Chapter Text
Time is unceremoniously dumped onto a cold cell floor.
The stone is hard and unyielding, his newly acquired bruises reminding him loudly that he is without his usual plate armor. He’d woken without it, the protective metal having been stolen after he’d been knocked out in battle. He feels light without it. Bare. It’s unnerving, but the fact that random monsters likely have it bothers him more.
He still has his tunic, pants, and boots, thankfully. All other items and artifacts had been taken, which is even more worrying than his missing armor. There are several items in there that could cause some real damage if they ended up in the wrong hands…
The tattoos on his face itch, and he reaches up to rub at them. He needs to escape as fast as possible.
The door to his cell had already been slammed shut by the monster that threw him in here. It was a large, muscle-bound creature, some type of moblin or bokoblin he didn’t recognize. He’d been too dazed to notice much other than the seemingly endless stone maze that it had dragged him through. Finding his way out would be difficult… But not impossible.
Time shuffles up to standing, taking in his surroundings. There wasn’t much to see, unfortunately. The cell is built of solid stone bricks, the floor covered in dust, scraps of rubble, and questionable dark stains. The front of the cell is a wall of metal bars, cut through the middle by a door with a thick lock. He walks over and grabs the bars of the door, shaking them testingly. They barely budge.
The sound of shuffling chains reaches his ears.
“…Is someone there?” he asks cautiously.
When the reply comes, it’s dry and sarcastic. “I wish I wasn’t.”
Another prisoner… Close, by the sound of it. Time leans closer to the bars and peers out. This doesn’t improve his view much. The hallway is dim and dingy, the only light being a weak and flickering flame from a lantern near his cell door. The fire isn’t natural, glowing with an eerie greenish light that he’s only ever seen in temples or dungeons… With how ‘well-kept’ this place is, he can’t imagine his captors bothering to tend to a normal lantern with oil or candles anyway.
“Our hosts aren’t very hospitable, are they?” Time offers, attempting to add some levity. Partially for his own benefit, but also to simply be friendly. Anyone stuck in a place like this could probably use a friend. Unless the person is a horrible criminal, of course, but seeing as Time himself was just kidnapped and imprisoned by monsters for no discernable reason, it’s probably safe to assume his neighbor is in a similar situation.
“Ran out of champagne and hors d'oeuvres ages ago.”
Well, at least his company has a sense of humor. “I’ll have to make a complaint to our host.”
A strongly-worded complaint, featuring the largest sword he can find and absolutely no words at all. That is, if the rest of the Chain don’t find whoever imprisoned him in here, first.
A dry chuckle. “Sounds reasonable.”
Time keeps looking around the cell, eye keen on any small details that may help him escape. “You could help, if you want.”
An offer, Time subtly testing the waters, so to speak. This is a stranger, imprisoned just as he is, but could also be an ally. If this person also wanted to voice their opinion to their captors via deadly weapons, Time would be more than happy to offer a blade.
There’s a non-committal hum, understanding but clearly skeptical. “What’s your name, newbie?”
He blinks at the non sequitur, but answers anyway. “I go by Time.”
A pause. “…Time.”
“Yes.”
“…Like the concept?” he continues, disbelieving.
He sighs. “Yes.”
“…Ooookay, then. Your parents have strange taste.”
Time’s parent was a tree, so.
That, and the Great Deku Tree had nothing to do with his current name, unless helping him start the journey that eventually led to his title as the Hero of Time all those years ago counts.
“What’s your name?” he asks instead of acknowledging the comment.
Another pause, long enough that Time wonders if he’s going to answer. Then, distractedly, “…Hold on, I’ve gotta think of something equally weird.”
Time rolls his eye. “You could just tell me your actual name.”
There’s a scoff. “And let you have all the fun?” Time thinks this person’s idea of fun is somewhat questionable. “No, this is the most interesting thing to happen in this goddess-forsaken place since I got here. If I’m going to have a name, it’s going to be cool.”
If he’s going to… have a name? Time doesn’t press, though more questions start piling up in his mind. All he offers is a simple: “Alright then.”
Indecisive mutterings reach his ears and he listens, amused, at his neighbor’s ongoing debate. He’s suddenly thankful that he and the rest of the Chain decided to go with their hero titles, rather than make up their own nicknames. For a while they’d been using names of their occupations other than heroism, like Twilight being ‘Rancher,’ and Hyrule being ‘Traveler.’ After a while, unfortunately, even that got confusing. Many of them were travelers and Time himself lived on a ranch, for example. It made sense to change.
Plus, Time’s own previous nickname was ‘Old Man’ and he’d rather quickly opted for something different when the idea of using their hero titles came up.
Not that that actually stopped any of the others from calling him old, though.
Eventually, there’s a frustrated groan. “…Ah, screw it,” his neighbor says, apparently giving up. “Just call me Dark.”
