Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Link always enjoyed the morning runs. Several times a week, a small group of Hylian knights—the real ones, who cared about the kingdom and not just their status—ventured out of the castle just before dawn and took a refreshing trip on the trail around the misty lake. Link liked that it was too early for most people to speak, so his quietude fit in. He liked the taste of the fog off the lake, the music of the rushes and the birds and the frogs and the beat of everyone’s feet on the dirt. He liked stretching his muscles first thing in the morning.

Today, Link lagged behind the pack, picking his own calming pace. Every so often, someone glanced behind to check on him, but these other knights never really worried about him. He'd proven himself capable and intelligent enough, despite his relatively young age. Despite them not knowing anything about what he'd experienced, before Zelda reset the timeline.

Link preferred to get dressed as usual before these runs, because it was no good practicing running without any armor, in his mind. He had only become used to the added weight in the last year or so. He mostly wore leather, preferring mobility, but the metal greaves on his boots rattled a bit with every step. Besides, getting fully dressed meant that nobody had to see most of the woody vines on his left side, the ones that made it possible for him to run in the first place. He couldn't hide the little ones that attached to his face and wound into his hair, but he could wear gloves and sleeves and trousers and boots and a leather gorget around his neck.

He knew people often tried to be nice. They were just… not used to him. Not used to anything out of the ordinary, really, judging by the way the court tended to treat the only other knight in the castle with something unusual on her face. (One of her eyes pointed a different direction, and her eyebrow drooped. Link had been surprised to get into conversation with her and realize that their experiences with people’s reactions were… quite similar.)

Just past the old oak tree that made Link’s heart squeeze a little, something unusual glinted near the lakeside. Link slowed his steps, curious. Someone ahead called back for him.

“Link? Everything okay?”

“Yes,” Link called back, waving a gloved hand. “I'll just be a moment.”

The knight continued his jogging motion but stopped making progress and turned around. “You feeling all right? Is someone there?”

Link blinked. “Not as far as I know—and yes, Gerard, I'm fine. Truly. I just want to look at the lake for a second.”

“Okay… just making sure. Yell if you need help.”

“I won't,” Link insisted with a laugh. “Go on, catch up to the others.”

“See you at breakfast!” Gerard said. He turned and continued on the path, fading into the fog and out of hearing range.

Link shook his head. Despite the court at large side-eyeing him for his tree, he had a few friends among the knights. They didn't know the extent of his experience, not exactly how he'd gained the knowledge, but he'd told a few of them that without his tree, the woody vines and branches that covered his left leg, arm, and extended to his spine and face, he'd be unable to walk. Some of the knights knew that Link needed sunshine and water, and that he grew leaves in the spring and shed them in the autumn. Some of them were genuinely good people.

But today, Link really had just seen something interesting by the lake. He backpedaled, then paused, still breathing heavily from the exertion of getting here. Early-morning chill blew past his nose and the tip of his ear. A breeze ruffled his hair and rustled a few leaves in his hair that he hadn't bothered plucking. He pushed past some tall grasses and crouched near the edge of the stone-gray lake, looking for the thing that had caught his eye.

It wasn't hard to find: a pendant sitting just inches from the water. It was brass, on a leather cord, about the size of his palm, and molded in the shape of an eye with a slit pupil. It just… laid there, not nearly muddy enough, where the lake waters barely dampened the cord. Were those rubies in the iris? Link reached forward, the leather of his glove creaking.

He closed his fingers around the metal, and something grabbed his stomach and yanked, down past the solid ground beneath his feet.

Alone on a cliff in the middle of a forest, Link sat with a sandwich and contemplated taxes.

He liked to take decisions and ideas into the forest with him—his walks and the time they gave him contained plenty of opportunity to think things over. He had to consider things like this carefully, if he was going to be a good lord of anything, much less of his childhood home.

Below him, a good hour’s ride from Ordon Village proper, a growing town of workers and their families bustled. The slowly stretching walls of a small castle shaded the temporary homes that were becoming more permanent every day. This far away, even Link’s curse-granted excellent hearing couldn't pick up the words as a stonemason called for his little group of apprentices and assistants. Smoke rose above the massive mound that served as a firing oven, wafting into the sky and joining the light clouds.

Several wooden roofs had already been installed on the castle, allowing the interiors to begin working as intended. The layout of the whole thing was clear from how high up Link sat. He knew the lines well, having approved each one. He'd argued over each one, trying to convince everyone that he just needed a house, but a lord needed a fortress—a place to store extra food, a place to keep his people should the worst happen. So he'd agreed, in the end.

Link took another bite of his sandwich and watched an older kid yank on the rope at the well. Chances were, that kid would either grow up here, or his parents would move on to another project, and so would he. Either way, providing for him and people like him would be Link’s duty. It was already, considering they were building somewhere for him to live.

Caring for people was his main priority. He needed to be able to collect excess resources and distribute them as necessary…

All that, according to the tutor Zelda had forced on him, required people who could write and had studied these things, people who'd need to be paid and housed and cared for. And where would he get that money? He wouldn't be generating nearly enough by himself, even if he did help out in the pastures.

Link sighed and finished off his sandwich. (Turkey and goat cheese. It had been delicious.) He hated money. But he hated greediness and starvation and combat more.

He wondered, vaguely, if Midna had known any of this, and how her people handled these same problems, if they did at all. His own people had failed at it just two generations back—thus the need for Zelda to choose new leaders and allies. Like him. Like Ashei. Like Shad. Like Ralis.

Link stood. He packed his things back into his bag to head back down the mountain again. This close to home, he hadn't brought more than the blanket and his sandwich, and the ever-present sword. He considered going back down the mountain on a wolf’s paws, tilting his head to better smell the waterfall nearby…

Something glinted in the lower boughs of a nearby spruce tree.

Odd. This felt too far away for anyone from the town to be exploring, and to Link’s knowledge, no trappers had been in the area. It should be completely untouched. Link approached, curious and suspicious.

A pendant hung from a branch, twisting in the breeze. It looked… purposeful. Like someone had put it there for Link to find. The pendant twisted toward him, and the lizard’s eye on the front, outlined in gemstones, gave Link pause. That couldn't be good.

Still, he reached forward, grabbing the cord. He didn't mean to, he knew what a cursed amulet could do, but he brushed the metal of the pendant itself with his little finger, and as soon as he did—

He fell, hard and fast.

A sunbeam escaped the gap in the velvet curtains, glancing across gilded leather before falling to the rug, dust drifting in the golden light the whole way.

Link crouched down to run his fingers over the book spines. Not every book had a title he could read, but the palace library was strictly organized, and he knew he was in the right spot. Zelda was in her rooms right now, as she had been for almost a week straight, working on a defense proposal. He didn't pretend to understand everything about it, but he could tell it was important to her, and what was important to her was usually important to the kingdom.

She was a good queen like that. Even before the war, she'd done a good job. People liked her. They liked him, too, just in a very different way, considering what he was and all the mystique surrounding him as a consequence.

So here Link was, looking for books to help support the Queen’s research. He removed one from the shelf and flipped though it, thinking that all the numbers and essays about crime rates looked useful. He added that to his little pile and checked the next shelf.

Once he had more books than he could carry, Link put a few back, then picked up the fjnal stack and wandered out of the shelves. He really didn't spend enough time in the library, he thought. He always had a few books near his bed, though now that he was sleeping through the night—needing sleep, which hadn't happened until after the war ended and continued to baffle him—he had less time to read.

He had less need to read, honestly, since he'd used a lot of the downtime during the war to catch himself up on plenty of topics, but he missed it. There was still so much of the world he didn't know about…

Link paused at the desk up front, dutifully using the pen there to write down the titles of each borrowed book and his name. He was careful to grip the pen softly, knowing all too well how easy it could be to break things.

