really old, with a shiny bald head, a thin ring of white hair growing down their shoulders, and crazy eyes.
The old, decrepit man-woman poked the hand with their walking stick, watching as it swung.
“…eyup.” The alchemist smacked their lips. “It’s a hand all right. Don’t rightly know why you want me to bother with it. T’ain’t much use for hands in potion mixing.”
“I’m not thinking a potion, more like a… reverse potion,” Kohga cackled.
The alchemist stared at the hand. “…No, sorry, still not getting it.”
Kohga sighed. “I want you to make us a poison we can slip the brat.”
“Oh, well, why didn’t you say so? Let me get my good mortar and pestle, I’ve got an idea.”
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A cauldron bubbled and boiled away as the Yiga clan’s alchemist went hard at work.
As opposed to a normal elixir, this one simmered dangerously with a thick, black smoke. Phials of monster extract – diluted Malice in its purest form – were tossed in, used as the base. Following it were Hinox toenails and Lynel horns to increase the effects.
The alchemist peered over the brim, stirring in ingredients.
“Elixirs like this are tough to make – you need something like a hair, or nail clippings – but we’ve got the whole pack.” They chuckled, holding a knife in one hand, and the Hero of Time’s hand in the other. “You, tall stuff, bring over the wine.”
Sooga obediently, and silently, stood over the concoction, and dumped a whole barrel of wine right into the pot.
The Alchemist chuckled, and took the knife to the hand. They cut a slice off the end, like cutting a slice of salami, and let it drop into the pot.
The concoction puffed and exploded, and quickly settled, becoming a liquid identical in color and smell to red wine.
The alchemist took a ladle to the pot, and pulled out some of the poison, tasting it. “Yep! That’s poison!”
“You… drank it?” Kohga looked at the Alchemist in concern.
“Don’t worry yer pretty little head, sonny! This here poison is special.” They bottled it up, and passed it off to the master. “If any bodyguards get the bright idea to drink it first to make sure it’s safe, you know what’ll happen?”
“What?”
“Not a damn thing!” The alchemist laughed. “But, if the Hero drinks it, well…” They rubbed their hands. “It’s got the Hero’s genes in it now. If it enters his body, all the genes in his body will want to jump ship to join the mixture. Give it time, and he’ll start pissing blood as his organs turn to soup!” They laughed again. “Get that in the brat’s gullet, and the time he has left won’t be enough to let an hourglass run out!”
“Oh, alchie,” Kohga wiped away a nonexistent tear. “You do know how to make this old master feel giddy. So!” He clapped his hands. “Delivery system – how do we do it?”
“Those namby-pambies in Hyrule Castle drink wine with every meal,” The alchemist snorted. “I’m sure we can slip it in there somehow. Just get a guy in there in a waiter outfit to slip it into the brat’s glass when no one’s looking.
“Excellent idea.” Sooga nodded, turning to Kohga. “If he collapses at the dinner table, everyone will presume it was the cooks. Not the servers. With the wine tasting normal, it will cast suspicion onto the food instead.”
“Now,” Kohga frowned. “How to-“
“Master Kohga!” A lesser-ranked assassin suddenly appeared out of thin air.
“Djawnee!” Kohga stomped his foot. “You interrupted while we were in the middle of an evil plan!”
“Ah!” The assassin gasped, bowing his head. “So sorry, master! But I bring news from Hyrule Castle – it’s urgent!”
“Eh?” Kohga tilted his head to the side. “They couldn’t have figured out our plan already… Well? Out with it!”
“One of our spies running deep cover reported something very interesting going on.“ Deep cover being the term for their operatives not using illusion magic to disguise themselves. It was a tremendous risk, as if the assassin was caught, that was it for their primary identity – but the Sheikah could suss out the trickery of perception-altering magic in a heartbeat, so for instances where it was required to get past the Sheikah, the Yiga had no choice but to go without that helpful crutch. The anonymity of their main faces – being normal-looking people no one could pick out of a crowd – was a help in that.
“The Sheikah’ve been digging under Hyrule Castle,” The assassin reported, looking around. “They’ve found – well – they’ve found a Zonai Tomb right underneath the Castle!”
“A Zonai Tomb?” Kohga glanced to the side. The Zonai were, supposedly, the race of courageous barbarians that once descended from the skies to offer their skills as sellswords and techno-mages. They were, also supposedly, horrific brutes who got their kicks out of brutalizing captured Sheikah with mind-breaking trials and tests. Indeed, the stories were contradictory like that. They were either as gods, or hopelessly primitive. In possession of advanced technology to rival the Sheikah, or people puttering about, still stuck in the stone age.