Strange, but not any stranger than ‘Time,’ so he lets it go. “Nice to meet you, Dark,” he offers politely.
Dark scoffs, derisive. “Is it?”
“Admittedly, I’d have preferred to meet you outside of a prison,” he states. “But yes, it’s nice to have a friend in situations like this.”
“Does this happen to you often??” Dark questions, bewildered. A pause, then: “And what the hell do you mean by friend? We just met!”
If you can call talking through a solid stone wall and heavy metal bars a ‘meeting,’ but Time understands his meaning.
“Well, I doubt you’re an enemy, if you’re stuck in the same prison as I am,” he points out. Dark doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, so Time continues. “Which, fortunately in this case, I am very familiar with breaking out of such places.”
The Gerudo Fortress all those years ago is the first place that comes to mind, though he’d hardly call that a prison. It was heavily guarded though, the Gerudo living there ever watchful and wary of outsiders. Then there was the whole fiasco of breaking into Hyrule Castle as a child. All those guards should probably have been fired. Sure, they probably weren’t expecting a literal child to test their security, but he just. Walked in. Wearing a very bright green tunic, making no effort to be quiet, and escorted by a glowing fairy that made a point not to acknowledge anything involving the idea of stealth.
He misses Navi greatly. With her help, he probably would have escaped by now. She was excellent at finding hidden nooks and useful items. Time looks around his cell again, trying to catch any detail he may have missed that might help hold him to his word. The room is, to summarize, sparse.
“…They wouldn’t have put you in here if they thought you could break out,” is the eventual, doubtful, reply.
Or they’re underestimating a Link’s ability to scrape out of any situation, no matter how hazardous to their health, if given enough time, resources, and sheer dumb luck.
“We’ll see,” is all Time says. Honestly, on the off-chance Time can’t break out, he has little doubt that the rest of the Chain are working on breaking in. He’d be more worried for the structural integrity of the building, in that case. “It’s only a matter of time.”
There’s a long pause. “…Was that a fucking pun?”
“Are puns not allowed in prison?” Time asks innocently.
There’s a brief rattle of chains, then a muffled thwack sound. Time is going to assume Dark facepalmed, rather than hit something. He groans as if in pain. “I have not been in this stupid place for this long just to suffer through puns,” he seethes, aggrieved.
His neighbor’s unfortunate dislike of wordplay aside, that does bring up another question on Time’s mind. “How long have you been here?”
There’s a long moment where Dark clearly debates answering. Whether this be in protest of the pun or discomfort at the question, Time isn’t sure.
Eventually, a sigh. “…I don’t know. I stopped counting,” is the worrisome reply. “No point anyway… There’s no good way to tell apart the days in here.”
Maybe not for him, but for Time it has been two hours, forty-five minutes, and sixteen seconds since he last saw his brothers. Oddly, or perhaps not odd at all, his ability to tell the time has persisted even throughout all the portals and time-travel. “It’s currently evening, ten days past the summer solstice.”
There’s a pause, then: “…how the fuck.”
His neighbor certainly has a way with words. Time shrugs, even though Dark has no way of seeing the expression. “I have a good internal clock.”
“…Can your weird clock also pick locks?”
He would have called the question strange, if the ability to sense the passage of time down to the second wasn’t equally bizarre. “Unfortunately, no.”
Dark tsks. “Lame.”
“I’m guessing you’ve tried that?” he asks, unbothered by the comment. He eyes the metal slab welded to the door of the cell. The lock looked old, rusted and covered in grime. He hadn’t seen his kidnapper latch it, so he doesn’t know what sort of key it might use. Still, the possibilities of picking, breaking, or jimmying the lock open are there.
“I wouldn’t be here if it worked.”
Point. Time hums contemplatively. “What else have you tried?”
“I’d tell you, if I thought any of it would help you,” Dark tells him shortly. “Didn’t do shit for me.”
The reply is snappish, like most everything else Dark has said, but holds a hollow note to it. Resigned, almost. Tired. Time does not like it at all.
“We’ll get out of here, I promise,” Time says softly, changing tact and his tone.
He gets a scoff in response. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
Time presses on through the pessimism. “I have friends looking for me. I guarantee you, even if I don’t manage to break out of here, they’ll be breaking in to find me. When they do, we’ll leave together.”
The words are confident, based in the surety of having a team of highly competent and accomplished heroes as friends. If there’s anything the group is familiar with, it’s rescue missions. No matter how difficult the temple, dungeon, or prison is, they would find a way.
That is, if Time doesn’t beat them to it.
“Your friends, huh?” Is the eventual reply, still dubious. “Are they also a bunch of weirdos with a penchant for breaking and entering into places nobody in their right mind would enter?”