His strength rated just a bit above human men, when judging how much he could lift or grip for his size. But although his skin had a touch more give than other marble, the hardness could be a problem. Link had muscle memory that didn't always feel like his own, memory more used to flesh and bone and blood, memory that sometimes didn't match his body.

—He remembered desperately pressing his hand against his leg after a well-placed strike from a monster, the panicking part of his mind sure that he was going to bleed out if he didn't find first aid immediately. Only a few minutes later did he remember that he wouldn't. He didn't have blood of any kind. He was solid stone, and a blow from a sword might crack him or break him, but it certainly wouldn't bleed him.

So he remained conscious of the way he held the pen, then adjusted the short cloak he wore and picked up his books again.

Link’s feet took him in Zelda’s direction with hardly a conscious thought. He knew the palace well, now, and he often visited her when she got too involved in something to leave. His path crossed the main hall, where he had to dodge a dog and a few kids chasing it.

“Woah, be careful,” he said mildly, stepping back twice to catch his balance after stopping hard on the rug.

One of the girls looked back as she kept running. “Sorry, Mister Hero!”

Link snorted at the name. “It’s all right!” he called back as the girl and her friends wove around a column and out to the courtyard. Several of the courtiers tsked at them, but the guards laughed more than they looked annoyed.

Children running around only meant good things. Link didn't mind them, though he did sometimes wish he didn't spend half the day trying not to trip over them if he decided to go out into town. He would leave any scolding to their guardians.

The harsh stop had reminded him of a crack in his calf, though. He needed to get that fixed before it got worse—he would never begrudge a visit to Ignac in town, but it had only been a few days since he'd returned from checking up on the kingdom’s eastern borders, and he hadn't yet had the chance.

Link suppressed a wince as he kept walking, the crack twinging with pain now that he was aware of it again.

Perhaps he should’ve taken the back way, he thought, because when he passed the small training grounds, no fewer than four bored squires fought amongst themselves for a moment before one claimed victory and broke away to come talk to him.

“I could carry those for you, if you need assistance, my lord,” she said, tossing a red braid over her shoulder.

“Not with this, thank you,” Link said, but paused. “Are you perhaps in need of something to do?”

The squire looked back at her friends, as if unsure. “Um.”

Link barrelled ahead. “Well, if you are, then might I suggest going to the kitchens, asking if anybody has taken hot tea up to the Queen recently, and if they haven't, doing so yourself? I would do it, but even I can't carry these and a tea service.”

“Tea?” The squire’s voice wobbled, like she couldn't decide if that was below her or not. “The Queen?”

“Yes.” Link nodded.

The squire stood up straighter. “I can do that, yes, sir. Calise, come on!” She called back for one of her friends.

Link exchanged a nod with one of the older knights in the yard, then continued on. He climbed three flights of stairs, taking him to the back of the castle, the most defensible part, and finally arrived at Zelda’s rooms.

He shifted his stack of books over to one arm and knocked on her door, his stone against the wood making a distinct and satisfying sound. He didn't bother waiting for an answer before twisting the knob and shouldering his way inside, knowing that Zelda might be so distracted she hadn't even heard him.

Her rooms smelled like melted candles and cold stew. Her servants wouldn't leave her with dirty dishes, of course, but the smell of things half-eaten lingered, betraying Zelda’s focus.

Link bumped open the door to her study in particular and peeked his head in. “Zelda?”

At her large, cluttered desk, Zelda startled, reaching for a violet-patterned silk robe hanging over a nearby chair and yanking it to her chest.

“What? Oh, Link.” Her posture relaxed. “Just you. You? You're back?”

Link shook his head in exasperation as he entered the study. “It's been a few days, yes. Impa told me what you're working on.”

“Ah, right.” Zelda stood and pulled her robe on, clasping it in the front over her stays, utterly unembarrassed with him there. “You didn't happen to bring any tea with you…?”

The look Link gave her made her blush, at least. He had pity as he dumped the books on a sort-of clear spot on her desk and answered. “It should be on its way. You've eaten?”

“Sometime today.” She waved a hand and crossed to look at what he'd brought her. “You?”

“No, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Right. Sorry,” Zelda said in that distracted way, the one that meant she had truly been well-meaning. It was becoming more common, people forgetting that Link wasn't exactly human.

He couldn't forget, himself, but he did wonder if he would wake up one day, fleshy and hungry and subject to disease. He'd already begun to sleep at night—almost every night, now. He… tried not to think about it. What would happen would happen. The implications could very well scare him if he dwelt too long on them.

(Ignac kept tabs on these things, though, in a neat book he wore inside his vest. Link really did need to visit him sooner rather than later, though they’d communicated via letter while Link had been at the border.)

He crossed to open the curtains while Zelda poked through the stack of books. The daylight revealed dust and dried ink, piles of discarded ideas and smooth paper. In just another day or two, if Link could judge, Zelda would emerge from her study and her rooms with perfectly smoothed hair and a perfectly written proposal which the council would review and approve almost immediately. Zelda could write well, but she could choose her people even better.

What did it mean that she insisted on keeping an unneeded Hero around the palace even after the war had ended?

“Tea should be here soon,” Link told her, turning.

“Thanks.” Zelda sat down again, book in her hands, barely looking at where she was going. “Do you… need anything?”

“Just wanted to say hello.” Link tapped Zelda’s shoulder in greeting, and she idly flapped her hand at him back, as if to return the gesture but not quite making it.

Link smiled. “I'll come by later to make sure you're still alive.”

“See you.”

She was already forgetting he still stood there, absorbed again.

He glanced at the clock on the desk and took his leave. In the hall, he passed that same squire girl and her friend on their way to deliver the Queen some tea. The last thing Zelda needed was more tea over actual food, but the girls also had some sandwiches with them, so that would help. He waved at them, then made his way to his own rooms.

Link had been there just that morning, of course, but a slight difference made him pause, then smile. He moved his pillow and picked up the folded note beneath, sealed with blue wax and a badly made impression of a familiar ring.

The… eye amulet beneath the note was strange. Link ignored it for a moment, but though the note, sweet as it was, invited Link to a meeting that night, it didn't say anything about the amulet. Link wasn't sure if Ignac had delivered this note himself or not, but surely the amulet would be connected…?

He reached out to pick the amulet up, but the moment it brushed the stone of his fingers—

He fell through the floor.

Chapter Text

Link tossed his legs over the castle wall and dropped several feet to the soft grass just outside, allowed to grow long and wild. A shock echoed up his legs from the impact, and he winced, but the mild pain was nothing, truly. He tucked his distinctive rosy hair into his heavy red cloak and spared a glance for the moon pearl tied to a cord around his neck, glowing just like its namesake up above.

After one last check in his bags to make sure he'd packed everything he needed, Link set off down the hill, away from the castle. He reveled in long breaths of cool, plant-scented breezes, so different from the candle-warmed, perfumed air of the court inside.

Strictly speaking, he didn't need to sneak out. He could go where he wanted, when he wanted, so long as he returned. But he hadn't exactly announced a trip, and he didn't want any companions, as courtiers would likely insist upon. Those advisors…

Link shook his head. He wanted to travel, really travel. To get a little dirty. He wanted to see if Hytopian food was as spicy as it had been when he’d first visited sixty years ago—not that he'd be able to eat much of it, but… he could taste it, at least.

With his hair mostly covered and makeup blended into the cold lower half of his face to make it look like skin, Link passed through Castle Town without being recognized. The nighttime hour helped, both the darkness and the limited number of people out and about. Link nearly felt like a person again, mingling in the fog with the late carriages and street lamps burning like islands in the gloom.

He still felt real when he picked an inn at the edge of town, one intended for transients who didn't want to delve into the cobbled streets. He kept his hood up inside, which wasn't that unusual. There were at least three people in the dining room who did the same, for various reasons.

(Were those horns, Link wondered. Well, as long as the person they belonged to remained peaceful. The inn wouldn't serve them if there was any hint they wouldn't be. Link would just keep his eyes open. Those, at least, were still his own.)