The only thing that anyone agreed on was that they vanished. No grand final battle, no last stand where the people they exploited united to put a stop to it – they were there the night before, and gone the morning after. All of them, every last one on the face of the earth. Disappeared into the ether.
Kohga often wondered how things might be different if one of their kind was still around – failing that, just their technology. They’d given the Sheikah a run for their money, once. To have that power could transform the clan from hit-and-run guerrilla assassins to an effective army.
“What did they find?” Kohga questioned, expecting to hear of a vault of Zonai technology, untouched by the ages. Or perhaps a secret enclave of Zonai living in the depths underneath the Castle, waiting to return to the world…
Nah. That was silly.
The assassin shook his head, but the way the cloth around his head wrinkled showed he was smiling. “They haven’t found their objective yet – but our scout shared what they were looking for. They believed that you’d want to hear it, and I’m inclined to agree. It’s a body.”
“A body?” Kohga scoffed. “We’ve got the severed hand – I don’t need the body-“
“The King of Hyrule ordered the search for it,” The assassin continued. “And when they stumbled onto the tomb, he came down to investigate himself – and let slip exactly whose body it was.”
“You’re killing my vibe with not just telling me!” Kohga scowled. “Spit it out.”
“The Incarnate.” The assassin breathed reverently. “They’re looking for the body of Ganondorf Dragmire.”
A hush fell over the compound, the structure itself seemingly observing the powerful name and falling silent in respect. Instantly, all traces of Kohga’s joking tone vanished. “No way.”
The assassin nodded. “The King is doing so on direct recommendation from the Hero. He’s down there.”
“Impossible…” Sooga breathed out. “Ganon ascended beyond mortal existence tens of thousands of years ago. Why would his body be of any value?”
“They want to use it as a… bargaining chip.” The assassin sneered.
“They what!?” Kohga spluttered in disbelief, smacking his hand on the console nearby. “Ow.” He grimaced, shaking it off. “Those… those… those morons! Ransoming a body back to its owner? Ridiculous! Although…” Kohga dipped his head, grabbing his chin. “If we were to possess that body… The Incarnate, the Avatar of the Calamity, the Magnificent One… Why, Ganon would be pleased as punch!” Kohga laughed, diabolically rubbing his hands. “Forget the Hero – actually, don’t forget the Hero, he’s still very much a priority – but if we were to spirit away that body from those grubby royals, the reward could be… gosh, I can’t even think about it!”
The clan’s place in the new world would be cemented, at least. There was no greater show of loyalty to Ganon then getting his body away from those meddling royals.
“They haven’t reached the body yet,” The assassin elaborated. “But they’re looking.”
“Then send out a message – APB, general alert, whatever!” Kohga waved his hand. “As soon as they have the body, I want to know about it! Soon as they dig it up, we’ll sweep in and steal it right from under ‘em! GENIUS!”
“Of course, Master Kohga!” The assassin bowed his head.
“Now, as for the brat…” Kohga sneered, turning to the bottle of not-wine. “Sooga, you’ve got a fancy suit around here, right?”
Sooga turned to Kohga, a glare behind his mask.
“It was just a suggestion! I’ll just get Sadi to do it, she’s not doing anything important.”
Sooga crossed his arms, and nodded.
He’d be caught dead before he was seen wearing that embarrassingly tiny suit again.
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Rhoam had long fancied himself a man of action. Of decision. Every proclamation and edict he issued had been done so with the best interests of his kingdom at heart. Every time he pushed his daughter, it was done so with the soul-rending knowledge that there was no other way. And despite what others thought of him, he wasn’t an idiot. He knew the effect it was having on Zelda. And despite what everyone thought, he did care.
But… The whole kingdom – nay, the world – was resting on her shoulders.
How could he have possibly reconciled that? Either Zelda unlocked her powers, or the world burned. And with her mother gone, stolen from them by the plague (one of the many signs that Ganon was due to return), there was no one to teach her. So he tried, the only way he knew how.
He tried to push her to be better. Tried to keep up the image of being a stalwart monarch, ready to face the coming disaster head-on.
Again, he knew the effect it was having. He did care – but he couldn’t change. When the Calamity arrived, and Zelda had saved them all, she might hate him… but it would have been better than the alternative of the crushing guilt of having the world burn because you couldn’t stop it.
Then, he heard the words right from her mouth. And, by Hylia, it hurt so much more than he’d ever expected.
