Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dusk is dying. Twilight had seen this coming for quite some time now, her health had been failing her for years, but it still doesn't change the reality of the situation. He had hoped that she might stick around for a little bit longer, that he might see her for just a few more days, even if he hasn't been able to actually talk to her in decades.

But a not-small part of him still hopes that she might stick around when she dies, instead of leaving him behind like Midna did years before. Of course, he knows she won't, he knows how it works. Legend calls it a curse, Warriors a cosmic coincidence. Twilight doesn't pretend to understand why it happens, but the facts are simple. If you die on the property of Hyrule Castle and your name is Link, you stick around. If your name is something else, you ascend up to the great beyond, to whatever afterlife awaits those who aren't doomed to haunt the same property for the rest of eternity.

He sits on the edge of the bed. Dusk is alone, aside from him. There is no family crowding her bedside, her sisters are long dead and her only daughter has refused to enter the property for years. She had always been a solitary person, willing to rent the house out for events and historical studies, but rarely participating in them. He wonders who the house will go to, if she is gone.

She takes a last, rattling breath, and he watches as her body finally goes still. Heavenly light fills the room, nearly blinding him, but through the light he manages to catch sight of her face, staring right at him.

"Link?" she asks, her voice unsteady, uncertain, as her spirit rises out of her body.

"Long time no see," Twilight tells her, but she is gone before he finishes speaking. He sighs, sitting back on the bed, glancing down at the empty body laying before him.

He hopes that she's happy, wherever she is. He hopes that she is with Midna again, and he hopes, more than anything else, that he could be up there with them.

-

The estate agent opens the door to the apartment, ushering Link and Flora in. She is immediately hit with the overwhelming stench of something rotten, and she can tell the agent smells it too, through his forced smile.

The size of the apartment had been on the listing, but she still wasn't expecting it to be so small. There is barely enough room for the three of them to stand in the main room, and it would still be cramped even without the couch taking up half of the space.

"Is that...it?" Flora asks, hoping that there has been some mistake.

"There is a balcony out back," the agent offers, leading Link and Flora to the back of the apartment and to a sliding door. "Balcony" is a generous word for the space, which could be best described as a small metal shelf, big enough for maybe one small adult to stand on.

Flora glances over at Link, who shakes his head sharply.

"I don't think this is going to work for us," Flora says. "Do you have anything just a bit bigger?"

The agent does not look surprised in the slightest at her words. "Not within your budget," he says, and he does sound genuinely sorry. Flora sighs, wishing, not for the first time, that she could just break into her father's house and take some of his money, because Hylia knows he has enough of it.

"Just...give us some time to think, then," she says, dragging Link out the door and into the street.

-

"We're doomed," Link tells her, once they're back in the car.

"Don't say that! I'm sure we'll find something! Eventually."

"Sure, if we go to Holodrum."

"They say it's nice this time of year?" Flora offers. She opens her mouth to say something else, but before she can speak, her phone begins to ring. She sighs, fishing it out of her pocket.

"Hello?"

"Is this Zelda Flora Bosphoramus?" the voice on the other end says. Flora frowns. She has not used her full name in years.

"I–uh–yes? Who is this?"

"I'm calling about a property, left by your great-aunt, Zelda Dusk Hyrule."

Flora freezes. She recognizes the name, vaguely, but she had assumed the woman had died years ago. She hasn't been in contact with anyone from her mother's side of the family, not since she was a small child, back when her mother was still alive. Quite frankly, she had assumed that they had all forgotten she existed, and she can't blame them.

"I–I'm afraid I don't understand. Why would she leave property to me?"

"Ah, well, there were some complications. I'm sure this will be much better discussed in person, please come by my office as soon as you can."

The person on the phone leaves Flora an address, as well as an email, and tells her to keep in contact. Flora puts down the phone, staring at Link with wide eyes.

-

Two days later, they are seated in an office, a pile of paperwork and photographs in front of them.

"This property has belonged to the Hyrule family for generations," the man is saying. "I expect you are at least somewhat aware of your family's history."

Flora nods. "My, um, mother died when I was young, but I've done some research." Sometimes, when she was younger, she had dreamed of her mother's family swooping in to save the day, taking her away from her father and raising her as a princess in a castle, just like in the stories. She had not quite expected it to happen like this.

The man smiles at her, a polite smile, the sort that doesn't quite reach the eyes. "Then you will be aware of the historical importance of this property. As your aunt has now passed on, ownership was to be passed to her daughter, however, she has refused. As you are the next closest relative listed in the will, ownership of the property will now fall unto you."

Flora stares at him, mouth agape. She looks over at Link, who is in a similar position, eyes wide open. This doesn't feel real, it feels like a dream that she will certainly wake up from any moment now. She doesn't understand what is happening, surely there were other relatives closer than her. Why on earth would she even be listed on the will? She has never even spoken to her great-aunt, only stared at images of her online and tried to imagine what it would be like to live with her, to live in Hyrule Castle.

"I-" she starts, but nothing else comes out. Her mind is a storm of emotions, thoughts flying past faster than she can decipher them.

"I understand that you must be overwhelmed, but you have several options to choose from," the man says. Flora is barely paying attention, the words flowing through one ear and right out the other. He keeps talking, and she smiles and nods along, pretending that she definitely understands what he is saying and is not hopelessly lost at all.

Finally, he pauses, and smiles at her. She smiles back, and then becomes aware that he is now expecting a response. She pauses for a second, opens her mouth, closes it again.

"Um," she says, laughing a little. "I...could we take a look at it? At the property, I mean. Before we make any final decisions?"

"Of course," the man says. "It is, after all, now your property. What you do with it is now, after this moment, entirely up to you and your husband. I am just here to help with whatever you decide."

-

The road to the property is long and winding, and several times Flora has to look down at her phone again to ensure that they definitely are going the right direction and aren't going to end up horribly lost in the middle of the woods. (There's a reason Link is the driver, not the navigator. She is not about to have a repeat of last time.)

"So...this is your aunt's house?" Link asks.

"Great-aunt, but yes," Flora says. "I think we may have visited once, when I was very small, before Mother..." her voice trails off. "I didn't realize that I would be the one to inherit the place, surely there are other closer family members."

Link shrugs. "Didn't the guy say her daughter refused the property?"

"Yes. I think I might have read something about a tragedy occurring? I'm not really sure why she wouldn't just sell the place, though."

"Should we be coming here, then?"

"It'll be fine, I'm sure," Flora says. "My great-aunt lived there for decades. Or, at least, I assume she did. She never sold the place, at least. Oh! I think this is it!"

Link turns the car down a narrow driveway, their seats rattling as the paved road turns to gravel. The house is absolutely massive, reaching three stories tall, nearly as wide as the entire street the apartment they had just toured had been on. Despite its name, Hyrule Castle is not actually a castle, but it is definitely big enough to be one. Looking up at it fills Flora with some unidentifiable emotion, like a cold wind is whipping through her, but also like some missing puzzle piece of her soul has finally been found.

Vines crawl up the sides of the walls, overgrown plants creeping in from what once was the garden. One could easily look at the place and tell it had stood for centuries, and she is suddenly overwhelmed. Whether she likes it or not, this house, this historical property is now hers to take care of.

"Wow," Link says, gazing up at the house. "We get to live here?"

"If we want," Flora says.

Link whistles. "Is there even running water? Electricity?"

"I sure hope so," Flora says.

"Well then," Link says, stepping out of the car and opening her door. "After you, m'lady."

He holds out his hand, and Flora takes it, giggling as he pulls her out of the car.

-

Warriors watches as a small car pulls into the driveway. The car is unfamiliar, and so are the people that step out of it. He can't hear their conversation from out here, but judging by the way they are looking at the house, it's very possible that they are the new owners. There's two of them, walking towards the house, a man and a woman. They look young, but the woman bears an unmistakable resemblance to Athena. She must be some cousin or something.

He and Legend have had a running bet over who will inherit the house now that Dusk is dead. Legend had bet that Athena would sell the house, or give it to the government for some historical conservation project, while Warriors had been sure that Tetra would get the property instead. But, it seems, they were both wrong.

Well, Legend could still be right, he supposes, but he highly doubts it. It doesn't really matter, anyway. It's not as if either of them has any real money, but it's more about the satisfaction of winning than anything else.

"His name is Link!" Hyrule says, popping through the window. Warriors jumps, startled. It's been years, but he still isn't used to being around so many ghosts, even if he is one himself.

"Another one?" Legend frowns. "It has barely been ten years since Wars–"

"Don't remind me," Warriors says with a groan. He feels a stab of pain in his stomach, where a phantom wound still drips blood. Sky tells him it will close up in a century or two. The thought does not comfort him.

"Wel, we ne may nat be siker he wol dye," Sky says¹. As usual, it takes Warriors several moments to decipher what exactly he has just said. If nothing else, at least being stuck here is teaching him Middle Hylian.

Legend gives Sky a look. "Canst thou think of a single time someone named Link has come here and not died?"

"...No," Sky admits.

"Maybe he'll die of old age!" Wind says, too cheerfully. Four scoffs.

"Yeah, right, and how many of us have lived past thirty?"

"Time...might've?" Wind offers.

Four pauses, pondering. "I guess he could have.” He furrows his brow. "Should we warn the guy? Link?"

"Would that really help?" Warriors asks. "Or would it just make things worse?"

Four shrugs. "Only one way to find out. Do you think it would've helped you?"

Warriors frowns. If someone had told him he was going to die on that day, he would have probably laughed at them, and changed nothing about that day. Sometimes he does wonder, though, if he had just left early, or been standing somewhere else, or finished that chainmail he was going to wear under his tunic, would he still be alive right now?

He shakes his head. "No, I don't think it would have," he says. There's no use continuing that train of thought, because nothing can change the fact that he is dead, and he has been dead for a decade now.

"I wish someone would've warned me!" Wind says. "I spent so much time trying not to fail the ninth grade and it didn't even matter."

No one laughs at the joke. Warriors stares at Wind, thinking, not for the first time, about just how young he is. He stands there, hair dripping wet, shirt clinging to his skin. His cheeks, tinged blue, are still coated in baby fat.

Wind crosses his arms, fixing Warriors with a look. "You don't have to stare at me like that, you know," he says. "I was born before you."

"Only a year," Warriors says automatically. This is not the first time they have had this argument.

"Still," Wind says. "If I were still alive, I would be a year older than you."

"Key word there is if," Four says. "And anyways, we've got bigger things to deal with."

Legend rolls his eyes at them. "Look, if the guy dies, he dies. Do you have any idea how many people I've seen die?"

“Yeah yeah, we get it, you’ve been here forever,” Wind says. “Now come on! They’re going upstairs. Do you think we can spook them?”

Wind runs off, scampering up the stairs after the pair. Warriors follows behind, listening as Link and the woman talk.

“Well,” the woman is saying. “I knew the house was big, but I wasn’t expecting this!”

Link nods, his eyes wandering around the staircase (The grand staircase, Athena had told him. Not to be confused with any of the other, many staircases littering the house.) Link’s eyes glaze right over Wind, who is standing right in front of him, rapidly waving his hand over his eyes.

“That’s not going to work,” Warriors tells him.

“It might,” Wind says. “You never know.”

“It won’t.”

Wind pouts. “There’s got to be something we can do! I haven’t talked to anyone new in…since you showed up here!”

“Can’t you do that wind thing?” Warriors asks.

“It only works outside. Or if the window’s open. So unless you can open the window for me…”

“No can do. I can push a cup off a table, but I can’t unlatch the windows.”

“You could push a cup off a table,” Wind suggests. “That would get their attention for sure.”

“Do you see any cups on tables around here?”

They are on the second floor, by now, Link and the woman (he really needs to figure out her name) are walking towards the master bedroom, one of the few parts of the house that has actually been inhabited recently. Dusk had done her best to keep the house liveable, but as she got older it was inevitable that more and more things fell into abandon and disrepair.

The room is still full of all of Dusk’s things, her dresses still hanging in the closet, her sword in its sheath propped up against a wall, as well as Twilight, who is still sitting on the bed, just as he has been for the past week. He jumps up as they walk into the room, shooting Warriors a questioning look.

“New owners, I think,” Warriors tells him.

“Already?” Twilight asks. “I thought it woulda taken longer.”