“Just one bed for the night, please,” Link said when the innkeeper at the counter turned to him. He pulled a few small rupees from his bag, well aware that anything too valuable could make him a target.

The innkeeper eyed him, but she took the rupees and pulled over a ledger. “Didn't think the Doll of Hyrule would grace us with their presence.”

Link caught himself before he frowned. He shrugged instead, as if it didn't matter. He'd… grown into the nickname, much as he'd hated it at first. “Just traveling.”

He counted out another fair amount of money and set it on the ledger page. He used his right hand, the one made entirely of porcelain plates, to confirm her suspicions. In the darkness, it usually wasn't easy to distinguish the porcelain from pale skin. He sometimes wore gloves, but honestly, he hated the way they further dulled his sense of touch.

“I’d appreciate it if there wasn't much fuss,” he continued, gesturing to the money.

The innkeeper blinked at him, then slipped about half of the bribe into her apron pocket, removing a small, labeled key at the same time. “There won't be. You can take this room, it's open tonight. Will you be needing a meal, as well?”

Link hesitated, then shook his head. “Just coffee tomorrow, if you offer it.”

“We do.”

“Then I'll see you tomorrow morning, thank you.” Link took back the rest of his bribe, smiled at the woman, and headed up the stairs she indicated. He checked the number attached to the key, and to his satisfaction, found it an entirely unremarkable tiny single-person room.

He locked the door and flopped on the bed, shoes and bag and all. He smiled to himself when he felt the lumps in the straw-stuffed mattress, and rolled over to face the rafters.

Lorule had closed five years ago. Link had ventured out on several trips since then, usually headed for various locales around Hyrule to check up on them at Zelda’s behest, but not since that moment five years ago had Link felt such an ache in his heart for…

He often lied to himself and called it “an unnameable something more.A” But he knew, deep down, that he longed for another adventure: another very good reason to travel, to fight, to do things with an unwavering conviction and a beacon of a goal. He felt awful about his longing. Adventure meant that people were in genuine danger, that there was a chance of failure.

But he missed it. He did.

Link stared at the ceiling for a few minutes more, fiddling with the bracelet around his wrist and watching the vague orange flicker of a lamp that hung just outside his window.

If he was being optimistic, he’d say that he felt another call to adventure in his heart. Somewhere out there, someone needed a dusty old Hero like him… He was likely fooling himself.

But a trip to Hytopia would be nice. He could stop in Labrynna on the way, take a sailboat out just to feel the breeze. Maybe he could escape the feeling of being a puppet with strings that the court fought over, even if just for a few days. He… wished Zelda was with him. She'd be missed far more than he would be, though. She'd be nice company. Perhaps someday they could take a trip away from chaperoning eyes and the gossipping silver-haired.

Eventually, Link sat up. He could at least try to get a bit of rest, and leave before dawn. Perhaps there was someone taking a cart out east—Link had learned the hard way that, even with nice boots, walking for too long was liable to grind down the porcelain of his feet. He'd find rides and hitchhike where he could, he'd done it before. And he had a few replacement parts and materials if he really needed them: those were a necessity.

Link stood to hang his cloak on the door hook, but before he could even take it off his shoulders, he had to pause. Had that amulet always been there, staring at him with that cast golden eye—no, more like bronze, with little rubies inset as the iris around a slit pupil…?

That had to be magic of some kind. Link scowled at it. If it was magical, was it good or bad? A gift, like Ravio’s bracelet, or a curse, like the mermaid? A trap?

Link hesitated, but reached out with his right hand, the porcelain one. If it was destructive, he'd rather lose that hand than have to replace his last few real fingers. He picked up the amulet—

And magic took hold of his remaining organs and yanked him down into inky blackness.

Zelda put her mittened hands on her hips and huffed, a cloud of breath escaping her mouth. “This looks a little dangerous.”

“That's why you're taking the safe route down,” Link pointed out, nodding to the little hot air balloon waiting off to the side, steaming in the cold. He knew from experience that it could be hard to steer, but all Zelda needed to do was take it to the bottom of the mountain. She was smart. She'd manage.

“And what do we do if you smash yourself on the rocks?” Zelda eyed him.

Link grinned. “Hey, it's happened before. I was always able to pull myself together then.” He laughed at his own joke. “A bit of a crash won't hurt me. Besides, you insisted on coming!”

“Because you're insisting on surfing down the most dangerous mountain in Hyrule.” Zelda rolled her eyes, but brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes.

“I've done it before.”

“I know, I watched.” Zelda snorted. She pulled a flaming chunk of rock out of her little slate, then crunched on the snow over to the balloon and climbed inside the wooden basket. “Have fun.”

“Someday I'll get you on a shield,” Link promised. He chose one from his mental inventory and flipped it down to his feet, a pretty purple one made by the Gerudo.

From the already rising balloon, Zelda called down. “Fat chance! Now go, I'm recording!”

Link smiled again, excited. He wondered if this was what adrenaline felt like, or a racing heart. Though he'd been told that his heart and brain remained intact from his mortal body, he hadn't ever felt or seen them himself. His heart never felt like it beat. For all he knew, he carried dead hunks of flesh inside his tough ceramic casing.

No matter. The cold air on his face made Link feel alive, no matter what percentage of him was physically Hylian.

He carefully chose his launch point, set his feet on the underside of his shield, and tipped his weight forward.

The snowy mountain zipped past, a blur of white and gray and blue. Link kept his balance centered and his eyes forward—for all he was used to shield surfing, it really could be dangerous if he wasn't vigilant the whole time. That was part of why he liked it so much. It was unpredictable.

Link’s green cloak billowed out behind him as he took a jump at speed, turning in the air to land on his feet once again. The green hood whipped off his head, though it remained securely clasped around his neck, and his large yellow scarf followed suit, leaving just the tighter yellow one on his head that he tied every morning. The fabric streaming behind him, along with his wide sleeves and trousers, created a little drag, which kept him going at a manageable pace.

The next jump he took left him flying through the air for a solid three seconds, weightless and laughing. He waved his hand at the hot air balloon following him, then landed hard again, wobbling just a little.

Time to focus, then.

Link flicked on his stasis sense, meant to identify things on which he could use his stasis ability. The sense highlighted his path in yellow in his eyes, identifying obstacles and moving objects. He deftly swerved around a half-obscured rock that could have sent him flying, and aimed for another jump that took him over a cliff.

He dared a trick in the air during that jump, just a little flip, and when he landed, he shouted in triumph, shoving his fists in the air. He felt good: sharp, aware, capable. His body moved exactly how he wanted it to, after the recent repairs. This next section of the mountain was the easiest, so he slowed and turned off his stasis sense, confident in his ability to navigate without it.

Or course, that moment was when a stray rock flipped his shield, and Link went flying into the snow.

It was deep snow, so he was completely fine, but his clothes were going to be soaked. His shield thunked down somewhere in the distance.

Link sighed, letting the buzz of the ride and the crash fade. Zelda would fuss.

He clambered up through the snow to wave up to Zelda again. He was totally okay, but so much for the perfect video recording.

He wasn't exactly light on his feet, so he struggled a bit getting out of the snow and up onto a solid boulder. He scowled, looking for his shield. It was a good surfing shield, and he'd be upset to lose it. He could always glide down the mountain instead, but it'd be more fun to surf down if he could get going again…

A golden glint in the snow not far away made Link smile in triumph. He ventured out and wrapped his hand around the gold, expecting a shield—

He picked up an unfamiliar Sheikah amulet and overbalanced, falling backward—

And backward, and backward.

“By the Seven Sages,” Link muttered in exasperation, looking up at the sky. He'd kept an eye on the gray blanket of clouds all morning, but hadn't so much as smelled a storm until now.

Another warm raindrop landed on his cheek, and he groaned. At least the fight was nearly over, and he knew how to end it faster if he really had to.