She was more than a princess, more than their last hope. She was his daughter, the last, living tie to her mother that Rhoam still had.
And, there he stood – in his private, secret alcove in the Castle Library, standing in front of a portrait of his dear, departed wife, with his hand touched to the frame as he leaned against it. Kept in there to remind him why he was pressing on.
Now, the empty, painted eyes seemed to be staring at him, and judging him.
“How could I have failed so spectacularly?” Rhoam asked of the portrait. He closed his eyes, putting his forehead to the canvas. He dared not put any other part of his face to it – the salty tears would strip away the paint. “You made it look so easy, my love. You always seemed to know the best course of action.”
The painting answered him with silence.
“I wish it was you here, instead of I.” Rhoam confessed with his voice at a whisper. “You’d be more helpful in this situation than me.”
Rhoam sniffled.
“How did you do it? You never once feared, or despaired. Or, at least, you did not show it. I tried to emulate that, the best I could, but I feel it only ever made things worse.”
Rhoam tipped his head back in anguish – the look on the portrait was steely, and full of grandiose poise.
“I spent so long trying to save the world, I neglected the most important person in it.” Rhoam rubbed his face. “I can’t lose her too… but, I think I already have. And it’s my fault. It’s my fault…”
His chair nearby looked quite inviting, and it was all he could do not to flop down into it.
“What am I to do?” Rhoam wondered aloud. “My duty demands I do what I must, but everything I do only causes more problems…”
At that moment, Zelda’s voice – sharp as a dagger and burning like poison – echoed in his head.
It was always ‘duty, duty, duty’ with him. He’d spent too long thinking like a king instead of a father. He tried to turn his thoughts elsewhere, only for his surroundings to force them back into that old way of thinking.
He needed to get out of this place.
Rhoam shot up from his seat, moving to the table, and the small chest underneath it. He yanked the wooden box out from under the table, and prepared to open it, freezing up as a stray thought crossed his mind.
Zelda had just berated him for sitting back, and not doing anything to help. This would be far from helpful…
…but, given that all his interference only worsened matters…
Rhoam popped open the chest, looking in on the tattered, burlap robes inside.
It’d been a while since he had a night on the town, alone.
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Castle Town. There was no underselling its importance to the Kingdom of Hyrule. As far as the rest of the kingdom went, there were towns, and villages, but historically, it was the only place to be so large as to merit being called a city.
Across all the different ages and eras, and the different forms it assumed, Castle Town remained the heart of Hyrule. People coming to it often did so in droves, from far-different lands.
That was the truth back in Link’s native time – but the town was so much larger now. It must’ve been at least as large as the Great Plateau – a sea of blue roofs surrounded by an impenetrable wall. There were slums and upper-class districts. Bars right next to churches.
Link cared about none of that. The best way to get a feel for a place was to see what it sold. So, it was right to the market district with aplomb.
“Link, wait!” Paya called after him, rushing to catch up to him. “Slow-“ She huffed and puffed as he came to a bouncy stop in the market district. “You… You’re going to kill me!”
“Sorry,” Link grinned, spinning around as he gestured to the market stalls. They were like houses on their own, grouped into little streets and alleys, ringed by the bigger shops that made up the edge of the market plaza. “It’s just… when was the last time you saw a place like this?” He questioned of her.
“Never…” Paya looked around with furrowed brows. It might as well have been a whole village in of itself, just for selling things.
“Last time I was in a place even a little like this was…” He thinned his lips. “The Bazaar, during the War!” He held up a finger triumphantly. “Imagine, all these different market centers from across time and space, slammed together in one spot. Fine food, potions, weapons, knick-knacks…”
Paya chuckled, as she walked alongside him. “You seem… quite enthusiastic about this.”
“I like stuff. And things. Really, I’m a little bit of a hoarder.” Link shrugged, patting the Sheikah Slate. “Why do you think I brought this? Come on, let’s go explore.”
Paya nodded in agreement, looping an arm through his as she let him lead the way. “What do you expect to find?”
“I’m expecting nothing,” Link shrugged. “But I’ll keep my eyes open for anything halfway cool looking.”
As the two wandered aimlessly through the market, their ears twitched, hearing the stall owners raising their voices to peddle their goods.
“See in the dark!” A big, bearded man shook around a bottle filled with what looked like blue potion. “Get the answers to life’s greatest mysteries! Take care of that bad breath! Lynelblood elixir – only forty rupees!”
“Cucco and waffles here!” An old lady raised her voice as she waved around her hands. “Hot and fresh! Delicious, nutritious, and cheap!”