“His name’s Link!” Wind says.

Some unreadable emotion flickers across Twilight’s face. “Ah,” he says.

-

Flora looks around the master bedroom. So far, this is the only place in the house that has actually made her feel like someone lived here. She glances at all of the things around her, eyes snagging on the sword propped up against a wall. She wonders, not for the first time, what her life would have been like if her mother was still alive, if she had been able to get to know her family.

“Are we gonna sleep here tonight?” Link asks.

Flora looks down at the bed, the sheets still rumpled where someone had laid there not long before. Where her great-aunt had likely died very, very recently. Surely they should have changed out the sheets, right?

Flora shakes her head. “No, we can find somewhere else,” she says. “I’m sure there are an abundance of bedrooms.”

She and Link spend the next several hours exploring the rest of the house. The house itself is gorgeous, filled with things that make the history nerd part of her brain want to stop and geek out every five minutes, but she cannot help but feel a sense of unease. It doesn’t help that the sun is starting to set, and the lighting in the house is not exactly great. Several times she has found herself tripping over a step that she hadn’t realized was there, and Link isn’t doing much better. Not to mention, a very large, very old house makes a lot more noise than one would expect, window frames creaking in the wind, mice skittering around in the walls, floorboards creaking everywhere you step.

The blueprints of the house are open on her phone, one of the many documents that the estate agent had sent her the night before. It is probably the only thing keeping her and Link from becoming horribly lost, and she has ensured that Link is always by her side, gripping his hand tight so he can’t go wandering off without her.

“It says here the next room is a bedroom…at least assuming that we are where I think we are.”

“Thank the goddesses,” Link says with a grimace, rubbing his likely-aching legs. “Please tell me there is also a bathroom.”

Flora laughs. “Yes, there is. I just hope the plumbing all works properly…”

“Please don’t jinx us.”

-

Link reaches his head out the window, trying to get the cord untangled. He would like to get these blinds fixed so they aren’t woken up by the sunlight streaming in through their window, directly onto their faces, but someone decided to tie these cords up in the world's most complicated knot, and get it stuck at the top corner of the window, one that he can’t even reach without sitting on a chair. Not to mention someone installed them on the outside of the window, for reasons he can't even begin to understand.

Flora is downstairs, trying to brave the basement so that she can get the water heater to work so that they can at least get a hot shower. He had tried to take a shower that morning, but just as soon as he could get the water to the perfect temperature, the heat would shut off and he would be met with freezing cold water raining down on his head. Not a great start to the day.

If they really are planning on living here, which is seeming very likely, considering they essentially have no other options, it is going to take a lot of work.

Starting with these blinds, which just won’t untangle, no matter how hard he tries. He hooks his leg under the windowsill, trying to get more leverage as he yanks at the cord, wincing at the horrible screeching noise that comes of it. He reaches up, trying to get just a little bit higher, when the chair slips under him.

Uh oh.

He has just enough time to send out a silent prayer to the goddesses as he falls, before his body hits the ground two stories below.

-

“Well that was fast,” a voice says, barely audible over the pounding pulse in his ears.

“That’s a lot of blood,” another voice says.

“Head wounds do tend to bleed a lot.”

Link opens his eyes, rapidly blinking them to try and clear out the fuzziness. The images are still blurry, but he thinks he can make out the shape of two people standing over him. His head is pounding, the pain drowning out all other thoughts, his mind struggling to understand what the voices are even saying.

“Hey, he’s alive!” one of them says.

“For now,” the other replies.

“Should we do something?”

“Like what? In case you forgot, no one can see or hear us.”

Link is pretty sure he can both see and hear the people, albeit not very well. He realizes, through the fog in his brain, that it is very likely he is hallucinating right now. That’s probably not good.

He tries to open up his mouth to speak, or lift his head up, but any movement sends a wave of pain up his skull, and his vision threatens to black out. A small groan does manage to escape his lips, but he highly doubts anyone would be able to hear it.

-

“Link!”

He struggles to open his eyes again. He hadn’t realized they were closed again. How long has he been laying here?

He recognizes this voice as Flora’s, so maybe not a hallucination? He opens his mouth again, tries to say her name, but nothing comes out.

“Link, oh goddesses, are you okay?” she laughs, the kind that he only hears when she’s trying hard not to cry. “Of course you’re not. I don’t know why I said that. Just–just please hold on a little bit longer, okay? I’m going to call an ambulance.”

With an extreme amount of effort, Link manages to curl his fingers into a thumbs up, before promptly passing out again.

-

Two days later, with a brace around his neck and a cast around his left wrist, Link is sitting in the car again, as Flora drives them back to Hyrule Castle.

“Well,” she says. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

Link laughs. “You know, the doctors said I technically did die, for a moment there.”

“Then I’m glad you’re not dead anymore,” she corrects.

“I never want to be in a hospital again,” Link says. “Hylia knows I’ve spent more than enough time there already.”

“I know,” Flora says. “But you will have to go back next week.”

Link groans. “Word of advice, don’t fall out of windows. Or get blown up.”

Flora laughs at that, but not before a look of concern flashes across her face, her eyes darting to the burn scars littering Link's left side.

She pulls the car into the driveway, and Link looks up at the house again, or at least, as far up as the neck brace will let him. It’s only been a day, but he is so ready to get this thing off of him. The house doesn’t look any less impressive than it did two days before, still absolutely massive. It’s probably bigger than his high school. Admittedly, he does have a bit more respect for the house now. Flora had given him an extended lecture on safety, and told him that if he ever tried to do anything like that without her supervision she would cut out the middleman and kill him herself, and he does not think for a moment that she was lying.

He feels like he should apologize to the house, maybe. Is that a thing? Can a house get mad at you? Or did the hit to his head jostle up his brains more than he had thought.

His eyes dart to the second floor, where for a split second, he sees a face peering through the window. He hopes that it was just a trick of the light.

“Link? Are you coming inside?”

Link blinks, looking back up at the window. There’s nothing there. Definitely a trick of the light.

Flora fishes around in her pocket, pulling out a positively ancient key, so caked with rust it's a miracle it still works. She swings the door open, and Link is immediately met with a boy standing in front of him, dripping wet. The boy’s face splits into a grin, revealing a large gap between his front teeth.

“He’s still alive!” the boy says. Flora does not react at all, her eyes staring straight through the boy and at Link, her face twisted in concern.

“Are you okay?” she asks. The boy’s eyes widen, and he's grinning even harder.

“Din’s fire, you can see me!”

“Nope,” Link says to the boy. He steps right through him, ignoring the spluttering coughs and protests.

“Flora?”

“Yes, Link?”

“I am definitely hallucinating right now.”

-

1. Middle English translation: "Well, we cannot be sure he will die" Back

Chapter Text

"Wait, wait I can prove it," Wind says, still out of breath from being walked through so rudely. (He would like to have a word with whoever decided it should be so uncomfortable to be passed through, do they know how many more jokes he could make?)

He moves to stand in front of Link again, who promptly looks away, still trying (and failing) to pretend that he can't see Wind. His eyes dart back and forth, between Wind and the woman (Flora, he had called her) and the wall, like he can't decide what to focus on.

"I know you can see me," Wind says. "You can stop pretending."

Link does not stop pretending. Wind isn't stupid, he knows how Link must feel right now, to be recovering from a head injury and to suddenly have people talking to you that no one else can see. He knows that he isn't helping anything, but the knowledge that someone alive can actually see him is impairing his judgement. He's been here for twenty years, which, sure, is barely anything compared to someone like Legend, or Sky, but it doesn't change how desperate he's been for someone, for anyone to notice him, to acknowledge that he is here, that he is real.

"Link?" Flora is saying, her voice edged with concern. "What do you mean? What are you seeing?"

"I-" Link starts. Wind is standing directly in front of him, as close to his face as he dares to be, without being in too much danger of being passed through.

"I'm calling the doctor," Flora decides, pulling her phone out of her pocket.

"I'm not a hallucination," Wind says, as Link struggles to respond. "I am very, very real, I assure you." He pauses as he racks his brain for anything he could do to prove this to Link.

His eyes widen, mouth curving into a grin as he pulls out the conductor's baton from his pocket. His high school orchestra teacher had given it to him, as a gift at the end of freshman year. For reasons he cannot explain, despite the fact that he's certain he did not have it on him at the time, the baton had appeared in his pocket shortly after his death. He may not be able to conduct an orchestra anymore, but he has discovered another use.

Wind holds up the baton, lifting it up, to the left, and to the right, before pointing it directly at Link. With the door still open behind them, his namesake blows in through the frame, lifting and twirling Link's hair in ways that defy physics. He turns to stare at Wind, mouth agape.

"Well that was strange," Flora says, brow furrowed. Wind grins. His work here is done.

-

"He can see us!" Wind says, bursting into the main room on the second floor, where he's bound to find at least one ghost.

Legend and Warriors are in the corner, engaged in what looks to be a very heated game of rock-paper-scissors. There's not really much to do when you can't make physical contact with things. Hyrule is perched on the windowsill, and seems to be describing various birds, while Twilight, laying on the ratty old couch that Dusk never did get around to throwing out, tries to guess what kind of bird it is.

Twilight sits up with a start at Wind's voice. "What? Who?"

"You know, Link. The one that just moved in. He saw me!"

Twilight frowns. "Ya sure? I ain't never hearda anyone seein' us."

"I have," Hyrule says, looking up from the window.

"Really?" Wind asks. Hyrule nods.

"'twas a long time ago," Hyrule says. "Before any of you. She used to talk to me sometimes, where no one else could hear her." He sighs, forlornly.

"Huh," Twilight says. "Interestin'. D'you know why she could see ya?"

Hyrule shrugs. "No. She could have just been magic, or had a brush with death, or–"

"That's it!" Wind says. "A brush with death. Link couldn't see us, he almost died, and now he can see us! Simple."

"I think you'd be seein' a whole lot more people talkin' about ghosts if that were it," Twilight muses. "There must be somethin' else.”

"Perhaps most people are just good at hiding it," Hyrule says. "It does not look good, to be talking to spirits." His gaze grows distant, his hand absentmindedly brushing against his neck, where faded purple bruises are still visible. "Aurora's the only person that's ever talked to me."

Twilight shakes his head. “People ain’t that good at hidin’ things. Besides, have ya seen the guy’s scars? I doubt this was his first near-death experience.”

“Maybe you need to almost die twice. Or three times. Or maybe your heart has to stop for a certain amount of time?”

“I do not know if Aurora had multiple brushes with death,” Hyrule says. “If she did, she never told me.”

“Aurora?” Wind asks.

“That was her name, the girl that could see me.”

“Hey, sorry to cut this conversation short, but ain’t that him?” Twilight says, peering around the corner, where, sure enough, Link is standing, staring right at them.

-

Link is losing his mind. There is no doubt about it, he is absolutely losing it. After everything he's been through, this is finally the thing to break him. Who would've guessed?

He walks up the stairs, slowly, because as much as he would like to just sprint all the way up there, the doctors said no strenuous activity for at least a month, so he takes them one step at a time. Flora is still on the phone with the doctor, trying to fit him in for a last minute appointment. She had suggested he go take a nap in their bedroom, and he had instantly agreed. He feels like he's going to pass out the instant his head hits the pillow.

He reaches the landing, walking through the drawing room and fully intending on reaching his and Flora's room so that he can take a big long nap and forget about the outside world. Instead, he stops right there, blinking repeatedly to try and dispel the image from his mind, but no matter what he does, it does not change the fact that right now he is seeing people in the drawing room. People that were definitely not there a few days ago, people that he has never seen in his entire life except for–is that the same boy from earlier?

None of them have noticed him yet, too engrossed in whatever conversations (or rock-paper-scissors games?) they have going on. Or maybe because they are a figment of his imagination, so why would they notice him? Maybe if he just thinks hard enough they will just ignore him.

Unless they are real. All of the doors are locked, right? And the windows, and–

He takes a deep breath, and pulls out his phone, opening up the camera app. Photos are real, photos can only reflect things that really exist, photos cannot capture hallucinations. He holds it up to where a group of people are clustered, including the boy, and takes a picture.

He looks down at the screen, hands shaking. There is nothing there. Nothing, just a couch that looks like it's about to disintegrate right there on the spot, some stained floorboards, and no sign of people anywhere.