He spun to knock off the last geru’s head, feeding just enough magic into his sword so the burst of flame would cut through the thick scales effectively. The head dropped to the ground, and Link paused just a moment to watch the monsters dissolve into miasma, purple and black. Once he was certain he'd destroyed the entire camp, he snatched up his spoils—a few scales, a few teeth—and hurried for the wall.

Despite the years it had been since Ganon’s true death, monsters still roamed the land in packs, and towns had long ago learned to protect themselves. This one was surrounded by a tall wall made of logs lashed together with rope, with only three ways in or out. It was a simple measure, but it worked. Some of the buildings inside the wall were even older than the Queen, who'd slept for a hundred years.

The keeper of the gate saw Link coming, holding his hand up against the increasing patter of the rain, as if that would do anything.

“Hero!” he said, no doubt noting the ruby-encrusted sword in Link’s hand. “You've returned so soon!”

Link hummed. “Finished with that geru band you were having trouble with. I need shelter from the storm before I track down the rest of them.”

“Right, of course.” The gatekeeper opened the smaller door set into the larger closed gate and pulled back, allowing Link entrance into the town.

“Thanks.” Link found the closest solid shelter he could—the overhang where the gatekeepers spent their days. He would use a tree if he had to, but he preferred something a little less likely to leak.

He hadn't been out in the rain long enough for anything to start running. He checked his hands, noting the softening bits of discolored flesh, but his legs and his face hadn't gotten wet enough to liquify. At least he wouldn't scare the gatekeeper with half a melted face, even if it was the half he usually covered with his bangs.

Once upon a time, after the first defeat of Ganon and once Link had reunited with her, the Princess Zelda had used her memories of the last Hero’s writings to suggest that Link’s surely fatal chest wound could be sealed with an unusual technique: using mud made from the dust of the room and a mixture of their bloods, she'd filled the hole in his ribs.

It had worked, and Link continued to use different dirt through a second adventure and the years afterward, especially now that the very scent of his blood could bring monsters swarming from miles around.

The ability could be helpful sometimes, when Link was on the hunt and ready for them, but usually he tried to avoid bleeding. Slapping a handful of mud on his wounds usually did the trick. If he shaped it right, smoothed the surface, and used the right kind of mud, then the dirt soon hardened to something resembling flesh. He hadn't experienced any lasting issues, despite replacing muscle and skin and at least part of his internal organs with different sorts of mud, so he figured this was probably fine. He'd use the resources he had.

But the mud still acted like mud, sometimes. Getting too wet or too dry tended to result in some stinging pain and reopened wounds as the clay that Link preferred melted or flaked off his body.

The storm played a melody on the wooden roof, and Link sighed. He sat down on a bale of hay to take the weight off his feet, leaving the chairs and table for the gatekeeper, who locked the gate and came back, water rolling off his waxed cloak.

“Is it true, that you're afraid of water?” he asked shamelessly, taking his chair again. A window and a buffed mirror positioned correctly let him see the gate outside to do his job.

Link cleaned off his sword and sheathed it on his back before leaning to rest his arms behind him. “That's the rumor now, is it?”

“I've heard a few stories,” the gatekeeper shrugged. He picked up his mug again. “Some of them aren't flattering.”

“I don't think most people would admit that while I'm right here,” Link told him, but smirked along with the words. “I'm not afraid. Getting wet can just be inconvenient.”

“That doesn't actually answer anything, you realize.”

Link shrugged. “It's my business.”

“I suppose.” It didn't sound like the gatekeeper wanted to drop the subject, but Link wouldn't keep talking about it. At least he picked up on that.

Sure, Link didn't like being out in the rain, but he liked the sound and smell of it. He leaned back, not quite daring to close his eyes with a stranger so near. The rain and the hay and the fact that he'd used a fair amount of magic today all called him to rest, though…

Link sat up to pull a bit of food from his pouch to distract himself. He'd found that he didn't really need to eat as much as he used to, now that half his stomach was just dirt, but he liked to snack.

“Gatekeeper,” he began, “besides the geru and the moas in your graveyard, what other monsters have you heard of recently?”

“Looking for more?” The gatekeeper looked up from his book.

“Always. Anything to be concerned about? You hear all the gossip, don't you?” Link took a bite of a slice of cheese.

The gatekeeper sat back as if to think. “I believe a traveler was claiming to have seen a lynel wandering too close to the road out west.”

Link scowled. “A lynel out there? Huh. Yeah, I should probably check that out. Once the rain stops, though.”

“Hm.” The gatekeeper looked Link over with an expression that put Link’s senses on alert.

Monsters hid among people, sometimes. Link didn't go out of his way to expose them or murder them, because they were usually just people, but if they tried to hurt him or anyone else…

Link put his cheese away and stood, stretching his arms over his head. “I'm not sure if this rain is going to stop anytime soon. I might as well head out to a tavern while I wait. Thanks for keeping me a bit of company.”

The gatekeeper stood, and Link felt the electricity in his bones.

“Hold on, I have something for you.”

Link turned, wary, unsure if this gatekeeper was malicious or just awkward. The rain pounded on the roof above them and brightened the greens of the world outside. Link rested his hands on his hips, ready to lash out if something went wrong. Though he tried to avoid it, it wouldn't be the first time he'd gotten caught fighting in the rain, and it wouldn't be the last.

The gatekeeper simply handed him a little parcel wrapped in a dirty, undyed cloth. “We found it while scouting around the walls. Seems like magic, and we figured it would best go to you or someone else who knows about those things.”

Hm. It didn't look like a weapon. Link took the thing and let the cloth fall from around it, revealing a golden amulet about the size of his hand, shaped like an evil eye. He frowned, hovering his hand over it. “Definitely magic. Thanks. I'll find someone to identify it.” He had a few contacts at the university, and there was always the Princess or the Queen for questions like this.

“We were wondering if those are real rubies,” the gatekeeper added, pointing at the inlaid gems.

Link shrugged. “Very possibly, gems and magic are—” He picked the amulet up to inspect the angles, and a magic seized him by the chest and pulled. He choked, resisting, but the magic tore at him, and he fell—

Chapter Text

—and he fell—

Right down onto a floor of cold, packed earth. Link sucked in a breath of dust and coughed. What had that been?

“Ow…” he complained. He’d landed on a bruised shoulder and his hip. The mud parts of him there had absorbed the impact, but that didn't mean the magic erased the pain entirely.

“And that's the last cell full,” someone said. “Whatever we’re here for, it's going to happen soon.”

“I still don't think we should sit around to wait,” another voice said, lower.

“Obviously not, but I don't see a way out of this yet. Besides, we should try to figure out who it is that brought us all here.”

Link looked up to find himself in a small, earthen cell of some kind. Dirt floor, stone walls, solid door. The voices he heard echoed in through a barred window at the top of the door, one that he would be able to look through if he craned his neck. He sat up and rubbed his head. At least it wasn't raining anymore.

The first voice interrupted. “Whoever it is clearly doesn't have good intentions, and I would rather be well out of here before they return.”

“Hold on,” Link said, raising his voice to be heard. “Who are you?”

He'd been magically teleported to a dungeon with several other people. Right. He had a bad feeling about this. While the Cult of Ganon remained underground for the moment, the Eyes of Ganon were everywhere, and—

Eyes of Ganon.

Link got to his feet, hand on the wall. “Oh, I'm an idiot.”

There was silence for a moment, and then the first voice spoke again. “In what way?”

“Let me guess, you all found eyes or… amulets or something, too?”

“Yes.”

“Then I'm willing to bet that this is all the Cult of Ganon’s doing. They're making a bid to try to revive him.” Using Link’s blood. Or mud. He wasn't really sure, it would kill him either way.

“Revive him?” said a new quiet voice. “But that's impossible.”

Link shook his head, for all his new companions would see it. “No, it isn't. I would know. I was the one that—”

“But I—”

“—killed him,” Link and the other voice said at the same time.