Time doesn’t even need to think before answering. “Oh, definitely.”
Dark sputters, clearly thrown off. “The hell kind of company do you keep??”
Time smiles fondly, thinking of the Chain’s antics. Heroes they may be, but chaos is their nature. So is delving into dangerous dungeons in the search of treasure… in this case, a treasured friend. “The good kind.”
“…If you say so.” The doubt is still present, but so is a hint of humor. Time takes it as a win.
“I do,” Time says, with confidence. “And I think you’ll agree, once you meet them.”
Time, the concept not the person, carries on and Time, the person not the concept, continues to try and fail at exiting his cell.
“Do you know where we are, by chance?” he asks, seeking distraction.
“Prison,” Dark answers, humor dryer than the sands of the Gerudo desert.
“…Do you know where the prison is,” Time rewords with a roll of his eye. He’d given up on the walls or floor as an avenue to escape, as none of the bricks within reach shifted a hair’s width no matter how hard he shoved, scraped, or kicked. The bars were a far better bet, and Time was working on wiggling a loose one back and forth. If he got it out, he may be able to slip through.
Dark had made no similar efforts. However, by the sound of it, he was chained. He likely didn’t have the mobility Time did. While the monsters had taken his gear, they hadn’t bothered to chain his wrists or feet. A foolish choice that Time plans to take full advantage of.
What Dark lacked in aid, he made up for in idle chatter. No matter the question or comment, his wit was always quick to answer. Uncertain, sometimes, like he’s startled Time is still speaking with him. There are no other prisoners, so far as Time can tell, or at least none that have made themselves known. To be left down here in the cold, dark, and quiet, completely alone for who knows how long… Time shudders. Suddenly having full conversations would no doubt seem strange, after that.
“Some temple or other,” Dark’s chains rattle, as if waving off the question. “It’s been here for ages, filled with whatever evil decides to infest it.”
Interesting, though it sounds no different than most other dungeons he has come across.
“What do the monsters want, do you know?”
Another shuffle of chains. A shrug, perhaps. “Something to do with the heroes.”
Time stills.
“Heroes?” he manages, after a beat too long.
If these monsters, or whoever is leading them, was after heroes… This all but proves that attack that ended with him in this cell had been targeted. It makes him worry for the others even more.
“Yes, plural,” Dark confirms, mistaking his question as confusion. “These idiots decided to pick a fight with all of them at once. Other than that, it’s the same shit as usual. They’re up to evil, and some hero is getting in the way. In this case, multiple.”
Time does not believe in coincidences, not after all he’s been through on his journeys. For another person to have been captured while the monsters are after heroes…
“Are you a hero?”
He has to ask. He has to know. The Chain had become like brothers throughout their journey together, if one of their own has been trapped here this whole time…
He gets a bitter laugh is response. The sound is dry and rusty, like his throat had forgotten how to make it. “Ha! No, definitely not.”
Time doesn’t completely dismiss the idea, despite Dark’s adamant denial. All of the Chain had denied being considered a hero at some point, either due to humble natures or not having some of the more ‘typical’ marks, like the Triforce brand. In Time’s case, he’d technically retired, living peaceably on Lon Lon Ranch with Malon. Hyrule considered himself a traveler, Four a blacksmith, Sky a part-time flyer and part-time napping champion, so on and so forth. Technically, all of them had completed their quests. There was no evil left to smite or countries to save, in their eras. They were done.
Until strange swirling portals appeared, tearing rifts through time.
“Why are you here, then?”
If Dark is telling the truth and he’s not a hero, then why was he captured? And if he’s been here as long as he implies, that means the monsters probably need him for something.
“What, a guy can’t just get imprisoned and tortured for no reason?”
Time chokes. “Tortured?”
“…Forget I said that,” Dark mutters. He sighs tiredly. “Look, I don’t know why I’m still here, all I know is that I pissed off a very powerful person and this is the result.” He pauses. “That, and magic bullshittery.”
Time could press. He probably should press. But the thought that this person, this prisoner, has been tortured is being held against his will for goddesses knows how long… If the guilt didn’t stop him, the call for vengeance would.
“Happens to the best of us,” Time replies tightly, as his thoughts churn… with horror over his new friend’s fate, or the many memories of other magical events that have caused him strife. He attempts to carry on the conversation as the word torture rattles around in his brain, “You seem to know a lot about their motives. Have they spoken to you?”
“Spoken to…?” Dark scoffs. “No. But they’re not exactly quiet, and these stone walls carry sound better than a drum. I overhear things sometimes.”
Time pauses his thoughts of justice to listen, and finds the claim true. Mice scurry here and there, the patter of tiny feet finding its way into his ears despite the distance being several cells away. Above them, far heavier, the thump thump thump of monsters’ feet hitting the floor reverberate like a discordant heartbeat. At the end of the hall, on the opposite side of the heavy door, a sentry snores, catches itself, and shakes back to wakefulness.