He exhales, shoulders drooping. Still a hallucination, which is not really better, but at least he doesn't have to deal with kicking a bunch of strangers out of his house. (It feels so strange to be calling this his house.)

He glances up and down at the photo and the room, trying to convince his brain that there's nothing there, that the conversations he's hearing aren't real, no matter how they may feel. The couch is the same, the windows are the same, everything about the room is the same. He looks down at the photo again, frowning. Except for that weird spot of light, right in the same spot where one of the people is standing. There is a window right there, so it could very likely just be a trick of the sunlight, but something still feels off. He remembers the wind, blowing his hair in exactly the same direction that the boy pointed his wand.

Strange, Flora had called it. He is inclined to agree with her.

He sighs, placing his phone back in his pocket. He really does need a nap, maybe that would fix everything. He is just about to start walking to his bedroom when--

"Hey!"

Link jumps, his neck jolting painfully in the brace. He winces.

"Sorry! So, ya really can see us. Wind wasn't lyin'"

There is a man standing, directly in front of him, where there definitely wasn't anyone before. He's a little taller than Link, though not by much, and wearing some sort of scout-leader uniform that Link has only seen in old movies. The man also has strange tattoos on his face, and a bullet hole in his chest, slowly weeping blood.

Link steps backwards, his chest tightening with panic. He doesn't do well with strangers talking to him at the best of times, and these are definitely not the best of times.

"Hey, I know how this must seem, but I promise you're not goin' crazy." The man's voice is soft, gentle, and somehow that only makes everything worse. Link wants to turn around and leave, to get in the car and drive away and never come back, but his feet remain rooted to the spot.

"Oh!" the man says. "I almost forgot. Call me Twilight, nice to meetcha!" He holds out his hand and Link, mind working on autopilot, tries to take it, only for it to go right through. Startled, he nearly falls over, but manages to catch himself.

The man– Twilight, doubles over. "Forgot about that," he says weakly. "Been so long since I've interacted with someone livin'"

"’m Link," Link manages to force out. Twilight grins at him.

"Me too!" he says. "Twilight's just a nickname." He pauses. “You, uh, I know ya think you’re just seein’ things. An’ I can’t blame ya. I did too, at first.”

He can’t be real. He just can’t, it doesn’t make any sense. This is just a hallucination, and he just needs to go back to the doctor and run whatever tests and take whatever medication and this will all go away. He shuts his eyes, but the man’s voice does not go away, the sounds of conversation in the background do not go away.

(Someone is arguing about whether guns should be allowed in rock-paper-scissors or not. Why would his brain choose to imagine that?)

He opens his eyes again. Twilight is still standing there, staring at him, his eyes filled with concern. He looks so real that Link pulls out his phone again to try and convince himself otherwise. He points the camera directly at Twilight's face. Nothing, it just reflects the same empty room back at him, not even a disturbance in the air where Twilight is standing. Not real.

“Oh!” Twilight says. “That’s got internet on it, right?”

Link nods. The signal out here really isn’t great, but he’s never been one to care about that. Staring at screens too long gives him a headache, anyway. Why would a figment of his imagination ask about that?

“Cantcha look up old newspapers on it?”

Again, Link nods. He shouldn't be responding to the man, he shouldn't be allowing this to continue, he should be running as far away as he can and trying to forget this whole thing, but for some strange reason, he finds himself opening up the internet browser.

“June 14, 1983. That’s the day I died. My real name’s Link Ordon.”

Link dutifully types in the date, and the name, and his stomach drops at what he sees. Multiple articles, all talking about the same thing. Local scout leader murdered on the grounds of Hyrule Castle. He opens up one of the links, and staring back at him is a photo of the man. He’s grinning in the photo, revealing sharp canines. Despite the photo being over four decades old, despite the fact that Link is sure he’s never seen this man in his life, Twilight looks identical to the photo. The same chestnut hair, the same facial tattoo, the same crooked nose.

He had read somewhere that the human brain can't actually conjure up faces out of nowhere, that all of the faces you see when you are dreaming are real people that you have met, even if it was just a random person on the street. He imagines the same thing is true for hallucinations, and he thinks he would remember seeing a face as distinct as this one.

Link is staring right at the man's obituary, listing a date of death decades before he was even born. There's no way he could've seen him in passing on the street.

He could have seen some article about this before, could have seen his face on the news, or on some true crime podcast on his youtube recommended page, but every excuse he can come up with just feels like a flimsy excuse to ignore the obvious answer.

The stupid, unbelievable, but undeniably obvious answer. He is seeing ghosts.

Link buries his head in his hands, flooded with embarrassment. "Oh goddesses..." he mutters. He looks back up at Twilight, suddenly seeing the man in a new light. "I'm so sorry," he says. "You're real. Oh Hylia...you're real."

"S'okay," Twilight says. "I wouldn't've believed me either." He pauses. "D'you...wanna meet the others?"

Link looks back up at him, face paling. "Others? How many of you are there?"

Twilight starts counting on his fingers, muttering to himself. "Eight, includin' me," he says.

"And they're all--"

"Dead? Yep."

-

They had decided to go talk to the guy one at a time, so as not to spook him too bad. Twilight went first, because Wind and Hyrule both decided that he's the nicest, and the best with people. Besides, Hyrule had said, Wind already got his turn.

Warriors and Legend are still arguing in the corner of the room, oblivious to what's been happening. How an argument about rock-paper-scissors can stretch on this long, Wind doesn't know, but at least they aren't being too loud about it.

Wind sits on the couch backwards, head hanging off the edge and nearly touching the floor, while Hyrule is perched on one of the armrests. From this point, the conversation between Twilight and Link seems to be going well, but it's hard to really tell when they are both upside-down. He hears bits and pieces of their words, enough to tell when it is exactly that Link starts to believe him.

He grins, sitting back up and jumping to his feet. "He did it!" he says to Hyrule. "Twilight convinced him!"

Link jumps at the sudden sound, head turning towards Wind. He can't find it in himself to be sorry, not really.

"So you believe me?" Wind asks. "That I'm real?"

Link nods, and Wind can see the way he finally looks at him for the first time, the way his gaze softens and his mouth curves into a frown, the way his eyes fill with pity.

Wind can't blame the guy, but he still hates it. The way that they all look at him, the way that they all feel sorry for him. He gets it! He understands, he knows that he's the youngest one here, and it's not like he wanted to die at fourteen years old, it's not like he wanted to watch as Tetra gets older and older every time she visits while he stays here, exactly the same, but that doesn't mean they have to treat him like that!

He doesn't like to dwell on it, he tries not to think about all the birthdays he's missed, all the people he's left behind, all the life that he didn't get to live. He tries not to think about it because if he does, he'll just sink further and further into despair, and there's no point in that. There's no point in feeling sorry for himself because nothing can ever change what happened. But every time they look at him like that, every time they apologize and wince and treat him like a child he remembers it all and he hates it.

"I was gonna introduce him to everyone," Twilight says, snapping Wind out of his thoughts.

"Right!" Wind says, glad for the distraction. "I'm Wind. Well, really my name is Link, but since we're all named Link it can get confusing, so I'm Wind!"

"We're all named Link?" Link asks. Wind nods.

"Yep! Which means you're going to need one too. Twi can introduce you to the others, I'm gonna go find Sky."

He runs off down the hall. He does want Sky to meet the guy, but really he just needed to get out of there, to get out of Link's gaze. He hasn't seen Sky all day, but knowing him he's probably hiding out on the roof or something. The guy loves heights, and if he weren't already dead, Wind would be certain he was going to break his neck falling one day.

-

Sky is not, in fact, on the roof. Instead, he's following the new woman around her house. Flora, he thinks her name was, or at least that's what he caught from her muttering to herself.

It's impressive, he thinks, how much she still reminds him of Sun, even after all this time. They don't look all that much alike, nearly a thousand years and countless generations later, but if he really looks close enough he swears that he can see the resemblance. The golden blonde hair, the way her eyebrows knit together, that determined expression as she walks around the house, taking notes on that little device of hers. (A cell phone, Warriors calls it.)

The things he would give to gaze upon Sun's face just once more. There's a portrait, in the attic, gathering dust. The paint is cracked and fading, and it doesn't look nearly as realistic as a photograph would, but it is the closest thing he has. If he could go back in time, he would commission a thousand artists to paint a thousand portraits of her just so that he could never forget her smile, the way her freckles dot her face.

It does comfort him, somewhat, the knowledge that her descendants (their descendants) are still walking these grounds, are still standing on the earth where she once stood (where she still lies, deep beneath the ground)

Flora paces around the room, muttering to herself as Sky follows her. He has tried, over the centuries, to get to know the many people that have called this place home. Even if he cannot directly interact with him, it still helps him feel connected to the present, helps him feel real.

He could have fallen into despair a long time ago, accepting that he is doomed to be stuck here, with no end in sight. Anyone else might have, but he does still have faith. He does know that there is an end, he's seen it himself. That bright light that carries all of the other spirits up to the heavens. One day, that will be him, but for now he must believe that there is some reason for him to still be down here, that the Goddesses must have some plan for him.

He watches his great-great-great (and then some) granddaughter trip over the little step leading into the next room, the same step that Dusk had always tripped over, as did her mother, and her mother's mother. They would always say that one day they would get it removed, but they never did, the minor annoyance always falling to the wayside of something much more important.

"We'll need to get that removed," Flora says to herself. "...After everything else."

He knows that their ghosts are not really there, he has watched them all move on with his own eyes, one by one into whatever world lies beyond this plane, but he can still feel their echoes, seeped into every wall, every stone. He can see the walls that Lullaby had repainted, the flooring that Dusk had installed, and if walks just a little ways past the house he can see the stones that he himself helped lay.

"There's so much to do..." Flora mutters, staring down at her phone, fingers flying across the surface. "Schedule an appointment to get the place inspected, get Father to send me my remaining belongings, doctor's appointments for Link. And the money! Utilities are covered by the estate for now, but making this place liveable is not going to be free…" She sighs, moving to lay down on the hard wooden door. It cannot possibly be comfortable, but she lets out a little sigh of relief, her phone dropping out of her hand.

She shakes her head, one of her hairclips coming loose. Sky resists the urge to fix it, to brush her hair out of her eyes.

"Who am I even talking to? There's no one here."

"Sky! There you are!" Wind comes running into the room, barely managing to stop himself from stepping on Flora. He frowns.

"What's she doing on the floor?"

Sky shrugs.

"Well, it doesn't matter. I've been looking all over the place for you. The new guy can see us!"

"What?"

"You know, Link. Hitting his head must've done something to his brain, because he can see us now! And he's not even dead!"

"Ah," Sky says. “It hath been a longe tyme sith this hath happed”¹

“You should come say hi,” Wind says, bouncing on his feet as he walks. “Twilight finally managed to convince the guy that he’s not just hallucinating. And you can help us come up with a nickname for him!”

-

"What's your last name?" Wind asks Link, who is now sitting on the couch. Surrounding him are most of the ghosts, eager to interact with someone new. He counts eight, which means that if Twilight was right about the numbers, there's only one missing.

"Garrison," Link answers. Wind pouts.

"That's not a very good nickname," he says. "Do you have a middle name?"

Link shakes his head.

"Okay," Wind says. "Well, have you ever gone by a nickname? Like, my gramma always said I was faster than the wind, and it kinda just stuck."

Link pauses, racking his brain for anything, but coming up blank. "Some girl I knew as a kid used to call me Linny?" he offers, weakly. (Kodah does still call him that, whenever he goes back to visit Zora's Domain.)

"Yeah, no way we're calling you that," Wind says.

"Well, how did all of you come up with your nicknames?" Link asks.

"I was the fourth one here," Four says, pushing a strand of hair out of his face. It floats up, strangely, like the rest of his hair, blown back like he had just been caught up in an explosion. Judging by the ash coating the man’s face, Link thinks that’s probably not far from the truth. "That's it. We're really not very creative."

"He watz the fifthe, soothly," Sky says.¹ Link is no expert on history, but based on the armor, and the archaic speech he uses, he guesses this guy has been dead for a very, very long time.

"Wait, was he?" Wind asks, counting on his fingers. "I thought..."