“Huh?” Link stood up straight and went to the door to wrap his hands around the bars. If he lifted his eyes high enough, he could see into a dim corridor lit by an unnaturally steady white candle, the stone walls much like his cell. Three other doors lined the corridor across from him, and he shared this wall with two more, too.

Six in total. And that's the last cell full.

Shadows moved behind the other doors’ windows. Link caught flashes of color, skin and hair and bright eyes, but nothing concrete. Most of them seemed to be shorter than him, less able to look outside.

“Oh, can I explain?” This voice sounded younger, or maybe just… less tired. Link thought it came from behind the door across from him, where a very faint blue light flickered.

“Go ahead,” someone said.

The younger voice resumed. “Well, Link, nice to meet you.”

Link narrowed his eyes. “So you do know who I am?”

“Only as much as you know who I am. I'm Link, too. All of us are. It seems like we've all been pulled across time to sit here. We're all Heroes who defeated a Ganon—”

“Or Ganondorf,” the low voice interrupted.

“Same thing, really,” the shy voice said.

The explainer continued. “—well, I don't know, but it sounds like you defeated him, too, new Link.”

“…yeah. Twice.”

“Then you'll fit right in! Planner Link says he knew other Links—or at least other implied Links. So we aren't alone.”

Link processed that. Five other Links who'd defeated Ganon. Ganondorf. Heroes who'd encountered Eyes and been teleported here.

“Hold on, Planner Link?” someone sighed.

“Well, it isn't like I can just say, ‘hey Link!’ and have the right person look over. We're all Link. You can be… Planner?”

“That makes me sound like a piece of stationery.”

“If we need names other than Link,” Link interrupted, “then I've used—”

He paused. These were other Heroes. He'd researched what he could, with his awkward ability to read. Every Hero that had a concrete record in the castle library, from the archaic Hero of Light and his puppets to the more recent Legendary Hero, had some… unnatural element to their body. That was what Zelda had recalled when she'd helped staunch up the wound in his chest with dirt.

So Heroes would know. Some of them must be from after him, or otherwise were truly ancient. Maybe they knew things that he didn't, about how their bodies might work.

“Used what?” someone prompted.

Link shook his head and snorted in amusement. “Clay. I've used the name Clay before.”

“Why is that so funny?” asked the lowest voice, clearly baffled.

Planner Link hummed. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but is it perhaps because you are made of clay?”

“Well… partially,” Link was reluctant to admit. He rarely told anyone about it. If someone found out, it was usually because they'd seen him melt or reconstruct a part of himself.

“What's the other part?” Planner Link sounded confused.

Confused? Was he…

“Well, I started out pretty human,” Link said bluntly. “Like the rest of you, right?”

“Ah… no. I did not,” Planner Link replied.

Oh.

The lowest voice interrupted. “Excuse me? Not human?”

“I believe that several of us may qualify for that description,” the very first voice said, acidic in its politeness. “Be cautious about what you may say.”

“I'll be Clay, then,” Link said. “It fits. I like it just fine. Planner Link? Do you have something you like better?” Mostly, he was curious about what he was, if he wasn't human at all.

“Than Planner? I suppose if you’re Clay, I can be…” He paused, seeming to run a few possibilities through his mind. “Alabaster? No, that's too long…”

“Al?” suggested the younger one. “Alby? Baster. Maybe not that—”

“Let's go with Alby and prevent anything worse,” the now-named Alby groaned.

Link tried to catch a glimpse of Alby through the bars, but it seemed the man—not a man?—was caught in the cell next to him, not exactly visible from this angle. “What's alabaster? Isn't that a sort of gemstone?”

“It's a nonspecific soft white rock for carving,” Alby said. “I'm made of marble, actually, a little harder than most alabasters. But I do prefer Alby over Marble, please.”

“And you started out that way?” the first voice asked. “I didn't realize the Hero’s Spirit could do such a thing. Did you grow up?”

“Can we leave the questions for later? We're a little bit in a dungeon right now.”

“Fine. What about you, sir human-only?”

The lowest voice made a noise. “Me? Well… I turn into a wolf sometimes?”

“Oh. I have tapestries and stories of you,” Alby said, surprised. “A great hero, a great lord. The Blue-Eyed Beast.”

“Oh. Right, that.” He laughed. “I'm just… human. Unless you count the wolf thing. You know what? Call me that,” the human one said confidently. “Beast. I'll answer to it. And you, person across me? You were so quick to say you weren't human.”

“I was,” the first voice said. “But, you know, it can be very convenient to replace failing joints with porcelain.”

And Link, Clay, he recognized that. He perked up. “Are you the Doll of Hyrule?”

“You know that name?”

“You came before me,” Clay said with a nod.

“And you killed Ganon? Twice, you said?”

“Yes.”

The first voice cursed. “Why won't he stay down?”

The young voice across from Clay spoke up again. “Porcelain… Porcy? Lainie?”

“Uh,” the Link in question said, sounding a bit worried about the direction these nicknames could take. “How about just Doll? It's… it's an adequate description. And it isn't Porcy.”

“If you're sure,” Beast said with a note of hesitation. Clay understood the hesitation, thinking that the newly named Doll didn't sound overjoyed about the moniker.

“I'm sure.”

That was that, then.

The youngest hummed his assent. “Okay, so we have Clay, Alby, Beast, and Doll. I'm… ceramic, I think? And other things. Do any of you know anything about Sheikah tech?”

Clay had no idea what that was. He kept quiet.

“I know some Sheikah,” said the quiet one. “But nothing was odd about their… tech.”

“Tech isn’t an awful name, but I'm not attached to it. Cera? No, I know someone with that name.”

The quiet one spoke up again. “Well. I know that Sheik is a real name.”

“Really? Well, that fits the theme, then. I'll be Sheik.”

Alby coughed, sounding like he was covering a laugh. “I suppose it works. And then there's you, the last. Anything you'd like?”

The quiet one paused for a long moment. “I can be Oak. How's that?”

“Like the tree?” Clay asked. “Do you have wooden parts?”

“I guess, technically, yes.”

“Then,” Sheik said, “we have, in alphabetical order: Alby, Beast, Clay, Doll, Oak, and Sheik. Hm, Oak, how do you feel about being Elm instead? And then I can be… Farosh…?”

“I'm not made from an elm tree. I'm made from an oak tree. Don't you know the Deku Tree?”

“Sure, but I thought he was a cherry tree.”

“…no? There were never any cherries.”

Alby interrupted. “Let’s just stick with what we have, all right? Now that we can refer to each other properly, can we turn our attention back to trying to escape?”

“Right,” Clay said, looking back out through his little window. “What have you all tried so far?”

Link was Oak now, and he liked that name, so he would use it, thank you very much. He estimated that it had been about an hour since figuring out their names, making it about twenty-seven total hours since he'd landed here alone. He was hungry.

During that hour, Clay discovered that whatever magic had pulled them to this place had also deprived them of most of their items. Even Sheik had panicked for a moment about his “inventory” having “emptied.” Oak took that to mean that his bag had been raided, too.

“I'm stumped, then,” Beast said, sounding as tired as Oak felt.

“If only the bars were metal,” Sheik agreed with a muffled bang on his door. He'd said that several times, like they would forget.

Alby seemed the type to take charge here, and Oak wouldn't complain about that. “Anyone else? Is there anything we can try?”

“I might have something,” Clay said, hesitant. “But I'll only get to try it once, so it has to be at a good moment. I can get between the bars on this window.”

The window on Oak’s door loomed above his head, just a bit too tall to look through properly. But he thought that he'd identified where everyone was, anyway: Clay, Beast, and Alby across from him, and then Sheik, Doll, and Oak himself on this side. The way that everyone’s voices echoed made this corridor sound larger than it looked.

Oak folded his arms and leaned against the side of the wall, thinking. Without any tools or weapons other than his own body, he couldn't do much here to help. And what Clay had said first thing really did concern him: Cult of Ganon. They're making a bid to revive him.