Paya giggled to herself. “They can’t be serious.”
“Why not?” Link hummed. “It seems to be working.”
Indeed, the stall owners seemed to be raking in the rupees.
“Oi, kid,” A woman wearing an apron called from across the market, standing in a stall with weapons. “Can’t help but notice your lady’s back is looking awful light. How bout a sword?”
“Hmm…” Link stepped closer, running his eyes over the polished metals. None of them looked even half as good as what the Sheikah could forge. “We’re good.”
The woman shrugged. “Your funeral.”
Link turned back around, to see that Paya had left her spot, going over to a stand that looked to be offering jewelry. She was trying them on, assessing the way they looked on her hands with a thoughtful eye. He hadn’t taken her for a ‘ring’ kind of person.
Link began moving to close the distance.
“Night on the town, huh kid?” Someone addressed him, and Link turned to see a blonde woman standing at a stall that… hadn’t been there before. Had it?
Link looked around, finding that no one else was registering the stall, so it had to be his imagination acting up.
“Hey, I’m talking to you!”
Link pointed at himself, and the shopkeep nodded slowly.
“Yes.” She drawled out. Her eyes seemed to glow in the light of the afternoon sun, as she drummed her fingers against the counter of her stall. “You don’t see anyone else here who’s an actual kid, do you?”
Link scrunched his nose at the lady’s presumption. “It’s been a while since I’ve hit the markets and went spend-happy, you know, don’t judge!”
“Oh, well, you need to get a souvenir!” The lady’s grin widened almost predatorily. “You know what I’ve found? Everybody likes wine.”
The lady reached under her stall, and put the bottle on the counter in front of him.
Link frowned, examining the bottle, before raising his eyebrow. The label had a picture of grapes still on the vine, and a date that was wholly unfamiliar to him. “What kind of wine is this?”
“Ah, this is a fine Mabe Village vintage.” The woman ran her fingers along the label. “It’s been aged seven years to perfection, in the tradition of the ancient Hero of Time.”
Link’s gaze snapped to regard the woman again. “What?”
“Oh, you don’t know?” The woman fluttered her eyelashes theatrically. “That ranch the village gets its name from – it’s said the Hero of Time lived there once. He was placed in a magical sleep for seven years to awaken and save the kingdom when he was old enough. So, they age the wine for seven years.” The corner of her lip quirked up. “It’s very good. Yours for seventy rupees.”
Link flinched, then shook his head. He was made of money at this point, but all the same… “I can’t buy a wine I haven’t tried. Besides, I don’t think I’m allowed to drink.”
The lady snorted. “Wine is the least alcoholic form of alcohol you can drink.”
Link scowled. He was young, but he wasn’t stupid. According to the Princess Zelda of the War Across the Ages, it wasn’t a good wine unless it was at least 80-proof.
Well… he had drunk Chateau Romani.
“Still not sure?” The lady smiled, producing a glass from underneath the stall. “Have a quick test. Decide if you like it.” She popped the cork on the bottle, and poured some out. That blood-red liquid settled easily into the glass vessel, slowly swirling as it came to a rest.
“Free samples?” Link questioned skeptically, wondering if this was a ruse to swipe his rupees from him. ‘Ha ha, psyche! You drank the wine, now you have to take the bottle, or I’m calling the guards!’ that kind of thing.
“You’re a knight, right? That’s what the Hylian Shield is, isn’t it? The way I see it, if you’re old enough to go around carrying that, you’re old enough to imbibe spirits. And responsible enough to make the purchasing decision.” The lady shrugged.
Link looked at the glass, before finally deciding ‘to hell with it.’ He took a swig, found it particularly tasty, and downed the whole thing. Smacking his lips, he frowned. “I can’t taste the alcohol.”
“Maybe not. Is it good though?” She probed.
“…yeah.” Link granted after a moment’s thought. “Worth seventy rupees.” He reached into his bag, and pulled out the rupees, laying them on the counter. The lady took them with a smile, and passed him the bottle he’d sampled from.
“A thank you, kind sir!” The lady grinned. “Enjoy.”
“Yeah-huh,” Link nodded, stashing the bottle in the Sheikah Slate. He spun around, and began moving back towards Paya.
The stall owner watched him leave, and her grin just widened.
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“You know, I’m so glad you decided to take the opportunity to do this.” Mipha smiled, looking at Wild as they walked down along the streets of Castle Town. He was eating some fried snack of cheese and not much else, and graciously sharing with her. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve come to Castle Town – but even on such short notice, I can’t help but feel… I don’t know, delighted?” She chuckled. “Although I don’t expect its so noteworthy for you. Seeing as you’ve apparently lived here for some time.”