Which means the prison is on a lower level, perhaps underground, and guarded. To escape, they’ll need to look for stairs, and fight through an untold number of monsters on the way out. Possibly with minimal or no equipment, if Time can’t find his sword, shield or armor.
He has made do with less. Some additional information wouldn’t be remiss, however.
“What sort of things have you heard?”
Dark hums. “A lot, but probably nothing useful. Mostly complaints. ‘The heroes broke my favorite head-bashing club,’ or ‘they killed Steve,’ or ‘we need better plans for the plans,’” Dark pitches his voice to make the monsters sound whiny. “That sort of stuff.”
The corner of Time’s mouth twitches up, despite the worrying subject. Heroes are great at giving villains headaches. To hear the Chain has been so successful is satisfying.
“More useful than you think,” Time mulls over the information, and the fact that apparently monsters have names like Steve. “Sounds like whatever they originally planned isn’t working out.”
“So?” Dark counters. “It’s not like we can do anything about it.”
Time stands, rallying himself for another battle with the cell bars. “Yet.”
After all, if he’s going to continue to be a nuisance to evil, he can’t do that from a cell. He isn’t sure what Dark plans to do once they escape, but perhaps they’d travel together for a while before finding him a place to call home.
“You’re still planning on busting out, huh?” Dark muses. He doesn’t completely refuse the idea, so Time counts it as an improvement. Partially.
“With you,” Time adds, confirming the statement with a nod Dark can’t see. “Now, can you tell me more about what you’ve overheard?”
Dark sighs, and starts talking.
He’s an excellent gossip.
“Do they have any food in this place?” Time grouches. It’s been thirteen hours and forty-seven minutes since he last ate, a stir fry Wild had cooked up over a campfire amid jokes and camaraderie, and he is starting to get hungry. He could go a while longer, but he’d prefer not to.
“Depends on if they need you alive or not.”
Not reassuring, however: “I don’t imagine the monsters would have gone to the trouble of imprisoning me if they wanted me dead.”
Dark hums. “I’d be more concerned about why they want you alive.”
…That is even less reassuring, and they really will need to work on Dark’s pessimism once they get out of here, but it makes Time wonder. Why didn’t the monsters kill him? Monsters don’t usually take captives. Unless under orders from someone more powerful, or if they needed…
Ah, crap.
“…I’m bait.”
Why hadn’t he thought of it before? The monsters likely knew the other heroes would come after him if he was captured, and if what Dark says about them seeking information on the heroes is true… It makes sense, for the monsters to have taken such measures. Which means they’re prepared for, or at least have considered, the possibility of the Chain attacking the place. It will be well-defended.
But is it well-defended enough for the strength of eight heroes?
“…Bait?” Dark questions. “For you friends?”
“Must be… there’s no other reason to—"
Just then, a door at the end of the hall screeches open. The light from outside is bright, though Time knows it only seems that way due to how dark the dungeon is. He glares at the monster, some other type he doesn’t know, growing tense as it stomps up to his cell. His muscles coil, ready to spring at it the second it goes for the lock, but it stops short.
A chunk of bread and a wedge of stale cheese are thrown through the bars. Time grimaces as they hit the dirty floor. Next is a small leather waterskin, which lands on the ground with a dull slap. With that, the monster departs.
It walks right past Dark’s cell, not sparing the other prisoner a glance, or food.
“Hey!” Time calls out, the unfairness of it driving him to fury. “What about—”
The hall exit slams shut, loudly echoing through the prison.
“Congratulations,” Dark says tiredly. “You’re valuable.”
Time glowers at the exit, and the food. He’s tempted to not eat it out of spite in protest of these monsters using him as bait, but also for starving Dark of not only food, but his self-worth. His hunger cuts into his common sense, however, and he picks up the bread and cheese with an irritated sigh.
“Everyone has value, Dark.” There’s no reply to that, so he presses on. “Can you reach the hall? I’ll toss some of the food over to you.”
If he can’t get some self-worth into the guy, he can at least get some food into him. Time does his best to clean the food, brushing the dirt off with a clean bit of his tunic. The bread is almost as hard as the stone around him, but he manages to snap it in half. The cheese is more difficult to split, crumbly and old. He sniffs it, just in case it’s spoiled. It doesn’t smell moldy, but it’s unlike any cheese he’s seen before, so he isn’t sure how safe it is to eat. He debates the waterskin next. There’s no good way for him to know if the water was clean without dumping it out… And what if it’s poisoned? Again, he doesn’t think the monsters would poison him if they need him alive, but…
“Dark?” he prompts, after a long silence.
“…I can’t,” Dark says, so quiet that Time can barely hear it.