Once upon a time, Oak had fought and defeated a man named Ganondorf who had become so drunk on power that he'd turned into a demon. He didn't really know what his current timeline’s Ganondorf was up to, other than doing the political equivalent of glaring at Hyrule, but he didn't think it would be so bad to let him remain alive. He was just a king, right? Doing best by his people?

Of course, there were worse things in the world than men turning to demons. Oak’s mental eye flashed with orange, a close call he preferred to forget about.

He needed his things back.

Usually, he felt justified in carrying his most valuable and dangerous artifacts on him. It kept them out of other people’s hands, and it wasn't like someone could easily find what he'd hidden, even if they did confiscate his bags.

But whoever had kidnapped six Heroes across time didn't seem to be normal, and if they did find the masks that Oak carried—

Bad. Catastrophically bad.

Oak didn't recognize any of the others’ stories or names, so he didn't know for sure, but honestly, any one of these Heroes could be carrying an item or a secret just as apocalyptic. That made their escape plan critical.

“If you can only do it once,” Oak said, “then only do it when you have a clear shot. I don't know about the rest of you, but I cannot leave my bag here. We have to make every moment count. We won't get a do-over.”

“Hm, that might give me an idea,” Alby muttered. “Let me think…”

Oak frowned. “You don't have something that can turn back time, do you?”

“Hm? Oh, no. That would… probably earn me attention from someone I do not desire any attention from. No, it's just a thought. Why? Do you have something like that?”

“Not anymore.”

“Yes, yes,” Doll interrupted. “Time travel, very exciting. We are all doing it right now, in fact. What's your idea?”

Alby made a sound. “It boils down to ‘escape, find our things, and leave.’ I need more information. Can we go over our assets?”

“Well, from the sound of it, nobody has any weapons or things,” Clay said. “So I'm not sure we have any assets.”

“By assets, I just mean… what do we have going for us? I don't have any weapons with me either, but I know that I can use any we might find, and being made of stone, I can pack a punch and take some damage if I have to. Clay, what did you mean when you said earlier that you have something?”

“A few spells,” Clay said dismissively, but Oak tilted his head and listened a little closer. “A shield, jumping, that sort of thing. Unless we want to wait for another day, I don't have it in me to get much lightning out, especially not if I use the fairy spell to get out, too.”

“You turn into a fairy?” Oak asked reflexively.

“Long enough to get through the bars, at least. Burned most of my magic fighting those geru, though, so that's about the only thing I can do.”

“Useful, though,” Alby said. “At least one of us is out of here.”

Oak pulled his glove off of his left hand, thinking. With a bit of mental nudging, the vines moved, unwinding his finger shapes slowly.

“The dirt seems pretty soft,” Beast added contemplatively. “I bet I could get out, too.”

Oak spoke up. “I might be slow about it, but I think I can.” He reached up through the bars and poked his hand through—his tree there started to grow down, aiming for the beam that kept the door closed. He could probably lift it just enough to get it up.

“Three out of six, then,” Alby said, sounding optimistic. “And then you can—”

A sudden open door cut him off. Oak went still, heart beating in his ears, suddenly aware of just how visible his efforts were. He'd been here for over a day and hadn't seen anyone, so whoever this was had been watching. Or keeping track in some other way.

What did they have, besides time-travel teleporting artifacts?

And where were his masks?

“Welcome to the hero hotel, my friends,” a new voice said, one with an echoing, metallic quality. Thunk, pshhh, thunk. “I hope you all are comfortable?”

Oak, trying to look through his window, held his tongue, not wanting to draw attention, but Doll didn't have the same worries.

“Hardly. Who are you and what do you want?”

“Ah, I can appreciate a captive who asks me interesting questions. Now, which Hero are you?”

Doll didn't answer the question.

Pshhh, thunk, thunk. The speaker finally wandered into Oak’s narrow field of vision.

It was… a coppery… thing. Chunky, about shoulder-height, with large arms and articulated fingers and legs bent backwards like a cat’s, but headless. It looked heavy. Every few seconds, a little plume of gray smoke emerged from the thing, though it dispersed before Oak could even smell it.

The voice seemed to come from a few vents in the front, but it kept moving, out of Oak’s sight. Two red-robed, mask-wearing people, looking much like Hylians, followed the metal thing, armed and quiet. Oak shied back as much as he could with his hand still through the bars. Those featureless masks reminded him of the Mask of Truth, except the eye was very different. It was closer to the amulet he'd picked up to get kidnapped here.

“I,” the metal thing said, “am Bah-atty.”

“Batty?” Clay said.

“No, Bah-atty. Two A. Baati. You may have heard of my brother—Vaati?”

“The immortal demon?” Oak said without thinking. He flinched and shrank down.

Baati scoffed. “Not so immortal, now, is he? No, no. He got distracted. He focused on magic and became obsessed with wishes, whereas I, the brains of the family, turned to knowledge instead.”

“So you fancy yourself a genius,” Doll said.

Pshhh, clank! “I am a genius! I built my lab here! I waited until that foolish Hero of Men perished to kickstart my plots! I designed my traveling devices, and this body! Can't you see it?”

“You're a robot?” Sheik asked, something in his voice wavering.

“This is still a prototype, my dear Hero,” Baati said with another release of smoke that Oak saw rise to the ceiling. “I simply pilot this one until I finish a better one—we’re more similar than you thought, no?”

Alby summarized, sounding reassuringly bored. “So you're Baati, very short mad scientist. What do you want with us, and who are the people with you?”

“They are my helpers, I cannot do everything alone. As for what I want… which of you lived through the conflict known as the War of Eras?”

Silence reigned for a moment, and Oak wondered if anyone had, but then—

“That would be me,” Alby said. Oak winced, unsure if he should've said anything at all.

Thunk, pshhh, thunk. “Bring that one out,” Baati instructed his “helpers.” He continued as the two, presumably, opened Alby’s cell. “Don't bother struggling, there's nowhere for you to go. I've gathered information across not just time, but split time, and let me tell you, that part wasn't easy. But I have plenty of research, and you, Hero of Eras, are perhaps my most interesting subject.”

“Hey—!” Alby said, followed by the sound of a scuffle. “Let go—that’s my cape—”

Oak looked through the window again, chewing on his lip. He hated not being able to help, even if he didn't know how he'd help. These other Heroes sounded competent to him.

His suspicions had been correct: the two robed and masked figures efficiently handled a white-haired figure into the middle of the hallway where Oak, and likely all of the others, could see him. As they pushed him into a kneeling position, Oak realized that it wasn't white hair.

Alby hadn't started as human. He'd said he was marble.

He was a statue with blue eyes and a green tunic. A living statue. A pretty one, definitely, but Oak had to pause as he processed the new information. Those blue eyes glanced around, hard and, well, stony, but when Oak met them, a sort of understanding passed between him and Alby.

Alby would be a distraction. Oak, nervous, let his arm keep growing.

Chapter Text

“There you are,” Baati said, and his machine clicked and clanked.

Sheik was too short to see through the window, but he could guess enough of what they were doing. He crouched down and pulled his scarf farther over his head, knowing that the glow beneath could change color. He didn't want anyone to suspect that he was doing something.

He switched on his magnesis rune, though he remained very careful to avoid activating it on anything. The slight light coming from beneath his headscarf shifted to a gentle pink, very different from the color of Malice. He'd used the sense before, of course—he'd turned on all his different runes to test for things he could do in here (except the Master Cycle, there wasn't room for that in this cell). This time, however, there was new information.

The magnesis sense gave Sheik a view outside his cell: every bit of metal showed up bright pink in his eyes, like some things turned yellow with the stasis sense or water turned white-blue with cryonis. Magnesis, however, allowed him to see through some obstacles. Like his cell door.