"Right, I was the fourth at the time, then," Four amends, ignoring Wind. "And...let's see, Hyrule's Hyrule because we are in Hyrule. Again, we aren't very creative."

Hyrule nods. "It's true," he says.

"And Time..." Four continues, trailing off. "You'll understand when you meet him. Time is time. Speaking of which," he glances around the room, counting under his breath. "Where is Time, anyway?"

Twilight shrugs. "He'll show up eventually," he says. "He always does. Anyhow, I'm Twilight 'cause Midna used ta always call me that. We always seemed to meet each other at twilight."

"Uh huh," Link says. He looks up at Warriors, who is standing at the edge of the group, trying hard not to be a part of this conversation. "And what about you? What kind of nickname is Warriors, plural?"

Warriors chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh, yeah, it's because my favorite video game is Dynasty Warriors. That's literally it."

Huh. Based on what Warriors is wearing, Link would have pegged him for being a lot older than that, although, looking closer, he thinks that Flora would have a lot to say on the accuracy of the historical costume. If only she could see him, too.

"What's your favorite video game?" Wind asks.

"I don't really play video games," Link says.

Wind gapes at him. "You don't? How do you not play video games! Everyone plays video games!" he sighs, flopping down dramatically on the couch. "All the new games I've missed out on..."

"I do play Stardew Valley on Flora's computer sometimes."

"Stardew Valley...never heard of it," Wind says. "Wars?"

Warriors shakes his head. "Must've been after me," he says.

"See! Another video game I've missed out on. At least Wars can actually press the buttons. Promise me you'll play some more, for me?"

"Can we get back to the point?" Legend says, fingers drumming on his arms. "Nickname? Here, I have not gone yet. They call me Legend because I'm the ghost everyone is talking about when they refer to the 'Legend of Hyrule Castle.'"

"Right, that legend," Warriors says. Legend shoots him a glare.

"Ah yes, what was it thou saist I was? A hoax? A desperate attempt for attention? A doctored photograph?”

"Are you ever going to let that go?"

"Maybe," Legend says, examining his fingernails. Based on his clothing, Link would guess he’s been dead for centuries, if there is any dirt in there, it’s going to stay there forever.

“Look, I see you right now, you are very real. Come on, did you believe in ghosts when you were alive?” Warriors asks.

"Yes, of course."

Warriors throws his hands to his side in defeat.

"Nicknames! C'mon people, let's get back to it," Wind says. He stares at Link, eyes squinting. "Long hair. Blue t-shirt, blue? No, you were wearing green the other day. Scars? No, that's rude, sorry. Umm--"

"Wild!"

Link flinches at the voice, slowly turning around to see a small boy standing behind the couch, dressed in a green tunic, with a matching green hat. He stares up at Link, eyes filled with curiosity.

"That's what the girl said. She said you were wild. So that should be your nickname."

The way the boy says it doesn't leave any room for questioning or argument, just plain statements of fact. Based on the context clues he's picked up, Link is pretty sure that this is Time, a theory that is immediately confirmed by Twilight rushing over.

"Time! There ya are." He frowns. "Lookin' awful small today."

Time grins back at Twilight, grabbing his arm and dragging him away. Something about the smile feels unsettling, the way that it doesn’t quite meet the eyes, which seem much too mature for such a small boy.

"Wild, huh?" Wind says. "I like it."

Link...can live with this. It isn't exactly the most flattering nickname, but it is certainly something Flora has said many times before, when she's caught him climbing trees and eating rocks. (It is a Goron delicacy, he has told her a thousand times, but she still will never let it go.) (Nevermind the other time. That one was a dare, and he has never been one to back down from a dare.)

"Wild works," Link says.

-

The light of the moon shines from the window, through the blinds which have never actually gotten fixed. Flora climbs into bed, and Wild sighs contentedly, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Are you still...seeing things?" Flora asks. Wild pauses. He isn't sure what to say to her. He doesn't want to lie to her, but he also doesn't want to worry her even more than he already has.

"They're ghosts," he says. He's never been very good at lying.

Flora sits up, eyebrows knitting together in concern. "What?"

"They're ghosts," he repeats. "And I know how it sounds. I really thought they were hallucinations at first, but..." He grabs his phone from the nightstand, pulling up the newspaper article about Twilight he had found.

"It was him," he says. "He died right here, on these grounds, and I saw him. And I swear to Nayru that I had not seen this image before in my life, and he knew things that I did not. And the wind, earlier, that was one of them."

Flora frowns. "I'm still making you see a doctor," she says. "But...the evidence is compelling, I will admit. Purah always tells me to never rule anything out, no matter how ridiculous it sounds." Her eyes widen. "Purah needs to hear about this. If we could definitively prove the existence of ghosts...the things we could learn about history!"

Flora looks up, suddenly, her eyes darting around the room. "Is there one in here right now?"

"No," Wild says. "But I know at least one of them was following you around earlier. They said you called me wild."

Flora laughs. "I did say that. I suppose I'll have to be more careful about my words from here on out."

"You know, I thought it would be a lot harder to convince you," Wild says, flopping back down onto the bed.

"I've always wanted to talk to people from the past," Flora says. "And if it is all just a hallucination, then that's fine. But do you know how much I want this to be real? The things I could learn!" She freezes. "Is...my great-aunt here?"

Wild shakes his head. "They said that only people named Link become ghosts. Everyone else just...goes somewhere else, I guess? They didn't seem to know."

"Hm," Zelda says, pursing her lips. She pulls out her phone, and begins typing furiously. "Your name is Link, and you did die for a split second...is there a curse? Did you cheat the curse? Is that why you can see them? Can other people see ghosts?"

Wild laughs. "Can't the questions wait a few hours?" he says. "I really need to get some sleep."

"Right, of course," Zelda says, placing her phone back on the nightstand. She pulls Link closer to her.

"Love you," she says, turning off the lights.

"Love you too," Wild murmurs, as he slowly drifts off to sleep.

1. "It has been a long time since this has happened" Back
2. "He was the fifth, truly" Back

Chapter Text

Time wakes up at 6:30 am on the dot, as he always has, for as long as he can remember. He thinks he still did it before he died, but those memories are hard to reach when he's in this form. Even when he is fully grown, the memories are still hard for him to piece together. (There’s a woman with red hair, laughing at him. He thinks he knows who she is. He should know who she is. )

His memories, his body, they are all inconsistent, changing on his whims and with the weather. But he always wakes up at the exact same time, and today is no different. The grandfather clock in the corner greets him as it always does, silently. It will sound in a half hour, and it did sound a half hour ago, but now it is silent, the minute and hour hand both pointing to the 6.

He sits on the bed, feet dangling off the edge. He is too small today for them to reach the floor, but that is not always the case. Still, he pushes himself off of the bed, and lands on the floor, feet firmly on the ground. He has wondered, sometimes, why his feet stand so firmly on the ground while the rest of him passes through solid objects without a second thought. It is better this way, he supposes, better than sinking all the way through the floor to the center of the earth.

Twilight says they don't sink through the ground for the same reason that none of them are able to stray far from the house. He doesn't understand that, either.

This early in the morning, no one else is awake. It's silly, for them to be following the schedules of the living, sleeping at night and waking in the morning, silly that they even need sleep to begin with. Legend says it's part of the reason they are still here. They are dead, but some piece of them never really stopped living.

If he were still alive, he would drink a cup of coffee right now. He can still taste it, if he closes his eyes and concentrates hard enough. He wasn't allowed to drink coffee when he was this age, he thinks. Saria would never let him, no matter how much he asked.

He doesn't feel himself grow, doesn't feel his body changing. It just does, one instant he is a child, and the next he is an adult, back in the same body that he died in. He wishes, not for the first time, that Malon were here with him. She would know what to do, she always knows what to do. Knew what to do? She is surely dead by now, as much as he wishes that weren't the truth.

-

Sky climbs over the boxes stacked in the attic, slipping through the ceiling, until he’s perched atop the roof of the house. He likes it up here, being able to see across the property, and even beyond, catching glimpses of a land he’s never seen. He’s spent a long, long time up here, slowly watching as the world grows and changes around him. Even before this building existed, he would stand at the top of the castle, once the tallest building in the country, back when it was still known as Skyloft. He used to drag Zelda out of bed, and sneak her out of her rooms so she could sit up there with him, without her father’s knowledge. Sky would never allow any sort of harm to befall her, but her father still would have never allowed it.

He's running up the stairs, her hand tightly clasped against his own. Her skirts flow out from behind her, her cheeks flushed with exertion.

"Be quiet," she hisses, a giggle escaping her lips. "He might hear us!"

Sky tries to quiet his breathing as they reach the final steps, opening the door as slowly as possible to avoid any creaking. A rush of fresh air greets them as they step out into the night. Zelda shivers, and Sky wraps the sailcloth around her shoulders.

She sits down, skirts spreading out around her, as she gazes up at the sky. The moon shines down on them, more than bright enough to see by, bright enough for him to count every freckle on her face, and compare them to the stars shining across his namesake.

"It's so beautiful out here," Zelda whispers, her eyes shining in a way he so rarely gets to see. From this high up, the world is spread out around them, fields spreading out for ages and ages, twinkling lights in the village down below, where people must be sitting by their fires.

The beauty of the night sky stretches out over them, stars twinkling, dancing with color more beautiful than any painting, but Sky only has eyes for one person. Zelda doesn't notice him staring at her, too engrossed in pointing out shapes in the stars. He could stare at her face forever, memorizing all of its shapes, the slope of her nose, the way her cheeks dimple when she grins.

-

The wind whips through him, and although he cannot feel the temperature of the air, it still sends a chill through him. He shivers, pulling his sailcloth tighter around him.

“Lonely up here?” Sky jumps, nearly slipping off the roof, but relaxes when he sees the source of the voice, Time, actually climbing up the ladder from the attic, instead of just phasing through the roof. He’s an adult now, looking around the age he was when he first appeared, the age Sky assumes he was when he died.

Time settles down next to Sky, and, just for a moment, the wind stops blowing. The clouds stop moving, the sun stops its slow crawl across the sky. Just for a moment, and then motion returns to the world.

“Do you ever wonder what’s out there?” Time asks, gazing out at the rising sun, tinting the sky around it in shades of pink and orange. No matter how many times he’s seen it, the sight of the sun’s rise never fails to amaze Sky.

“Out where?” he asks. Time shrugs, gesturing all around them.

“Everywhere,” he says. “After this. Before this. Beyond the property line.

“Ye, of course I do,” Sky says. “Hou coude I noght?”¹

“How do you keep yourself sane?” Time whispers. “I feel as though I am about to snap at times.”

Sky shrugs, dangling his feet over the edge of the roof. Only a small push, and he would fall off the edge, down onto the grass below. It would not hurt him, not even a little bit. He cannot tell if it is a bad thing or a good thing, the lack of danger, the lack of consequences. Heights like this used to make him feel alive, but he isn’t alive anymore.

“Who seith I am still sane?”²

Time chuckles at this, but his eyebrows still knit together, his eye clouded with concern.

“I woot ther is somwhat after this,” Sky says. “Ther is an ende. So I am makynge the mooste of the tyme I have heer.” ³

-

Flora wakes up at 7:30 am to her phone buzzing, the sound echoing across the still mostly empty room. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she reaches for her phone and answers the call, managing a groggy “Hello?”

“Hello, sorry to be calling so early, but this is Zelda Flora Bosphoramus, correct?”

Flora sits up. As far as she can tell, the estate office is the only place that still refers to her with her father’s last name. “Please, just call me Flora,” she says.

The person on the other end is quiet for a moment. “I hear you were the one to inherit the property,” they say, voice soft.

“I–who is this?”

“Oh, right, of course you wouldn’t remember me. You were so young the last time I saw you… I’m Athena, Dusk’s daughter, your… cousin once-removed? I believe that’s right.”

“Oh,” Flora says. “Do you…um, I hope this isn’t rude, but…why didn’t you want the house?”

More silence on the other end. Flora wishes she could see Athena’s face. This is why she hates talking on the phone. In person, she could see the shifts in facial expression, fidgeting of the hands, anything to clue her in on what could possibly be going on inside of her mind, anything other than this silence.

"The last time I was at Hyrule Castle, my best friend died," Athena says, finally, and Flora's stomach drops. She suddenly feels like an awful person for bringing it up at all, surely she should have known that there must be some personal reason.