Realization smacks into Time so quick that he finches.
“You’re chained,” he concludes, feeling like an ass. Dark had only been rattling them around for hours while they talked. Asking him to move was outright cruel, but another worry quickly follows. One he also should have thought to check on far, far earlier: “Are you injured?”
There’s a pause, just long enough to make him worry, then: “No, I’m not injured.”
Time can practically hear the ‘anymore’ at the end of that sentence. “But you can’t move.”
“No,” the word is quiet, followed by a deliberate shake of chains. “I’m bound to this spot.”
Time wishes he could see into the other cell, to confirm Dark’s status with his own eyes. If the man has been bound for a long time and provided limited amounts of food, he would undoubtedly be malnourished. Along with the mentions of torture… Time’s imagination paints a grim picture.
“I have healing supplies among my things,” Time says aloud, thinking. He has a red potion that Legend had given him, a bottle of fairy fountain water, and a green magic potion he’d picked up from a fallen foe. That would be able to cover most injuries, through he’s less sure of the affects they would have on malnutrition or muscle atrophy. “I’ll give them to you as soon as I get my gear back.”
“Worry about yourself, Time.” The reply would be snappish, if it weren’t so weary. “You’ll be the one having to fight your way out of here.”
At this point, Time doesn’t think any amount of words will convince Dark that he’s getting out too. Only action will prove the truth. Still, he says: “We’ll both get out, Dark. I’ll carry you if I have to.”
That gets a startled laugh. “Like a damsel in distress?”
A deflection, but one that makes Time smile anyway. “I was thinking more like a princess.”
Dark sputters, choking out another laugh. “I’ll be sure to wear my best dress.”
“Tell me about your friends.”
Time stops whacking at the cell door’s hinge, the metal clang echoing in his ears. He’d been worried about making too much noise, but Dark assured him that the monsters wouldn’t care. True enough, none of them had bothered to check on the racket he’s making. He sets the small rock aside and sits up against the wall shared by Dark’s cell, deciding to take a break before he gave himself tinnitus. He rubs his palm, which was starting to bruise from the repeated impacts.
“There’s a lot to tell,” he muses after a moment, trying to think of where to start. Time-travel is difficult to explain, let alone doing so with eight other incarnations of yourself. “They’re a strange bunch.”
How much should he reveal, he wonders? Their journey isn’t really a secret, per se, though Time is cautious to keep details of their progress from enemies. Dark isn’t an enemy, and he already knows that there are multiple heroes, but he did just meet the man six hours and twenty-three minutes ago. He’s basically a stranger.
That said, Dark is already involved. Time refuses to leave him here, so he’ll find out they’re all heroes once they escape or are rescued regardless. Telling him about them now won’t change much.
“We’ve got time,” Dark reminds him.
Time doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes, I’ve been called strange, too.”
The fury is immediate and entirely deserved. “You--! I’m going to throw you in a lake somehow, I swear to the Goddesses…!”
Time smirks, despite the threat. “That’s the spirit.”
He’d much rather go for a swim than hear any more of that hopeless doubt from Dark.
“Just tell me about your dumb friends,” Dark grumbles irritably. Then adds, quieter: “…Or anything about the outside.”
Time’s heart clenches. Dark speaks of the world beyond his cell like a foreign land. Worse even, like something unobtainable. A dream, or a passing thought. Like stepping outside this temple would take him to the Sacred Realm, instead of a forest or someplace equally mundane.
Time doesn’t know where the temple resides, but his resolve to get Dark outside of it grows further. “Well, to start, we met through some magic bullshittery ourselves.”
He doesn’t usually swear, but… this time, it’s well deserved.
“What kind of magic bullshittery?” Dark asks warily.
“The non-lethal kind,” Time reassures. “More confusing than anything. Most of our travels together have been centered around figuring out how we were brought together, and how to get back home.”
He recalls that first portal, the dark depths of it tugging and twisting the timelines together, how it made his senses crawl with both familiarity and dread. Yet the bright blue ocarina weighing heavy in his bag could not compare to what time-related nonsense the portal had in store for him.
Eight other heroes, drawn together from different worlds and eras. Had he not experienced equally bizarre nonsense many times over the years, he’d have thought his sanity had finally cracked.
“I found them wandering in some woods near my home,” he begins, thinking back to their first meeting. A collection of strangers on the outskirts of the Lost Woods, dressed in foreign clothes and speaking with odd accents. “Those particular woods can be dangerous, so I offered to escort them to safety.”
“Describe them to me.”
Whether Dark means for him to describe the Lost Woods or the Chain, he isn’t sure. He suspects both.