The most obvious source of metal was the… robot thing. Sheik could easily guess that's what Baati had referred to as his “body.” It reminded him of Robbie’s Cherri, but without the cute head or electronic voice. He watched it move, the steps corresponding with the sounds.

The next strange things were… other bits of metal floating in an almost humanoid shape, as if they were joints. Various weapons hung on the hips, like a hammer and a short sword. The helpers, Sheik assumed. Not real people, or perhaps not unchanged people.

Other than that, Sheik did a quick check on everyone else. Oak wore greaves, making him obvious, and most everyone wore belt buckles. Beast was entirely invisible except earrings, but Doll wore a bit more jewelry than anyone else. Alby had metal on the toes and heels of his boots, making it clear that he had, in fact, been pulled into the hall between the two sets of doors. From the angle of his shoes and the position of his belt buckle, Sheik guessed that he was kneeling.

Baati’s robot reached out a hand and touched something. “I thought the reports of a statue coming to life were exaggerated, or just propaganda. But look at you—the Hero’s Spirit is more powerful than I thought.” He sounded excited.

“What are you after?” Alby asked, still unfazed by it all.

“Immortality, what else? I want to make a body that can survive forever, replacing parts that wear out. Like you all do.”

Well, everyone but Beast, apparently, Sheik thought, but he stayed quiet.

“What do we have to do with that?” Alby said.

Baati’s robot’s hand twisted, as if cupping a chin. “You all are my missing piece. The mechanism by which the Hero’s Spirit keeps you alive is the mechanism I shall use for myself—and for our Master, of course. I'll rip it out of you if I have to.”

The robot hand made a sharp gesture, and a crack filled the room. Sheik sucked in a breath.

Alby made a pained noise. “Ow. Hey. That's my eye.”

“It was your eye,” Baati responded. “Interesting. You do feel pain.” He hit Alby again, and Alby just grunted.

Sheik grimaced. He had the means, through magnesis, to pull Baati’s robot away from Alby, but those two helpers gave him pause. Besides, he didn't know how Baati fit into the picture—was he piloting the robot from far away? Inside it? Something else? Would hurting the robot actually do anything?

“There's no need for that,” Doll interjected, sounding offended. “You can't just… distill the Hero’s Spirit out of one of us.”

“Not yet. I must make more observations. Now, statue of a Hero, answer me. How long have you lived?”

Alby took just a moment, but when he answered, his voice remained level. Whatever pain he was in, he hid it well. “About seven years.”

More than Sheik, who only remembered the last three years or so. Of course, he'd been a real Hylian before, a hundred years ago. Did that count if he only had some visions of memories, and not a recollection of a full life?

“And what gave you life in the first place? Do you remember your first day?”

“It was at the behest of whatever chooses where the Hero’s Spirit goes, I imagine. It just happened.”

The robot moved, closer to Alby’s shoes, and another crack sounded. It stepped away as if afraid of retaliation. “Be specific.”

“Hey!” That sounded like Beast. Maybe Clay. Nobody acknowledged them.

Whatever Baati had done, that had hurt worse than earlier. Alby’s tiny earrings drooped closer to the floor as if he'd bent over, and his voice strained.

“There wasn't a ritual or anything, if that's what you're wondering. The people needed a Hero, and they got one.”

“There has to be more to it than that. The Spirit chooses specific people. You are not a person.”

“I take offense to that—”

Baati's robot stepped forward again, but Sheik had heard enough. Regardless of Alby’s body composition, he was in pain, and Baati clearly didn't care. This would continue.

Sheik stood and engaged magnesis, stretching his hand out in front of him to direct the rune’s power. The wavering beam of light lifted the robot off its feet and well away from Alby's shoes, connected to Sheik’s own chest and probably making it very clear who was at fault here.

That didn't matter. Sheik could be put back together easily. He'd just had a repair and his energy stores were relatively full. He was making an executive decision to kickstart their escape.

More than one person cried out in alarm and surprise as Sheik slammed the robot into the wall none too gently with a grunt of exertion. He hoped it hurt.

“Let's go!” Sheik said, flattening his hands against his cell door and pushing like he could get out with pure force alone. He'd already tried stasis on it, but maybe if he used stasis on the beam keeping him in and used magnesis on the robot to gather force…

“Wait—” Oak spoke quietly, but Sheik didn't think anyone else heard him beneath the screech that came from Baati’s robot.

It had landed on its back, but even as Sheik watched, magnesis sense back on, those legs twisted until they lifted the robot back up in a horrifying mockery of a person. The robot moved more nimbly than it should as it circled around toward Sheik’s door.

Well. That was less than ideal, but he could work with it. The chemical water that served as Sheik’s blood, pumping around his chest and limbs and head to keep it all in line, picked up its pace. Nobody else seemed to have taken the opportunity to start an escape, so he thought hard about how he could leverage this.

Sheik couldn't regret taking the attention off of Alby, though. He backed up, but he set his jaw and watched the robot lift the beam outside his door. Hopefully this would be a good distraction for the others…? They had to make an effort to escape at some point. This felt like a good opportunity.

The door opened and didn't close, and Sheik switched off his magnesis sense to get his first good look at Baati’s robot. It was coppery, smoky, and looked rather inefficient compared to things Sheik had seen before.

“You are very interesting, too, it seems,” Baati said through the slits in front. His voice echoed oddly. “I took all your magical things. So what was that? A spell? You certainly look… different.”

Sheik pressed his back to the wall of his cell and turned his stasis sense on. He watched the yellow-lighted form of the robot and waited. “A rune.”

“A Sheikah creation, then?” Baati guessed. “You certainly have the look of it.” The robot's hand reached out for him.

This would barely work, but hopefully it would be enough. Sheik activated stasis on the robot itself, stopping it in its tracks. The timer started in his head—

Wow, he had way more time than he'd anticipated. Usually, living things were only frozen for a second or two, but the current timer had more than that. The robot didn't count as living, then, not like Sheik did.

There still wasn't enough time to dally, though. Sheik slid under the robot’s arm and dashed from the cell, kicking the door closed behind him. He picked up the beam without much effort—he could lift more than he should be able to—and slid it into place, effectively trapping Baati’s robot inside.

Good idea? Bad idea? Sheik couldn't say, but now they could start to get out of here.

He spun around and got his first look at the hallway out here and at Alby himself. He really was just a white statue with blue eyes.

Well, eye. The left one had been gouged out by a long fissure, leaving a clear view to the stone on the inside of his head.

Sheik winced. “They got you good. You okay?”

“Fine,” Alby said, too terse for that to be completely true. He knelt on the ground, arms and shoulders held by the two robed figures wearing masks that looked a lot like Yiga, but not quite. They'd also frozen as if in stasis, but without the yellow indicators Sheik could usually see. Interesting. “What did you do?”

“Froze him in time. It'll last a few more seconds, and I don't have any clue if that robot is strong enough to punch through the door.”

“What about those people?” someone asked from far too close.

Sheik jumped. A boy a little shorter than he stood next to him, and only when the boy turned his head did Sheik see the… branches that followed the curve of his face, on the left side. Tiny ones extended over his eyelid and gripped the side of his mouth. A few leaves stuck out of his hair. His left hand was less of a hand and more of a branch, though even as Sheik watched, it shifted, condensing back down into the form of one.

“Oak?” Sheik guessed.

The boy nodded. “How much longer until—”

A shattering sound signaled the break of the stasis, followed by a loud PSHHHH and a HISSS and a BLAM as the robot, presumably, hit the door. It rattled, but didn't so much as splinter.

“That answers that.” Oak’s eyes, one blue and one unnervingly green, focused when Alby grunted, the two robed figures back in action, too. Oak reached to his hip as if for a weapon, but came back empty.

BLAM. Still, the door didn't budge. They'd been solidly constructed. Sheik wondered if they were original, or recreations, or—

Alby twisted his shoulders and rammed his elbow into the robes, not eliciting so much as a grunt from the figure. He scowled, the movement squishing the broken stone of his face in a very interesting sort of way.