"Oh!" she says. "I'm so sorry, I didn't--"

"It's okay," Athena says. "It was a long time ago. I--" a sigh. "His name was Link. There's a memorial for him, somewhere on the property. I've never been able to work up the courage to come see it."

Flora freezes. “Link?” she whispers, before clapping a hand over her mouth. She had not meant to say that out loud.

“Yes? That was his name.”

Flora glances down at her own Link, still sleeping in the bed next to her, blankets tangled around his legs. “It’s just…my partner’s name is Link, too.”

She suddenly remembers what Link had told her, that the other ghosts. (She still cannot wrap her head around that) were also all named Link, that there was some sort of curse or something placed on this house. Link had hoped that his little brush with death had been enough to stave it off, but Flora is still more than a little concerned about staying here.

Another thought crosses her mind, just then. If all of the ghosts really are named Link then...it's possible, likely even, that Athena's friend is there among them, isn't it? He could be in here *right now* listening to her words, and she wouldn't even know. Any of them could be in here right now.

She freezes, the feeling of a thousand eyes watching her suddenly washing over her. She knows that it's probably just her imagination, that they are hopefully more polite than that, but she would be lying if she said the idea of the house being full of people that she cannot see or hear did not unnerve her.

Link shifts in bed next to her, letting out a sharp breath. She resists the urge to shake him awake, just so she can know for sure.

"I just...wanted to know how things are going," Athena says, her words snapping Flora out of her thoughts. "And if you need any help. Truth be told, I had no idea that she would leave the place to you. I had thought she would have left it to some historical society."

“I had no idea either,” Flora says. “I think we’re doing mostly alright. We have an inspector coming this afternoon, so we’ll see how things are after that.” She hesitates for a moment. “Are you okay?”

Athena laughs, a laugh with no real humor to it. “I’m as good as I can be, I suppose,” she says. “I had a lot of time to prepare for this, but nothing can truly prepare you for losing your mother.”

Flora swallows back a lump in her throat. “That’s true,” she says.

“I should go,” Athena says. “Just..promise me that you’ll call me, if you need anything, okay? I know you don’t really know me, but you’re family. “

“Thank you, Athena,” Flora says. “I will.”

-

Flora goes through her morning routine exactly as she normally would, trying to ignore the invisible eyes that could be watching her at any moment. She refuses to get dressed until Link assures her that there is no one anywhere near their bedroom, and besides, he's sure that none of them would ever spy on her like that. She hopes that he is correct in that judgement.

“Link?” Flora asks at breakfast, a collection of fruits Link managed to find in the garden, surprisingly still well-maintained. She'll have to ask Athena about that.

“Yes?” Link says.

“Are any of the…all of the ghosts are named Link, correct?”

Link nods.

“Did any of them know Athena?”

“I don’t know…” Link is silent for a moment. He looks away from Flora, in a direction that from her perspective is nothing but an empty room, but she has no idea what he could be seeing. She supposes she will have to get used to this, him seeing things that she cannot, that uncanny feeling of being watched.

“Warriors knew her,” Link says, after a long moment. Flora frowns.

“That’s an odd nickname,” she says. Link laughs.

“He says it’s from a video game. They all have weird nicknames. I have one too, now. Wild.”

“Well, I’m not calling you that,” Flora says. “Accurate though it may be.” She pauses, eyes flitting to the empty space where Link has been staring, where Warriors very likely might still be. “Athena says he was her best friend.”

Link nods.

Flora frowns. “It feels wrong to not tell her,” she says. “Athena. Doesn’t he want to talk to her?”

Link shrugs. “It’s not really my–” he pauses, and turns back to that spot, clearly having been interrupted by something Warriors said.

“He’ll think about it,” Link says.

-

Hyrule sits, perched on the edge of the countertop as Wild searches the kitchen, rifling through drawers and cabinets.

"Did Dusk cook much?" Wild asks, inspecting a frying pan. "This looks brand new!"

Hyrule shrugs. "A little," he says. He's always liked spending time in the kitchen, observing. Cooking is a lot like magic, he thinks, creating something new from all of these things. He thinks back to his own life, eating nothing but potatoes and porridge, where even salt was a luxury. He can't even imagine what most of the foods he's seen people make taste like.

"She liked baking better, I think. That is what she always told people, at least. I am still not sure of the difference, though."

"Baking is cakes and breads and things, cooking is more soups and stews and stir-frys," Wild says, absentmindedly listing off foods Hyrule has never eaten in his life (existence?) as he pulls out a bottle of some unknown substance. The label is peeled off, leaving behind only a few bits of paper still stuck to it, and the bottle is tinted a dark brown, leaving no indication of the appearance of the liquid. He frowns.

"What is this?" The cork pops off the bottle with a hiss, and Wild holds it up to his nose. He grimaces, and Hyrule is suddenly glad that his sense of smell died along with him.

He watches as Wild sets the bottle aside, after declaring it not fit for human consumption, and continues rifling through the cabinets.

“What exactly are you looking for?” Hyrule asks, hopping off of the countertop and leaning over Wild’s shoulder. The cabinet is nearly empty, aside from a few empty jars and a few stray pieces of trash.

“Anything edible,” Wild says, shutting the cabinet with a disappointed sigh. “Anything at all. I want to make a somewhat decent dinner.”

Hyrule pokes his head through the next cabinet, his head passing through the wooden door, sending a shiver up his spine. Still, it does not feel nearly as bad to pass through an inanimate object instead of a living being. He scans the interior, his eyes catching on a stack of cans. He remembers Midna using these a lot, beans, he thinks. Beans are something he is familiar with.

Wild opens the door behind him, Hyrule slipping out, avoiding contact. He watches as Wild’s face splits into a grin, as he pulls out the objects.

“Canned food, perfect!” he says, inspecting the label. “Black beans, and diced tomatoes. If I could only find some spices, I’m sure I could make something good with this.”

An hour later, Wild is stirring a pot full of beans, carefully shaking in some mysterious powder he had found in one of the cabinets. He had said the name of it at some point, but Hyrule does not remember it, and even if he did, it wouldn’t mean anything to him in the first place. Either way, Wild is still stirring the pot when, out of nowhere, Wind drops through the ceiling.

Hyrule jumps aside just as Wind lands at his feet. It’s odd, the force at which he had fallen would, in any material object, make some sort of noise, but Wind’s landing is completely silent, no indication whatsoever of the event in the real world. The only proof that it happened, other than Wind sitting there, on the ground, is Wild, so shocked at this turn of events that the container of spice drops out of his hand, landing in the bubbling pot.

The room is silent for a moment, Wild and Hyrule staring down at Wind in surprise, and Wind staring back. Finally, after what feels like forever but what was most likely only a few seconds, Wild jumps into action, fishing the spice bottle out of his food.

“Well,” Wild says, staring at the now half-empty bottle in his hands. “I guess it’s gonna have to be a little extra spicy.”

“Sorry,” Wind says, sheepishly, getting up from the floor. “But it worked!” He pumps his fist triumphantly, as Warriors comes sprinting into the room.

“I told you!” Wind tells Warriors. “If we can go through walls, we can also go through floors. It’s about intent. Just like Legend told you.”

“I see that,” Warriors says, arms crossed. “But maybe you could have checked to see if there was someone down here before dropping in like that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wind says. “The point is, it worked, and you said it wouldn’t!”

“Can you go further? Underground?” Warriors asks.

Wind screws up his face in concentration, feet planted firmly on the ground, but he does not sink any deeper. He frowns. “Huh.”

“It will not work,” Hyrule says. “I have tried.” Despite there being a basement underneath this floor, he has never been able to find a way inside of it without using the actual stairs and door. Something about it being underground. Legend has a full explanation for it, but Hyrule doesn’t remember the details, and he doesn’t care much, anyways. The basement has always made him uncomfortable, even when he was still alive.

“Can we not do this in the kitchen?” Wild says, trying in vain to scrape out some of the extra spices with a spoon.

“Do what?” Flora asks, walking into the room. She grabs the spoon out of Wild’s hands, and, without looking, scoops up a bite of beans and sticks it in her mouth. Her eyes widen.

“Well, that is certainly…flavorful,” she says, coughing.

Wild gestures around him, at the ghosts he knows she cannot see. “They won’t stop talking,” he says. “Not you, Hyrule, you’re fine.”

Hyrule smiles at Wild.

Flora frowns. “...Hyrule? Which one is that?”

“Few hundred years old,” Wild says. “Maybe…1600s?”

Hyrule nods. He had never really paid attention to the year, still doesn’t, but it matches up with what Warriors had decided when he had shown up, and what the others have said.

“Interesting,” Flora says. She picks up the spice bottle (now coated in beans), turning it around in her hands. “I see you managed to find some food?”

Wild nods. “I made beans,” he says. “But..uh..”

Flora laughs. “Can’t you just add more beans? Adjust the ratios?”

“I could, if we had more beans,” Wild says. “But, alas, we do not.”

“Ah, beans,” Flora says. Wild groans, but Hyrule cannot help but laugh at the joke. He wishes she could hear him.

-

The sun slips past the horizon at exactly 7:42 pm, just as Time slips back down through the roof, down into the attic below. It’s a strange sensation, feeling as the formerly solid roof beneath his feet gives way, and he drops down below.

Sky had left, at some point, but Time had stayed, watching as the sun slowly inched past the sky, as time moved forward without him. Twelve hours and thirty-three minutes, that’s how long he spent sitting on that roof. He doesn’t know how he knows that specifically, doesn’t know how to make his internal clock stop ticking. It doesn’t matter anymore, not really, but it does bring some amount of comfort, some objective reality to a world that keeps on changing.

He walks down the stairs, taking a moment to feel the solid ground beneath his feet once again, to enjoy one of the few ways he can interact with the world of the living. Time opens the door to exit the stairwell, and is suddenly enveloped in noise.

After spending hours sitting on a quiet rooftop, the only sounds coming from trees rustling in the wind, and Sky’s occasional humming, the sheer amount of noise is nearly enough to bring him right back to his childhood shape, though he somehow manages to keep this form.

“What on earth is happening here?” Time asks, once he has successfully located the source of the sounds in the kitchen, and the room grows silent. Time blinks. He forgets, sometimes, that he is often the oldest one here, in body that is. And that, to some, it may make him seem like some sort of authority figure. He cannot fathom why, he wouldn’t trust himself to lead any sort of group.

“Wild tried to make beans,” Wind says, finally. There does appear to be some sort of pot on the stove, bubbling with what does appear to be beans. Time watches as Wild takes a spoonful, and grimaces. He unceremoniously shoves it into his mouth, barely taking any time to chew it before he swallows.

“This is your fault,” Wild says to Wind, who grins innocently back.

“A small price to pay for the pursuit of science,” Wind says. “And besides, this is all Warriors’ fault. He’s the reason I tried to do it in the first place!”

“I did not tell you to drop into the kitchen without warning,” Warriors says.

“You told me to experiment,” Wind says. “To actually try things instead of arguing whether they work or not. And it worked, so the experiment was successful!”

“It was funny,” Hyrule admits. Wild pouts.

“I thought you were on my side here!”

“I’m on your side,” Flora says, confusion painted clearly on her face. “Although I am not entirely sure what side that is.”

“Wild was cooking dinner, and Wind dropped in from the ceiling to test if he could phase through floors as well as walls, even though we’ve all known that was possible for ages, startling Wild and making him dump half a bottle of chilli powder into the beans,” Four says to Time, a bored expression on his face as he leans against the wall, arms crossed. “When did you get here?” Wind asks. Four shrugs.

“I’ve been here the whole time.”

Time shakes his head. “I’m going to bed,” he says.

1. "How could I not?" Back

2. "Who says I am still sane?" Back

3. "I know there is something after this. There is an end. So I am making the most of the time I have here." Back

Chapter Text

"Purah's coming over today," Flora says that morning at breakfast. The kitchen is enormous, far bigger than they would ever need, and the groceries they had remembered to buy the day before barely take up any space in the cabinets (now cleared of dusty cans and mysterious liquids). Still, they now at least have enough food to survive, and for Wild to scrounge up enough ingredients to make some omelettes.

"Okay," Wild says, through a mouthful of egg and cheese.

"She wants to look for ghosts. Says she's been doing a lot of research."