“The Lost Woods are a deep swathe of trees and flora, untraveled except to the very brave or the very foolish. A place of old magic, bound to no kingdom or civilization. Wild, free, deadly. The only rules that make sense there are written by beings that no longer exist.” As a child protected by the Great Deku Tree, the world beneath his branches seemed whimsical, peaceful, and beautiful. As an adult, however… the rules have changed. The forest still treats Time kindly due to his connection to the Kokiri, but even then, the place is dangerous. “If not tread carefully, people can become lost within, sometimes becoming Stalfos if they die there with lingering regrets.”
“…Doesn’t sound like the most pleasant place,” Dark comments, which is a fair assumption. “I’m guessing you found these people before they could become cursed skeletons.”
Time smiles. “I did, yes. Although they’re experienced enough adventurers, so I doubt that would have happened.”
By the stories they’ve shared, the Lost Woods are a commonality between the ages. It may go by different names, or somehow moved locations entirely, but a part of that wild growth has persisted throughout history. The thought makes Time smile, despite his current circumstances.
“Anyway, I’d been visiting family—”
“…in the spooky, cursed woods?”
“—when I heard a bunch of shouting,” he continues. “That’s not generally a good thing, so I went to check it out. I expected to find monsters, or perhaps a Skull Kid playing a prank. Instead, I found eight people on the verge of attacking one another.”
“…sure sounds friendly,” Dark observes dryly.
Time smiles. “You’d be alarmed, too, if you found yourself dumped into another world by a magic portal.”
“Relieved, you mean.” A pause, as the rest of the sentence catches up to him. “Wait, what the fuck?”
“Magic bullshittery, remember?” Time reminds him.
“Portals?”
“Yep.”
“To other worlds?”
Time hums an affirmative, then amends: “Well, to other times, at least. We’ve still been travelling in Hyrule, so far as we can tell.”
Dark sputters. “You say that like it’s normal.”
“I have a different definition of normal, I suppose,” Time muses. He’d take being tossed into prison over fighting the moon any day, for example. “That seems to be a common issue among heroes.”
Silence.
Then, “WHAT?!”
Time winces at the shriek as it echoes down the hallway, reverberating in his already-ringing ears. It’s a good thing the monsters don’t care about whatever screams occur down here.
“You and your friends are heroes??” Dark continues, at a slight lower volume but no less shocked. “The idiots pissing off all these monsters?”
Well, he wouldn’t usually phrase it like that, but: “The Hero of Time, at your service.”
Dark sputters. “Hero of— What the fu— how—"
“There’s more to us than heroism, of course.” Time elaborates, as Dark continues to make indiscernible sounds of disbelief. “I live on a ranch, for example, and so does Twilight. Wild cooks and creates potions and elixirs. Legend collects ancient treasures and maps. Sky flies, both for fun and to brings supplies to and from Hyrule. Warriors trains the Hyrulian army as captain of the guard. Hyrule travels, helping to heal the land. Wind is a sailor, part of a pirate crew. Four is a blacksmith, with a passion for fixing and creating weapons.”
After a few more muttered swears, Dark manages a coherent sentence. “…This is ridiculous.”
Hm. Time had been worried about revealing details of their quest to a stranger, but maybe he should have considered making it sound believable instead. “It sounds strange, but it’s all true.”
“If the monsters here hadn’t already been talking about it, I’d have called you crazy,” Dark informs him bluntly.
“I’ll have to thank them for that as we escape,” he jokes.
Dark snorts. “Now I know why you’re so confident that you’ll get out. Being tossed into prison is probably just a normal Tuesday for a hero.”
Please. It’s a monthly occurrence, at most. “So you believe me, then?”
“I’d believe you more, if those names didn’t sound like a child’s word game,” Dark replies.
Ah, that. “All based on the titles history has given us. Trust me, several of us would rather use our previous nicknames, and they weren’t much better.”
“…What was your previous nickname?”
…Ugh. He walked himself right into that, didn’t he? “…Old man,” he admits, reluctantly.
Dark snorts. “Now that I can believe.”
Time rolls his eye. “Do you even know what I look like?”
“You make puns. That immediately ages you by a decade, at least,” Dark informs him. “I don’t need to know what you look like when you’ve already proven yourself ancient.”
Time would be more insulted, if it weren’t true. He’s not ancient, but he is older than he appears. Maybe he picked up his affinity for puns in one of the many time-loops he endured. He laughs lightly, amused and relieved that Dark’s shock has returned to his usual sarcasm.
“What about you, Dark?”
“Huh?”
“I’ve told you about my friends and I, but what about you?”
The chains jolt, startled. “Me?”
“There’s more to you than being a prisoner, I’m sure. What do you like to do?”
“I…” Dark fumbles. “I was good at fighting?”
Time hums. “Perhaps you and Warriors could talk tactics,” he offers. “But that’s not what I meant. Being good at something and enjoying it are different.” Unless he enjoys fighting, of course. Some people do, making whole careers out of battle tactics, training, or contests of strength. For some reason, he doubts this to be the case for Dark.