Wild shrugged, downing a part of his snack in one go.
“Forgive me for prying, I know it’s been a while,” Mipha jittered nervously. “But I was hoping we could catch up. I wanted to know how you were doing.”
Wild stopped chewing. “I’m all right, I suppose.”
“Oh.” Mipha blinked. “That’s it?”
Wild shrugged again.
“Good, that’s… good, I suppose.” Mipha slowly nodded.
Wild nodded in agreement, letting the conversation stall for a second, before his brain hit itself, and some other words came out. “How are you?”
Mipha giggled for a second. “Well… I can’t say I’m not nervous. It’s a big responsibility, being asked to save the kingdom… That’s partly why I wanted to see how you were doing. It’s a tremendous weight on your shoulders and… I have people to help me through it, but it doesn’t seem that you can say the same, unless I’m mistaken. It looks like its weighing a lot on your mind.”
Wild slowed, staring ahead as he weighed how to respond in his mind. Mipha had always been so nice to him back when he lived in the Domain, before his father pushed him into joining the knights, and his family all died. He could tell her, he knew, but he didn’t want to worry her.
But, judging by the fact that she was talking about it at all, she knew something was wrong. She was going to worry regardless.
“It’s a lot.” Wild stated after the moment, as his heart threatened to explode from his well-concealed worries. “I’ve got the Sword,” He pointed to the weapon on his back, still blessed by Hylia. “I’ve more Heroes than anyone could ask for supervising me. And I’ve got all of you.”
“But the kingdom is still depending on you.”
“Yes. But… also no.” Wild stared ahead, clenching his jaw. “I’m going to die.”
Mipha looked at him, uncomfortable, before she let out an awkward chuckle. “Well, so am I.”
“I know.” Wild breathed out, closing his eyes. “I just… I didn’t want this.” He gestured around, generally. “I didn’t want any of this.”
“Being chosen as the Hero is a terrible burden,” Mipha sympathetically gestured. “I know.”
“No, I mean… That’s part of it, but do you know what my earliest memory is?” Wild inquired. “It’s holding a sword in my hand and feeling sick because of it, and my father looking at me like it’s the most precious thing in the world.” He leaned against the wall of a building nearby, rubbing his face. “And then it was just… the knight academy. From there on.” He rubbed his eyes. “And don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I hated it, but I didn’t want to be a knight. So when I got old enough, I was going to seek a discharge. Then… they,” He frustratedly gestured. “Showed up, telling everyone I was supposed to be the Hero, and now I’m stuck right in the middle of this.”
“Mmm.” Mipha hummed, nodding as she absorbed his story. “You could just run? Leave fighting Ganon to the other Heroes. You did say there was three of them.”
“There is, but…” Wild shook his head. “You know I couldn’t do that. I mean, I’ve thought about it, but… it’s only been a few days.” He shrugged with a hopeful smile that didn’t reach his eyes. I can’t abandon ship this early. Besides…” He looked at the Master Sword. “Something tells me I can’t just dump this sword back in the Forest and leave it.”
“With Ganon approaching, my priority has become ensuring the continued protection and health of the Hero. All other objectives are secondary.” Fi clinically interjected. “Should it be decided that, for your mental and physical health, abandoning the battle is necessary, I cannot and will not stop you.”
“Hmph.” Wild skeptically grunted, frowning. “I still can’t. It’s just not decent.”
“Well, then look at the bright side,” Mipha tried to encourage. “They may have told you disaster was coming, but they know how to avert it. None of that might happen now.”
“They’re trying to avoid it.” Wild nodded. “I just… don’t know if it will work.”
“You trust them, do you not?” Mipha asked.
Wild thought it over for a second. They’d proven they were capable warriors, knew what they were talking about.
“I do.” Wild answered. “I still worry.”
“Then take your mind off it,” Mipha smiled. “We are in town. There has to be something to do other than wandering around and eating.”
Wild’s eyes flicked to the side. “There… is an entertainment center not far from here. Ski-ball, bowling, that sort of thing.”
“I’m sorry,” Mipha co*cked her head questioningly to the side. “Ski-ball?”
His eyes widened, then he grinned, taking her hand before he bolted off in the direction of their destination.
Mipha’s laugh could be heard for quite some distance, as she was pulled along by Wild.
Seconds later came the scream – from the opposite direction.