Wild raises an eyebrow. "What kind of research?"

Flora shrugs. "I don't know for certain, but she says she bought some new toys for us to test out. I wanted you to talk to them, the ghosts. Warn them, and maybe tell them to cooperate a little? If she finds something, this could be a huge scientific discovery, and the potential for historical knowledge is incredible! I mean, just imagine, the possibilities of having a real conversation with someone who lived hundreds of years ago, to know for certain what even one person’s life was like–"

Flora pounds her fist on the table at these last words, and then looks down at herself, apparently realizing for the first time that she had stood up. She laughs, flustered, red blush creeping across her face.

Wild smiles at her as he takes another bite of his omelette. He loves how she looks when she gets excited about things, the way her eyes light up, and her mouth curves into an infectious grin.

"Don’t worry, I'll tell them," Wild says.

-

“So,” Purah says, as she steps out of her car. “Ghosts.”

“Ghosts,” Flora agrees.”

“And only Linky can see them?”

“Yep.”

“And you’re sure he’s not just–”

“Well,” Flora says. “Not entirely. But he seems very convinced, and the things he’s said about them are very specific. And they do match up with records.”

“Interesting,” Purah says. “Well, first, before we get down to business, look at this house!” Purah spreads her arms out wide, grinning up at the massive building. “It’s so big! Man, you should let me and Robbie move our labs in here, think of all the things we could do, and then we wouldn’t have to worry about renting or setting things on fire…”

“I think you would still need to worry about setting things on fire,” Flora says.

Purah waves her off. “Just think about it, okay!”

“I’ll think about it,” Flora says. “But I’m not making any promises.”

“We can talk about this another time, and you can give me a proper tour of the place. But now, we are here for research!” She opens up the trunk of her car, which contains a cardboard box stuffed with gadgets. “Now, paranormal activity is not exactly my area of expertise, but who am I to say no to new discoveries? Robbie may have thought it was stupid, but I certainly do not.”

“What is all of this?” Flora asks.

Purah grins. “I’ve done a lot of research since you called, and I went and bought everything I could that claimed to sense ghosts. We’ve got a ouija board, a spirit box, and all sorts of doohickeys!”

She lifts up the box, as Flora directs her inside the house. Purah lets out a whistle as she steps into the building, her eyes darting around the room. Flora cannot blame her for stopping and staring, she had done the same thing when they had first arrived. The house is impressive, filled to the brim with history and art. Although it is barely larger than her father’s house (which, to be fair, is also very large), it is so much more filled with life. It feels like a place that people have actually lived in.

And died in, she supposes, which is why Purah is here in the first place. (Although, even if it weren’t for any ghosts, she certainly would have come to visit them anyways.)

-

"This is their science?" Legend asks, arms crossed as he leans against the wall. Purah and Flora have a ouija board set up on the table, and Warriors is doing his best to move the planchette across it.

The ouija board was fairly popular back when Warriors was in school, and his sister had made them both try it out once. Nothing really happened, at least, nothing that couldn't be explained by their own subconscious movements. Now, looking back, Warriors wonders if there really was someone there, standing over the board like he is now, struggling to become solid enough to move it.

Warriors is the only ghost that can become tangible enough to touch things at Hyrule Castle, but they know next to nothing about the ghosts that lay beyond its borders, aside from the occasional story from one of the older ghosts or a glimpse across the street. He wonders how common it is, to be able to interact with the living world like he can.

"Are there any spirits with us in this room?" Purah asks, her eyes scanning the room. As expected, they pass right over Warriors and Legend, with no indication that she has noticed anything where they are standing.

It's a challenge, to touch the planchette without touching either of their hands. He wishes he could tell them to lift up their hands, to just let him move it on his own, but Flora is very insistent on following the instructions exactly as they are written, from her various sources online.

"Thou canst do it," Legend says. "Just spell out something simple."

Warriors ignores Legend's words, instead closing his eyes and concentrating as hard as he can to solidify his finger, as he presses it against the wood. Slowly, slowly, the planchette begins to move, and Flora lets out a gasp.

"It's moving!" she says, her eyes widening.

"Shush," Purah says. "Be patient."

He inches the planchette forward, until finally it reaches its goal, at which point he lets go, relaxing his shoulders and sighing with relief.

Flora glances down at the board. "Yes," she reads.

"Interesting," Purah says, leaning forward to gain a closer look at the board. "You know, I would find this a lot more compelling if we hadn't had our hands on the board the whole time. There's no way to prove for certain that we weren't the ones who did the moving."

Flora glances up at Wild, who, at Purah's direction, has been standing silently in the corner of the room so as to not affect anyone's actions, but still observing.

"Did you see anyone move the planchette?" Flora asks him. Wild nods, staring straight at Warriors. Flora follows his gaze, her eyes dancing around where he is standing.

"It was Warriors," Wild says. "He's the only one who can interact with physical objects."

"Interesting..." Purah says, typing something on her phone. "And which one is Warriors?" she frowns. "Interesting name."

"Why does everyone always say that?" Warriors asks.

"Because thou hast chosen to call yourself 'Warriors', plural," Legend says.

"It's really not that strange," Warriors says. Legend rolls his eyes.

"If thou sayest so."

"It is strange," Wild says. Warriors glares at him. Legend grins.

"Warriors was Athena's friend, wasn't he?" Flora asks. Wild nods.

"Yep," Warriors says, forgetting, for a moment, that she cannot hear him.

"So that means he's the most recently dead," Flora continues. "Could that be why he can touch things?"

Wild looks back at Warriors. "Is it?"

Warriors shrugs. "How should I know? I really haven't been here for that long."

"I have never seen anyone else touch things as Warriors does," Legend says. "Not in five hundred years. And I assurest thou, I have tried."

Wild relays this answer to Purah and Flora, who both purse their lips in nearly identical expressions.

"Well," Purah says. "I know it's not how it's supposed to be done, but maybe we should let go of the planchette? See if it really can move on its own."

"Yes, please," Warriors says.

"Alright," Flora says, resetting the planchette back to its starting position. She lifts her hands up. "Go ahead, say something."

Again, Warriors wills his finger to become solid. Without their hands in the way, he doesn't have to worry about accidentally touching either of them, but it still isn't easy. It's difficult to explain, how exactly it works. Four has described it as a veil, a curtain separating their world from his. He sees it more like an ocean. When he forces part of himself to become solid, to interact with the world of the living, he doesn't find himself parting back a curtain, instead it's more like plunging into the depths of the sea. He's only just starting to get used to the sudden shock of sensation that comes with it.

His hand brushes against the wood, and, with great effort, he pushes, sliding it from letter to letter. He quickly realizes that he will need to shorten his message, as there is no way he has the stamina to say all of the things he wishes to.

Flora reads out the letters as he spells them out, as Purah writes them down in a notebook, her eyebrows knotting together as she watches the planchette move forward.

Ghosts real he manages to spell out, which is really not what he had wanted to say, but he’s on a time limit here. He tries to move it forward once again, but his energy is really spent now, and he couldn’t manage to get another letter.

“Ghosts real,” Purah repeats. She frowns. “Well, I can’t deny this is compelling evidence.” She pokes around at the planchette, examining the air for imaginary strings, weighing it in her hands. “And you’re sure you saw a ghost pushing this?” she asks, holding it up for Wild to see. He nods.

Purah shrugs. “Alrighty!”

-

"They’ve set up a recorder," Wind tells Hyrule. They're at the end of the hallway, where a small table has been set up, with a microphone and two chairs. Wind sits down in one of the chairs, leaning forward so his mouth is right up against the mic.

"Will they be able to hear us?" Hyrule asks. Wind shrugs.

"I dunno. But we might as well say something, y’know?" He closes his mouth, making mock radio static noises.

“Hello there folks, I’m Link Waker, although you might know me as Wind, professional ghost. This here is my partner, Link–”

“Of Hyrule,” Hyrule supplies.

“Link of Hyrule, also professional ghost. I’ve been doing this gig for…20 or so years, and Hyrule here has…when did you die?”

“A few centuries ago..”

“A few centuries ago! A real expert in the field. Anyways, welcome to another episode of…Ghost Talk.”

“Another episode?”

“We’re pretending. Role playing. You remember, like Warriors did at that festival here.”

Hyrule nods. “I remember,” he says, looking vaguely queasy. “When he–”

“Moving on,” Wind says. “As I was saying, another episode of Ghost Talk! Where we are ghosts, and we talk. Today’s topic: What would you do first if you were suddenly alive again?”

“Hmm,” Hyrule strokes his chin, running his fingers through an imaginary beard. “Start a fire.”

Wind stops. “What?”

"Start a fire," Hyrule repeats, staring off into the distance, his eyes filled with longing. "I just want to create something, to affect the world, to feel the warmth on my skin. So I want to start a fire."

"Well, not what I expected, but I'll take it," Wind says. He sits up straight, a thought suddenly occurring to him. "Do you think Warriors could start a fire? I mean, if we gave him a match, or a lighter, do you think he could do it?"

Hyrule frowns. "Maybe," he says. "I suppose it is worth a try."

"We should totally get him to try," Wind says. "Or...Four smells like smoke sometimes, could he start a fire?"

"I have not seen him do it," Hyrule says.

"But that doesn't mean it's impossible!" Wind says.

"What about you?" Hyrule asks. "What would you do if we came back to life?"

"Oh, that's easy. I'd eat some of my grandma's soup." He sighs, trying to imagine the taste, the feelings of comfort and home it had always brought. The memories are duller now, starting to fade. He wishes he could catch them with a net before they fly away, that he could sit in them forever.

"Do you think that in whatever world exists after this one, we will be able to eat food again?" Hyrule asks. "Because there are so many things I wish to try, things that I did not even know existed back when I was alive."

"I hope so," Wind says, and he does. He really, really does. Sky seems so certain of a world beyond this one, of a time after this. He calls it an in-between, a bridge from one world to the next.

Wind shakes his head. His thoughts are getting a bit too philosophical for his liking, he's just here to have fun. He leans back towards the microphone, trying to project his voice enough, praying that at least some of his words will be heard.

"What's the best part about being a ghost?" Wind asks. "For me it's definitely being able to phase through walls."

"I like to watch people," Hyrule says. "To see how the world has changed. So much is different now."

"Man..." Wind says. "Imagine what this place will be like in a hundred years."

"It will come sooner than you think," Hyrule says.

-

Over the years, Four has become very aware of what he is capable of, how he, and the other ghosts, are able to interact with the world. The conclusion he has come to, a conclusion that some vehemently disagree with, is that ghosts are not real.

At least, they are not real in the same way that the living are. They are not real in that their existence does not impact the world, or if it does, it's only in small, inconsequential ways. There is a saying, old, but not quite as old as Four himself; if a tree were to fall in the forest, and no one was around to hear it, does the tree make a sound?

Four is not exactly a scientist, but some part of him has always found a satisfaction in taking things apart and putting them back together, in seeing the ways things are put together, the way that things work. He may not be able to take apart this world, this realm he finds himself in, but he has come to some sort of understanding of how it works.

The way that he sees it, it's like this: There is a veil separating the world of the living from the world of the dead, and in some, small ways the ghosts are able to reach across that veil and affect things, and vice versa, with Wild being able to see them. Sometimes, when Four is around, people have complained about smelling smoke. Considering the soot still covering his clothing, he can imagine why.

All of this is to say, he is very curious as to whether any of Purah's instruments will work to detect ghosts. At least, part of him is. The rest of him is much less interested.

Another corner of his mind is afraid, that if they do successfully prove the existence of ghosts then suddenly this place will be swarming with people, people that can somehow see him, talk to him. He thinks if that were to happen he would run off to the woods at the edge of the property and hide away from society.

But, of course, it won't happen, he tells himself. If Purah were able to just purchase these devices, then surely they should have been able to prove that ghosts exist right now. If this relatively small area has eight ghosts, then who knows how many are in the rest of the world.

"Alright, how does this one work again?"

Flora is tailing Purah down the hallway, as Purah holds a small device in her hands, beeping periodically. Wild is elsewhere, supposedly working on another of Purah's projects with Twilight. Something about motion sensors, he thinks.