“I’d enjoy just about anything other than this cell,” Dark points out, which is a reasonable complaint. “…But I think… If I could, I’d just travel. See the world, talk to people, eat all the strangest foods I could find…” he trails off, wistful. Another stab of sadness hits Time between his ribs.
“A promise made is a promise kept, Dark,” he says gently. “I’ll get you out of here. Then you can travel with us, talk and sass some heroes, and eat whatever Wild can cook.”
Dark doesn’t say anything for a long time. When he does, he changes the subject.
“Tell me about your ranch.”
Time takes the hint, and does.
“Time! Wake up!”
His eyes, both of them, snap open immediately from the light and fitful doze he’d fallen into. His hand reach for a weapon and shield that isn’t there, closing around nothing, before the stark blankness of his surroundings catch up with him. His prison cell looks just as terrible and empty as he remembers, unfortunately.
“What is it?” he inquires, after not finding anything immediately threatening.
“The monsters,” Dark explains. “They’re coming back, and I doubt it’s for me.”
Sure enough, Time’s ears catch the muffled sound of movement from beyond the door. If the place wasn’t so empty, the echoes surely wouldn’t reach so far. But they do, and Time tenses.
“Another food delivery?” It’s been four hours and twenty-two minutes since the previous food had been dropped off. The meager meal had done little to satisfy his hunger. Had he not eaten far stranger things during his adventures, it likely would have made him sick. After drinking an entire Poe soul once, his stomach learned not to complain.
“No, it’s too soon for that,” Dark frets. Time’s hunger says otherwise, but he ignores its commentary. “This is something else.”
Ominous, but also not surprising. “An interrogation, then?”
“I don’t know… they don’t usually keep prisoners.”
…Again, ominous. They really need to work on Dark’s positivity. “This is a good sign.”
“How the fuck is this a good anything?”
“Because,” Time stands and stretches, limbering up his muscles. “If they’re wanting answers from me, that means the others haven’t shown up yet.”
“Again, that’s not good.”
“It is, because that also means their hostage strategy isn’t working. So, they’re seeking information from me instead.”
“…Which they won’t get,” Dark surmises.
“No,” Time agrees. “But they will get a surprise once they open this cell door to try.”
They’ll likely have measures in place to prevent his escape once it’s open, but it’s his solemn duty as a Link to ruin those plans.
“You’re going to fight,” a statement, not a question. “With no weapon, shield, or armor.”
“Yep.”
A pause. “You’re a dumbass,” he says, with genuine pride. Time can practically hear the grin in his words. Then, quieter and more serious, “…Good luck.”
The door at the end of the hall screeches open. A small, hopeful part of him thought it might be the Chain on the other side. Alas, only the ugly twisted mug of some sort of moblin steps through, followed by two more figures. A robed creature, some sort of Poe, wielding a magic staff and another moblin holding chains and cuffs. Apparently, they had remembered that they’d left him fully mobile and came to correct the issue.
Pity.
For them, that is.
Time readies himself, choosing to press himself against the wall so he’s not immediately visible from the hallway. They know where he is, of course, but a surprise attack from the shadows may throw them off. The position limits his view of them as they approach, but his neighbor is happy to assist.
“A wizzrobe,” Dark whispers from the other side of the wall. “The lightning rod will temporarily electrify the floor, or whatever surface the magic hits. Make sure it’s not you.”
“Noted,” Time murmurs back, trying not to think of why Dark knows that. “What about the other two?”
“Just muscle. Though one of them has a club.”
Time can see the shadow of the weapon stretching across the floor. “Alright.”
“Again, not really.”
Time shushes him, turning his focus to the approaching enemies. Three against one isn’t great odds, and his lack of weapons only worsens them. He looks around, scouring the area for anything useful, and all he finds is a rock and an empty waterskin. …Not great. He picks them up anyway, tossing the rock in his hand a couple times to test the weight.
The chain-moblin approaches first, not even bothering to look inside, apparently unconcerned over the threat the hero within might pose. It pulls a grimy looking key from a loop on its belt, and jams it in the lock the Time had taken special care in beating up. The metal is dented, but manages to accept the key, though the moblin has to shake it a few times to get it to turn.
The door opens, and Time smirks.
Let the chaos begin.
Two swift and silent steps has him at the door, sending it slamming back into the moblin’s face. It staggers back, stunned, but Time doesn’t stop. Another step and he’s out. Free, almost, with only a couple more obstacles in the way.
Said obstacles screech in alarm, raising their weapons, but Time is faster. The rock leaves his fingers, cracking across the wizzrobe’s face before it can cast the spell it had been charging. The gold orb of lightning fizzling out as it slumps forward in a daze.