“I think I can help.” Sheik turned on magnesis again to latch onto one of the figures. He lifted and tossed it aside, robes fluttering, and Oak leaped forward to help with the fight.

It felt natural as anything to dig in the dirt with a wolf's paws once again. Link—well, he was Beast now, wasn't he, that would likely send Zelda rolling if she ever dropped her decorum to do something as undignified as that. Beast dug quickly, hearing the sounds of a fight outside. He'd started the hole before, for a lack of anything to do, but hadn't dared make the disturbed dirt obvious on the outside, so he had to complete it now.

Maybe he should've gone further before. That Baati didn't seem very smart, if Sheik had gotten him stuck in his own cell.

The two “helpers” had been fully unmasked as constructs. Not literally—Beast dug another inch into the dirt beneath the door of his cell—they still wore their white masks, but apparently Alby had broken one. The people were made out of metal and other parts.

Which… apparently, so were Beast’s new companions. What a strange thought. Beast poked his head through his hole and found it barely large enough to squeeze through, which he did in short order. He shook dust off his coat, then evaluated the situation:

The banging from Sheik’s cell had stopped, which was worrisome, but more immediate problems jumped out. The white figure that had to be Alby leaned on the colorful robed one that, through the process of elimination, Beast identified as Sheik. Oak stood in front, but he only had one gloved hand, and both of the helpers from before approached him menacingly. One limped, the other had a hanging arm, but that probably didn't make it impossible for them to hurt people.

“Capture them! Do whatever you must!” Baati’s metallic voice called from inside the cell.

The constructs, ignoring Beast’s new wolfish presence just behind them, advanced on Oak, who set his stance but still looked terribly fragile to Beast with those two things bearing down on him.

A pale pink light flickered over the walls for just a moment, but Beast looked up and connected the dots quickly. At the same moment that a very brown and green Clay grew full-size and dropped on one of the constructs, Beast snarled and leaped up at the other.

His teeth tore through red fabric, then hit on something rigid but soft—wood. Beast locked his jaws around the piece and pulled. He lost track of where exactly the robed thing was, but he knew he managed to damage it. It couldn't move if he ripped out enough of its wooden pieces with his big wolf teeth.

Eventually he did look up, to see Clay tossing aside one of the construct’s masks with a sneer on his face. The thing lay dismantled and still beneath him.

“They aren't real Eyes,” Clay said, his voice more familiar than his face. The white mask cracked in two as it hit the wall and dropped to the dirt.

“More real than you think!” Baati shouted from inside the cell. “We’re everywhere! Across time, across space, closer than you know, the Eyes of Ganon are united for your destruction!”

“That's nice,” sighed Doll’s voice from nearby as a dark hand with a white little finger waved from the last cell window, “but can someone please let me out of here now?”

Right. Beast used a touch more magic to unfold his body and stand on two legs, though he was unfortunately shoeless. Again. He slid the beam out of its hooks and stood back to let the door open.

Doll finally emerged, shorter than Beast had imagined, but fluffier, too: curly pink hair, puffed white shirt, long red cloak. The top half of his face was dark, and the bottom half white, but the line between the two was sharper than the few people Beast had met with similar conditions…

No, that wasn't just skin pigmentation. That was shiny porcelain.

“Am I really that beautiful?” Doll said in the flat voice that Beast already knew as his. He blinked, one eyebrow rising.

Beast blinked back. The words caught him off-guard, bringing up a memory that hadn't stirred in months. “Uh…”

“You're staring.”

“Your hair is pink,” Clay interrupted.

Doll sighed. “And we're all named Link, and you're made out of dirt. Shall we go before things get worse?”

“Beast, are you missing your shoes?” Sheik asked while Doll took them all in.

Beast looked down. He'd almost forgotten. “Oh, right.” He hurried to reach into the hole he'd dug, patting around for the boots he'd taken off and put in an accessible spot. When he turned into a wolf, his clothes and items transformed with him—except his shoes. He had no clue why. He'd lost plenty of pairs of good shoes that way, and learned to deal with it when he didn't have any.

While Beast pulled on his boots, Doll approached Alby, who used Sheik to support himself. Alby’s face looked half torn off, without the gore, and he leaned all his weight on his left leg. Beast interpreted his expression as pain, or at the very least, discomfort. At least he held a blue cape over his arm, Beast had heard his concern about it earlier. Oak crouched behind them, working on the door that led out.

“Would a brace on your leg help?” Doll asked, seeing the same things Beast had.

Alby shrugged a shoulder. “Most likely, but I have emergency mortar in my bag that would do a better job. I just don't have my bag.”

“I don't intend to leave here without our things.” Doll turned to the cell that held Baati, who'd gone quiet. “Where are they?”

A high whistle pierced through Beast’s head as he stood. His shoulder bumped into the wall and he covered his ears. The others flinched, various degrees of surprised or uncomfortable, but only Beast was in pain. Figured.

The whistle stopped.

An ominous clank-rumble sound came from the other side of the door, faint and far away but likely approaching. Beast didn't like that sound. It spelled problems.

“Let's get going,” Alby suggested. “Can everyone run? Everyone else, I mean.”

Beast hummed, and the others answered positively. Oak finished unlocking the door and stood to hold it open.

Outside, there was more stone and dirt. Beast lingered, watching the other five with sharp eyes, unsure if he could trust them to be honest about any injuries. Everyone (but Alby) moved without hesitation.

Near the door of Sheik’s former cell, where Baati had been quiet for a little too long again, Clay paused. He made a disgusted noise and reached up, and Beast caught a flash of a little white-and-black shape in the window before Clay flicked it backward into the cell.

“Eeeeeeeee—!” The shape was a creature of some sort, and the extended squeak sounded like it bounced several times on the ground before it turned into… words?

“Cursed Heroes! It'll take more than that to vanquish me! Me! Baati the Genius!”

“That was him?” Clay said flatly, peeking into the cell. “You're a mouse.”

“Minish!” screamed Baati in a tiny voice. “Baati the Minish! Baati the Magnificent! Baati the—”

“Come on.” Beast nudged Clay away from the cell door, and had Oak go in front of him so he could see everyone in the group.

One, two, three, four, five. There they were. Doll was suppressing a smile, and Sheik laughed undeterred.

This corridor bent in several directions, and at the front of the pack, Alby pointed Sheik away from the direction of the ominous sounds.

“You sure?” Sheik asked. “Because if enemies are coming from that way, there might be a storage room that way.”

Doll touched the wall, then looked at his fingers for dust as if judging Baati on his cleaning habits. “I don't think anything is going be logical here; this is obviously a dungeon of some kind.”

Beast nodded his agreement. “I vote we find the way out first. We can always come back in.”

“Could we?” Clay challenged. “We can just treat this like any other dungeon. Knock down a few walls, explore.”

Alby looked back at them, frowning. “Do you not hear that? Guards or monsters or something. That whistle must have activated a security system. I don't want to fight if we don't have to.”

“I bet we could take them,” Clay said, unbothered.

“Not without our things,” Doll argued. He closed his fingers over nothing on his chest, as if looking for something there. He frowned, more anxious than angry.

Oak nodded decisively. “I'm not leaving without finding mine. They’re too powerful to leave in anyone’s hands. At least I can control mine.”

Beast sighed. He didn't think anything was worth sticking around for longer than they had to right now, and he exchanged a suffering look with Alby. But he didn't know the way out better than anyone else, and it probably would benefit them to regain their items before leaving. Fine.

He paused and yanked off his boots again, then shoved them into Clay’s hands.

“What—” Clay started, baffled.

“I’ll see if I can lead you to your things. But if we get into a fight, I'm looking for the smell of outside.”

“The wolf.” Doll understood quickly. Beast nodded.

“Acceptable,” Alby agreed. He shifted his grip on Sheik. “Let's move.”

Beast pulled once again on his magic and dropped down in a familiar rush of aches and pains.