He is filled with the urge to grab the little device in Purah's hands and take it apart. What he would give to have proper access to modern technology, to hold a cellphone. (Part of him wonders about forging technology in this age. He wonders how much has changed.) It's been so long since he last had a project to work on. His hands itch to do something, to hold a hammer, to create anything. If only that last project hadn't blown up in his face– literally.

"This should detect any changes to the electromagnetic field," Purah is saying. "Supposedly ghosts should be able to affect it." She frowns, tapping the bottom of the device with the palm of her hand. "But this doesn't seem to be doing anything."

"Maybe there aren't any ghosts around," Flora says, which would be a reasonable assumption to make, were it not for the fact that Four is right here

He stands on the tip of his toes, trying to lean over far enough to reach the device in Purah's hands, but not lose his balance and fall into her. He shudders at the thought. Experimentally, he reaches out a hand, until it is nearly touching the device. He hovers over it, waving rapidly, but nothing seems to change, the beeping staying at a steady rhythm.

"You could set it down," Flora offers. "Maybe keep it at a stable location, instead of moving constantly?"

Purah shrugs. "I don't see why not," she says, setting the device down on the ground. They both back away from it, giving Four plenty of room to move around and conduct his own experiments.

He crouches down on the ground, right next to the device, and sticks his hand right in the center of it. Nothing happens, just the same beeping, with lights flashing to the rhythm. After several minutes of this, Purah seems to give up, picking up the device again as Four stumbles backwards to avoid her touch.

Purah begins walking again, and as she walks further and further away from Four, the beeping picks up, growing faster and faster. It seems to be at its loudest in the corner of the room, where the light doesn’t quite reach, leaving a little pocket of shadows.

"Is it detecting something?" Flora asks.

"I think so?" Purah says. "But there are a million things that could set this off, you know. It could be anything."

"True," Flora says. She sighs. "If Link were in here, we could ask him."

If Four could talk to them, he would tell them that there is not a ghost standing in that corner, but there is, in fact, a ghost right here. But, of course, if he could talk to them, there would be no need for any of their little devices, would there?

Purah shakes her head. "Linky's off collecting important data for me. And the point of this test is to see if we can detect anything without his confirmation. I am becoming more convinced, but we can't rule out the idea that he's just seeing things.

"Well, I don't think this is going to give us anything helpful," Flora says.

"Yeah, I think you're right," Purah says, looking back down at the device. She shrugs. "On to the next thing!"

Four stays in the room, examining the spot where the device had begun to freak out. Purah is probably right, there are likely many different things that could cause it to react like that, but something about these shadows don’t sit quite right with him. When he was alive, and Dot and her father had been occupying the house, there had always been little areas that caused him to feel some sort of unease. After he died, he chalked it up to the existence of ghosts, of course he felt like the place was haunted, it was!

He’s gotten quite good at ignoring them, at thinking about something else (He is really good at getting lost inside of his own head, a skill none of the others have seemed to master quite as well), but the spots of unease did not really ever go away, and this corner is bringing those feelings right back.

He leaves the room. It’s probably nothing, really. The place is already haunted enough, and besides, why would there be ghosts that ghosts cannot see?

-

"Well, that about wraps up our show," Wind says. "It's been great talking with ya!"

"This has been fun," Hyrule agrees.

"We've just got one last question: Did you believe in ghosts when you were alive?"

"Yes, definitely," Hyrule says. "Everyone did, back then. Of course the spirits of the dead stay around, where else would they go?"

Wind, admittedly, had not given much thought to the question of ghosts when he was alive. They just weren't something he had ever had any reason to think about, until he became one. He hadn't really believed that they were real, but he hadn't believed they were fake, either.

"Not really," he says, mostly just to say something different than Hyrule. Talk shows aren't interesting if the hosts are just agreeing about everything all the time. "They were just something that showed up in stories, sometimes. I guess I never thought they could be real."

"How surprised were you when you found out they were?" Hyrule asks. Wind pauses.

"I wasn't really surprised at all," he says. "It just...well I couldn't deny that it was false, and I was just so surprised at the idea of me being dead in general. I hadn't really put much thought into what comes afterwards, and then there I was, in the afterwards. If that makes any sense."

"It does," Hyrule says. He frowns a little. "I did not really...talk to many people when I was alive," he says. "Sometimes I feel like I have lived more of a life here, with you all, than when I was actually alive. Is that strange?"

Wind shrugs. "Not really," he says. "At least you don't have to miss as much."

"True. I just–"

Purah walks into the room, just as Hyrule is about to speak, and grabs the microphone right off the table, along with the little device it had been attached to.

"Can't wait to see if this picked up anything," Purah says to Flora, a grin on her face.

Wind sighs. "I guess the episode is over now," he says, standing up. "Do you think I could get Wild to set up another microphone?"

-

“So,” Flora says. “Has any of this convinced you?”

They’re standing outside again, Flora helping Purah pack all of her stuff back into the car. It’s evening by now, the sun beginning to sink below the trees, casting rather ominous shadows over the property.

“Maybe,” Purah says. “I’m not gonna be able to put any of this in a scientific paper, not without a whole lot more work, but this has definitely…opened my mind, you could say. I do still have a lot of data to go through when I get back home…I’ll see what Robbie has to say about all of this.”

Flora laughs. “I’d quite like to hear his reaction.”

“And Linky,” Purah says. “If the ghosts ever get to be too much for you, just give me a call. I found a lot of different methods for exorcisms in my research too!”

“Alright,” Link says, his gaze locked on a patch of empty grass next to them. Flora feels a shiver run through her, goose bumps suddenly appearing on her arms. She shakes them, trying to shoo away whatever ghost must be standing too close to her. Link turns his head, staring at her curiously.

“See you guys later!” Purah climbs into her car, sending a mock salute as she turns on the engine. “Maybe I’ll bring Impa around next time.”

Chapter Text

"You sure you're going to be fine without me?" Flora asks, clutching her bag as she stands in the doorway. She had only been able to take off so much time from her job as an assistant elementary school teacher. Schools been back for a few weeks now, and they had decided now was a good time for her to start, with Link mostly healed, and the logistics of the house mostly dealt with. Besides, they definitely need the money for repairs. Dusk's will had left them with a large sum, but, as they have learned over many talks with contractors and the internet, even simple repairs on a house as large and as old as this can cost a lot.

"Don't worry," Wild tells her. "We'll be fine."

"You won't fall out of any more windows?"

"I won't!" Wild says, rolling his eyes. Wind snickers behind him.

"Shut up!" Wild tells him, turning around. Flora raises an eyebrow at the exchange, her eyes following Wild's gaze.

"Whoever that is, keep an eye on them," she says, her eyebrows furrowed in concern.

Wind gives her a salute. "Aye-aye captain."

"She still can't hear you," Wild says. Wind pouts.

"I know."

"At least you won't be alone here," Flora says. "I suppose. Don't have too much fun without me! I'll be back at four."

"At me?" Four asks. Wild jumps. One thing about these ghosts, that he doesn't think he will ever get used to, is that he can't hear their footsteps, can't hear them approaching him, which, in turn, makes it very easy for them to sneak up on him.

"Four as in the time," Wild says.

"You need me to go get Time?"

Wild sighs in defeat. Why did they have to pick normal, common nouns for their nicknames? Why could they not go by regular names? Although, he supposes, "Link" is also a normal, common word outside of its (very common, he's learned) use as a name.

He glances back up at the driveway, where he just manages to catch sight of Flora driving away, before the car disappears into the forest. He yawns, blinking sleep away from his eyes. With how remote this place is, Flora's commute to work had increased significantly, which has led to her waking up much earlier. She had told Wild that he didn't need to wake up with her, but he had wanted to see her off for her first day back at work, and, truth be told, he isn't exactly fond of the idea of waking up alone in this house.

It's not even the ghosts, they've been mostly fine, respecting their basic requests for privacy. They have promised to avoid their bedroom and bathroom, although Flora doesn't trust them nearly as much as Wild, constantly asking him if he is sure there are no ghosts in the bathroom so she can shower in peace. It's just that the house is so empty, and he can't help but feel creeped out. He can't decide if its better or worse, being able to see the ghosts. If he hadn't gotten injured, he would have no real reason to believe the house is haunted, but they would still be there, wouldn't they? The thought makes him shudder. At least now he knows when he's being watched.

Well, he knows when they are watching him. The real reason he doesn't like spending time alone in here, especially in the dark corners of the stairwells and the basement, if these ghosts are real, who's to say what other paranormal creatures and spirits there are?

"Do you have a job?" Wind asks, making Wild jump, yet again. He really isn't a fan of this power of theirs.

Wild shakes his head in response. He had had a job, before the incident, which Flora half jokingly refers to as "the Calamity," had left him in the hospital for weeks, with burn scars over nearly half his body. He hasn't managed to get hired for anything since then, not for lack of trying.

"I wanted to be a pirate when I was a kid," Wind says. "Or to just…live on a boat. My granny used to take us out on her little sailboat, when we were younger. My sister and I." He laughs, hands absentmindedly wringing out his waterlogged shirt. Wild watches as the water drips down, evaporating before it can hit the ground. "I wonder if she kept doing it, after I—"

He doesn't finish the sentence, but Wild can imagine how it would've ended. He's wondered, of course, how all of them died, but it feels rude to ask. He knows he hates it when people ask him where his scars came from, and this really isn't all that different.

Some of the causes are obvious, the bullet wound perpetually weeping blood out of Twilight's chest, the way Wind is soaked through with water. He doesn't really want to know the details, but he can't help feeling curious.

Wind sighs, glancing up at Wild, some expression he can't read on his face. Annoyance? Sadness?

"The door's still open," Wind says, after a moment. Wild blinks.

He's right, the front door is still wide open, letting in the cool morning breeze. Wild closes it, suddenly alone, Wind still out on the other side of the door. He could phase right through it easily, but he doesn't, leaving Wild standing there, feeling like he said something wrong.

-

Despite the size of the house, it doesn't take long for Wild to start feeling claustrophobic. He's like a plant, Flora says, if he doesn't spend enough time outside in the sun he begins to wilt. And besides, it doesn't feel right for him to keep exploring the house without Flora by his side.

Unfortunately for him, his skin is not exactly a fan of the sun, and from the looks of it today is gearing up to be a very sunny day. He's in the middle of lathering sunscreen all over his scars when someone bursts through the door.

(When he says someone bursts through the door, he means it literally. With Flora gone, he is the only person on the property who can actually open doors, with the exception of maybe Warriors.)

That someone is Twilight, who eyes him up and down, before asking "Watcha up to?"

"Going on a walk," Wild answers, as he begins to put on his shoes, large hiking boots that Flora had bought him for their anniversary last year. Maybe a bit excessive for a stroll around the property, but you can never be too careful. Besides, they're comfortable, and Flora had bought them for him to use, not just to sit around collecting dust. (Though, with all of the dust in this house, even things that are used frequently still manage to collect a lot of it.)

"Want someone to show ya around outside?" Twilight asks.

The property manager had given them a brief tour of the grounds in the days before they had first moved in, and Flora had spent a while obsessively looking over the maps and blueprints, along with every photo ever posted online, of which, they learned, there are a lot. But the property manager had not exactly been knowledgeable, and photos and maps are not really a substitute for the real thing. So, while Wild has an idea of how large the place is, and what things are where, he does not really know the grounds.

"Okay," Wild says.

-

"Okay…a little further, a little further, there!"

Warriors narrows his eyes in concentration, trying to move the small glass bottle according to Wind's direction. After his "radio show" with Hyrule, Wind has become insistent that they find some way to start a fire, which Warriors still does not fully understand. But he figures it's probably better if he is here to supervise, before they somehow figure out a way to do it on their own, or, more likely, rope Wild into their schemes.

(And maybe, he does want to set something on fire. Just a little bit—who doesn't?)

Hyrule is crouched beneath the table, which had been set up by Flora a few nights ago, for some romantic dinner with Wild. Conveniently, she had left a glass bottle on the table, still half-full of water, and the angle of the sun, just now peeking through the trees, is enough to hit the bottle and send a beam of light onto the dry grass below. Supposedly. Wind claims he managed to do this once with Tetra, and that it had gone perfectly fine. Warriors isn't sure how much he believes that.

"Just a tiny bit to the left," Hyrule says, squinting. "It's so close!"