Two stunned, but not for long. Already the moblin at his feet has begun to stir. Time snatches up the chains it had dropped before it gets any ideas.
He spins a length of it, testingly, like an odd flail or a whip. He’s not familiar with using such weapons, but Sky has introduced them to enemies multiple times during fights, so Time has some basic knowledge. So long as he doesn’t whack himself with it, he’ll probably be fine.
But the hall is narrow. There isn’t the space for any wide or long-range motions. He’ll need to—
“Watch out!”
Time’s body moves without thinking, an instinctive reaction only those two words can cause. Navi had made sure of that. He ducks down low, only to feel the heavy snap of air as the club from the moblin behind him passes over his head, far too close for comfort. His ear drums shudder, his hair whipping sideways.
The monster, unable to stop the swing, slams the club directly into the wall. The stone cracks, a sizable cavity created from the impact. Time tucks the knowledge that that could have been his head away in his mind to absolutely not freak out about later. For now, he snaps the chain forward to wrap around the club and yanks, as hard as he can. The club rips free of the moblin’s grip and lands on the floor between them with a heavy clatter.
Perfect, a weapon. Now to—
“Behind you!”
Time snaps his head to the side in time to see a bright flash of light.
Then, his whole body seizes.
Muscles lock in place, electricity cutting through his bones as if they were individual lightning rods. He doesn’t even get to scream as teeth snap closed. The taste of blood is oddly vivid as the rest of his nerves go numb with the sudden shock of agony.
As soon as it begins, it ends, and Time finds himself in a heap on the floor. Next to him is the moblin he’d just disarmed, because apparently the wizzrobe did not care about friendly-fire. It cackles, gleeful and insane, floating further away. The staff in its hand begins to glow.
“Shit, shit, shit – Time, hey! Get up!”
Time spits a glob of blood on the floor. “M’up,” he slurs.
“No, you’re— move!”
He moves, flattening himself against the wall. Static sweeps past his face, tugging his hair and clothes towards it, as another orb of lightning crackles down the hall. He hears a moblin scream.
Numb, twitchy fingers find the club. That wizzrobe has got to go.
He stands, shaking out the lingering bits of static. Honestly, it wasn’t that bad. When one goes batting balls of lightning back and forth with Ganondorf, the former and very dead Great King of Evil, one tends to set higher standards. And pain tolerance.
Time grabs a bit of rubble from the wall. The rock had worked to stun it before, so he rears back and hurls the chunk of brick, full force, directly at it. With a crack and a shriek, the robed figure folds over like pile of wet sheets, stunned.
Time runs up and slams the club down over it, flattening the wizzrobe into the floor. After a few hits, more than what Time expected for such a frail-looking being, the monster lets out a short and pitiful screech as it poofs into a cloud of deep purple smoke.
The lightning rod remains.
Time picks it up. With a grin, he turns to face the moblins.
“Your turn,” he informs them, as the lightning rod crackles to life in his hand.
They don’t last very long. The hall is narrow enough only one can approach him at once, and the few swings they do manage are slow. A few well-timed bursts of lightning to stun them, followed by heavy strikes from the club, and the moblins fall. Time watches them burst into clouds of dark magic dust with grim satisfaction. Their task of chaining up or hurting him, failed.
Well, maybe not that last part.
Time slumps back against the cracked wall, exhausted. Pain shakes his body, every bruise and fried nerve trying to scream at once now that the adrenaline is wearing off. He’ll be feeling this fight for a while, at least until he gets some proper healing. Unfortunately, he has a whole temple to go through yet.
“Dark, are you okay?” Time asks tiredly. There had been a lot of lightning flung around during the fight, he’d hate himself if Dark had been hit with any of it.
There’s no response. Time tenses, levering himself up and off the wall. “Dark?!”
He sprints over to the other prisoner’s cell, raising the club to bash the door in to get to him, when he finally notices that… there is no door. No lock. Nothing between Dark and the outside world. The door had fallen away, the remains of it fallen just inside the entryway in a scattered pile of metal bars and rust.
The cell itself is old, filled with crumbling debris and dust. Bits of dirt piled on the floor host patches of moss and mushrooms, fed by a slow drip of moisture down one of the walls. Motes of dust filter through the air, disturbed from the fight.
There’s a figure slumped in the back of the cell, unmoving.
Hollow eyes stare back at him. The skull hangs forward, the skeleton having slumped over during its final sleep. The bones are dry and brittle, held in place by ancient rusted chains with cuffs on each wrist, and covered with scraps of ancient fabric. The cloth has faded with age, the once dark cloth covered in dust.
The body has been here for a long, long time.
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that it’s rude to stare?”
Time startles, his head snapping up.
Above the skeleton, surrounded by small swirls of ghostly flames, a spirit flickers into sight.