Warriors sighs, but does as he is told. As he slowly shifts the bottle over to the left, the reflection of the sun inside of it grows in both size and luminosity, until it looks like they've managed to bottle a small star. Hyrule and Wind gasp in unison as a small beam of light emerges, hitting the grass and sending up a small tuft of smoke.

Wind grins. "I told you it would work!" He waves his baton in the air, commanding the winds to still, and watches as their tiny flame flickers. Warriors watches it carefully, hand hovering over the bottle, ready to shove it away with all his strength once the fire grows even an inch more.

Hyrule bends down, reaching towards the fire. Warriors instinctively moves to stop him, before remembering that the fire cannot actually hurt either of them. Hyrule cups the fire in his hands, the flames casting a small orange glow on his face. Warriors is reminded, abruptly, of the nights he used to spend with Athena, in the fire pit outside of the house. He remembers the way the fire would reflect off of her face, off of the hedges surrounding her. It had been magical.

Flora had offered, to put him in touch with her. To let him talk to her, by proxy of Wild. He can't decide if it would be helpful, or just cruel to the both of them.

-

Wild and Twilight step outside, where, as expected, the sun shines bright, the last remnants of summer still clinging on. He stares, at the mass of trees near the house. The lake sparkles in the corner of his vision, the overgrown hedges of what once might have been a beautiful garden filling his vision.

He doesn't quite remember where the property line is, doesn't quite know how much of this really belongs to them, but it feels like he's stepped into some fairytale. He had thought the house alone was far too much for just the two of them, but this is so much more.

Twilight gestures to the old garden. "There used to be yurts here," he says. "S'where the kids used to stay, back when I worked here." He frowns. "It's changed so much since then."

Wild looks back at the overgrown hedges, trying to imagine what it used to look like. There are pictures, probably, if he were to look it up, but he doesn't pull out his phone. He feels small, thinking of Legend, and Sky, and of just how many people have walked these grounds, their footsteps overlapping over and over and over again.

He wishes Flora could see them to, could talk to them. Obviously he doesn't want to see her hurt, but if there were some other way to give her this ability, he would. She would love this so much, to pick apart their brains and learn everything she can about this place, about its history, her history.

"How long was this a campsite," he finds himself asking, resolving to try and remember as much as he can about this conversation, no matter how unreliable his memory can be, just so he can tell her all about it.

"Dusk started it up, with the help of her mother," Twilight says. "Probably around the '70s or so. They shut it down after I died, no one's wantin' to send their kids where someone was murdered. Can't blame 'em, if I had a say in the matter I don't know if I'd come back here either."

Wild frowns. "Why can't you leave?" he asks. "I've been wondering."

Twilight shrugs. "So've I. I'm not sure of the exact range, but none of us can go too far past the house. C'mon, let me show you."

Twilight makes his way through the woods near the side of the house, Wild following after him. After a few minutes, they reach a small wooden fence. The fence is made of ancient, rotting logs, and its a miracle that it even still resembles a fence.

"This used t'be a property line, a long time ago," Twilight says. "I don't think it still is, but it still works as a boundary for us. Step over it."

Wild does as he says. It's easy, the fence is only maybe two feet tall. The dry grass crunches beneath his feet as he reaches the other side, but otherwise nothing changes.

Twilight then tries to take a step over it, but as his foot reaches over the edge, instead of reaching the other side, he vanishes, his feet connecting with the ground a few feet away from Wild, still on the same side of the fence.

"Trust me when I say we've tried just about every way to get out of here," Twilight says. "Just don't work. For the same reason we're all named Link, if I had to guess."

"The curse?" Wild asks.

"Some of us call it a curse," Twilight says. "I dunno. There's surely somethin' happenin', but I don't claim to know anything for certain. It's just how things are."

"So you've just given up?"

"I didn't say that."

"I would call it a curse."

Wild jumps—how many times can they sneak up on him in one day? If he could, he would put a bell on all of them.

Legend is wandering towards him, his eyes fixed on some spot in the distance. "There is something within the house that is causing this," he continues, in a tone that suggests this is not the first time he's explained this. "I have seen some…unsettling things. It must be that, refusing to allow us to stray far from the house, refusing to let us move on."

"Ya seem pretty certain," Twilight says.

"I have had a lot of time to think about this, and to observe. Thou shalt understand in a few centuries, if Nayru wills it."

Twilight rolls his eyes. "If Nayru wills it, I won't be here in a few centuries."

"I used to think that as well," Legend says, "And look at where I am now." His gaze strays away from them, back to that same spot in the distance.

"My body is buried over there," he says. "Though it used to be a part of the Castle property, I have never been able to wander over there. As long as I have been here, we have always been limited to this one circle, though from what Sky has said, it seems it has shifted since the house was built."

Wild turns and looks in the same direction Legend is looking. He can't see past the trees, but he can imagine what Legend is looking at. Over that way is the Royal Graveyard, where every known direct descendant of the Hyrulean royal family is still buried. He's been there, even before all of this, because it's where Zelda's mother is buried.

"Wait," Wild says. "You're buried in the royal graveyard?"

"Yes," Legend says, suddenly very interested in his fingernails. Before he can elaborate, Twilight frowns.

"Anyone else smell smoke?"

"I can't smell anything," Legend deadpans, but he looks up, and his eyes widen. "Turn around!"

Wild turns around, and is met with a plume of smoke off in the distance, near the woods in front of the old Skyloft castle ruins.

-

"Hey, uh, Wars?"

Warriors blinks, and is suddenly met with smoke filling the air. He looks down at the ground, at the fire steadily spreading across the very dry grass. Wind is waving his baton wildly, sending gusts of wind all over the place.

Warriors stands up, grabbing Wind's wrist, forcing his hand to still. "It's too big," he says, fear beginning to build up in his chest. "More wind is just going to spread it further." He keeps his voice calm, collected, a skill he has often been praised for, but internally, he is panicking. This was a bad idea. What in Farore's name could have compelled him to agree to such a thing? It certainly wasn't Nayru.

He looks down at the scorched earth beneath him, at the fire still steadily growing. It's not big enough to be a real threat to anything, they're far enough away from the house for it to not be in any danger, but still. He should have been more prepared for this, but it seems dying has stopped the part of his brain that warns him of consequences such as this. He supposes that if there is no way for him to be harmed from this, the danger response is not as necessary.

Still, he steps back from the fire on instinct. His body still remembers what it feels like to be alive. It's strange, to see the flames right there in front of him, and not feel the heat emanating off of them. He can see the ripples in the air, but he feels nothing. Over the past decade, he's become used to the absence of sensations, but it still catches him off guard sometimes.

He does have to admit that Hyrule is right, that some part of him feels good seeing this, seeing the way that he has tangibly affected the world around him, in a way that's bigger than pushing a teacup off a table, or sending a chill down someone's spine. He just…wishes it could be something a little less destructive.

(Wind stands in front of the fire, the water still dripping off of his shirt, off of his hair, evaporating before it can touch the ground. He does not get any drier)

"What in Din's name are you doing?" Legend runs onto the scene, Wild and Twilight following close behind. "How did you even manage this?"

Warriors rubs the back of his neck, trying not to make eye contact with any of them. Twilight's eyes are wide open, staring at the scene playing out in front of him, and Warriors cannot help being embarrassed. He's in an odd position, he died at one of the oldest ages, but yet he has been here for the shortest amount of time. But he does feel responsible for those younger than him, and he feels a bit like he's failed at his task of "adult supervision."

Wild, the only one of them who can actually feel the heat, steps back from the fire. He didn't bring anything with him, he doesn't have anything to stop a fire with. Warriors glances at the burn scars displayed across Wild's skin, at his aversion to the flames, and feels horribly guilty for a moment. But that moment is short-lived, interrupted by a small voice clearing their throat.

He looks down, to see Time sitting, cross-legged on the ground, looking the youngest Warriors has ever seen him, 8 or 9 years old at the most. He pulls out a bright blue, expensive-looking ocarina from seemingly nowhere, and begins playing a melody, one that he is sure he's never heard before, yet feels strangely familiar. The sky, which had just moments ago been clear and sunny, begins to fill with dark clouds. Before long, the fire is gone, leaving nothing but a patch of burnt grass in its place.

Warriors stares at the boy sitting before him. "How did you do that?"

Time shrugs, absentmindedly tapping the ocarina with his tiny fingers. He does not say anything.

-

Flora comes home, her hair still damp from the unexpected downpour, to an oddly silent house. She turns the key in the lock, and announces her arrival, to no response. (At least, no response she can hear) All of the lights are off, and she cannot hear the tell-tale creaking of floorboards that would signal Link is walking around.

She checks the kitchen, empty, aside from a few dishes still in the sink. Link had said he would do them today, but he must have forgotten or gotten distracted, which doesn't surprise her. She makes her way to their bedroom, where she still finds nothing.

She sniffs the air. Is that smoke? Link had said one of the ghosts is said to emit the scent of smoke, is this him?

She glances out the window, and there's the answer to her questions. Link is standing there, in the middle of a blackened patch of grass, a spot she recognizes as the area they had eaten dinner a few nights ago. The grass has not been burnt and blackened a few nights ago, she is certain of that.

The fire has clearly been extinguished some time ago, and it doesn't appear to be big enough to have caused any real damage, but she still wastes no time in running back down the stairs and out into the grounds. She's out of breath by the time she reaches where Link is, but she still manages to open her mouth to shout at him.

"Link! I leave for one day and you start a fire?"

Link rubs the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. "I didn't start it," he says, directing a pointed glance to someone at his side.

"Ah," Flora says. "I see. So…how exactly did they manage to pull this off?" She scans the air around Link, trying to find any sign that someone might be there. As usual, she finds nothing.

Link launches into an explanation, pausing regularly to listen to one (or more?) of the ghosts. She really isn't sure how many of them are here right now, talking to Link, watching her. Link gestures to the glass bottle lying on the ground, telling her how they managed to reflect the sunlight through them onto the dry patch of grass.

Despite how much she knows she should be angry, Flora cannot help but be impressed. "And you're sure you weren't anywhere near here?" she asks. "They did this completely on their own?"

Link nods. "I was talking with Twilight and Legend over there, on the other side of the house. We couldn't even see them."

Flora fixes her gaze on the empty air right next to Link, near where he has been glancing. She hopes that she is managing to make eye contact with the culprit, but there's no way to know for certain. Still, she carries on like she knows exactly who she is looking at.

"Alright," she says, in a voice not dissimilar to the one she uses with her students when they are misbehaving. "This is all very impressive, and I would love to hear more about how exactly you managed this, and what else you can—" she stops. Stern and serious, remember. "Can we please not set fires on my property? If you're going to experiment like this, please at least tell Link first…or try to signal it to me in some way."

"They're nodding," Link informs her. There's a pause, and Link holds back a grin. "And Warriors and Wind say they're sorry."

"Warriors and Wind…" Flora looks back at the same spot, deciding to just assume they are both standing there. "I should invite Purah back to conduct some more experiments. I'm sure you could help!"

-

Purah loads up the file on her computer, grinning in anticipation. It's been a busy week, but she finally has some time to start going through the data she had collected at Flora and Link's house—mansion really. She still can't believe they live there, it certainly is an upgrade from their last living situation. She's beyond happy for them, they deserve this break after all they've been through in the past few years.

But she still is not entirely sure about this ghost thing. Open-minded as she is, Purah is still a woman of science, and still has a bit of a reputation to uphold, even if that reputation is as something of a kook. Nevertheless, she is very excited to see what they have found.

First up, one of the most conclusive, is the voice recording. Link tells her he instructed some of the ghosts to talk into it, to see if any of their voices would be picked up. She suspects that if it really were that simple, there would have been evidence found ages ago, but she is not one to rule things out so easily. So, she plugs in her headphones, and opens up the recording.

It starts out silent, nothing but the faint buzz of electronics and the occasional creak of ancient wood. She speeds up the footage, going through to find anything of note, until she stops, an hour or so in. The audio file shows a large spike in volume here. She hits play, and almost immediately pauses it, as she is met with very loud, very harsh static noise. Turning down the volume on her computer, she speeds through the rest of the recording. The static lasts about an hour and a half, varying in volume, until suddenly it cuts off, leaving her with silence once again.

While the recording is definitely not proof that ghosts exist on its own, she finds it very, very interesting.