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Era of the Wilds
Flora waits just outside Link’s house in Hateno Village with the Sheikah Slate held aloft.
She taps a symbol. The air crackles. A small glowing square shimmers on the surface of the carefully constructed puddle in front of her, and Flora watches as a block of glistening blue ice rises from the outline.
The block doesn’t seem any taller or shorter than the last time. Flora strides up to it, measuring its height— still the same. She holds a flame up to it— it still doesn’t melt. She taps the rune again, breaking the block. Then she opens a valve, draining away exactly half an inch’s depth of water from the puddle, and uses Cryonis again.
How strange! Experiments seem to indicate that the block of ice does not vary in height in conjunction with the depth of the water source it’s summoned on. Instead, the rune seems to draw moisture in from the very air to form its block of ice, which is then anchored atop the surface of any preexisting body of water. It shouldn’t be possible. Yet somehow, it is, thanks to the Sheikah of the ancient past.
Answers lurk behind the veil of history, waiting for her to explore them.
And more answers lurk underneath Hyrule Castle. Purah has just declared the passage they found safe to enter, and that means, any day now, Flora will finally go exploring. There’s something down there that seems to defy all laws of science and magic, and Flora will get to the bottom of it.
Right now, though, she’s experimenting. And as always, right at the most inconvenient moment, it begins to rain.
Flora sighs. She pulls her cloak’s hood over her head, letting the edges of the fabric drape over the chest of her bright blue champion’s outfit. The door to Link’s house— and her house as well, now— creaks a little as she pulls it open and sets her bags inside. She can almost still see the afterimage of Link puttering around, pulling ingredients from thin air, slicing and dicing in the most unconventional way, and smiling that unrestrained smile of his as he tosses everything into the cooking pot. She lets her thoughts linger on the angled features of that face, marked by burn scars made more beautiful and painful in equal measure by the fact that they were earned for her sake. He’s been gone for a while now.
She misses him.
Her stomach rumbles. She misses his cooking too, of course.
Fortunately, the innkeeper’s daughter has been kind enough to invite Flora over for dinner in exchange for a few chores performed with the Slate. In truth, the townsfolk of Hateno have been extremely happy to support her. They see her as a hero who has kept them safe for a hundred years. They won’t accept that they don’t owe her anything; that they should be furious at her failure. They want her to teach their children, even. She doesn’t understand. It drives her crazy.
Find a sword and raise it skyward!
Ah. A distraction before dinner, perhaps? Flora smiles. Her eyes catch a glimpse of an ornate curved sword displayed prominently on the wall. A flash of old memory held dear; dark skin decked in gold wielding that blade with deadly precision in the middle of the night.
Flora takes down the curved sword and holds it up. She waits, patient and unwavering, until a flash of white light overwhelms her vision. She knows it’s coming, but a small gasp leaves her nevertheless.
No one is there to see her crumple to the floor.
Era of the Convergence War
Artemis strides proudly through the tapestried halls of Hyrule Castle. Soldiers stop and salute her as she passes. Her long braid sways at her back. Her light armor clanks. Her painted lips are pointed in a small but devilish smile.
She’s just arrived at the practice yard and sweat is already beginning to pool in the crevices of cloth padding the inside of her breastplate. The sweltering heat beats down on her like a blast from a fire rod.
Artemis has no idea how Link manages to fight in all those layers; and with that thick scarf as well. Linkle once confided to her that she gave him that scarf for the chill climate of the north; that she couldn’t predict he’d grow so attached to it. Not that Artemis minds, of course. It always sends a thrill through her to see that bright blue fabric billowing on the battlefield.
Back during the war, it confirmed for her that he was still alive.
She fires a couple of shots at the archery range to psych herself up, each arrow finding the center of her target with precision, before laying down her bow and drawing her blade. She’s here for a reason, after all.
Artemis steps onto the practice grounds. Soldiers and courtiers alike are milling around the area. They know what’s going to happen— she’s done this a few times before. She’s reasonably certain some of the soldiers in the adjacent training grounds aren’t even here to train.
Apparently, watching Artemis duel her political opponents is quite the show.
“A match!” she calls out, and many of the courtiers in the vicinity flinch. Some, she knows, will never take the opportunity to duel her, but many will— and these are the ones she wishes to both identify and assert dominion over.
Link told her to wait to challenge them until he returned— but there’s no time. Waiting gives her opponents the chance to consolidate their power. A general who holds her entire army is reserve is practically destined to lose the war. She can’t afford that.
There’s a small but distinct commotion as today’s challenger makes his way through the crowd.
Artemis remembers him. He’s the leader of a minor noble house that became reasonably wealthy after the war— and has gained power rapidly since. Impa identified him as one of the primary rabble-rousers of the anti-establishment coalition; the nobles that plot to usurp Artemis’ throne.
The man climbs up onto the practice arena, face impassive. A bead of sweat trickles down his forehead, but he scowls, dashes it away, and grits his teeth, drawing his blade and shield as he readies his stance.
So. This man’s an upstart, then, Artemis thinks to herself. A hothead with something to prove.
A smile tugs at her lips. It’d be hypocritical of her to judge someone for that.
The match begins, and they circle around the arena, testing each other’s defenses. Artemis feints right, then dashes in and slashes her sword diagonally across his chest. The man hastily blocks it with his offhand shield, but that overbalances him. He’s wide open.
Artemis draws back, pulls out her bow, and fires a padded arrow directly into his chest, then kicks him while he’s reeling.
It isn’t very dignified, but it works to destabilize him further. A flick of Artemis’s wrist, and his sword goes flying as he falls to his knees at her feet. He’s out.
That was… surprisingly easy. Huh. Weird.
Victory is hers. It’s not as sweet as it would have been if he were more qualified, but it’s still satisfying all the same.
Still, Artemis finds herself quirking a brow as she gazes down at him. For one of the main figureheads of the anti-establishment coalition to lose so easily…he must know this is a massive blow to his party’s political standing. Why didn’t he put up more of a fight?
Many of the soldiers in the vicinity— at least, those with less of a sense of decorum— cheer her victory openly and raucously. She’s always been their general. She gives them a jaunty wave.
The noblemen in the audience, however, are a different story. Some, particularly those who support her rule, do look impressed, and retreat with nods and polite smiles. They came to watch the match, it seems. Others applaud politely, even as raucously as the soldiers, before taking their leave. But a few simply shuffle nervously around, holding their training weapons uncomfortably as they watch her wave from the practice arena. These stay put, even as the audience begins to filter out.
Artemis sighs, flipping her blade around absently in one hand.
She’s no fool. She knows some of them don’t appreciate the changes she’s made. She knows many of them mean well, but consider her, a woman in her mid-twenties, to be too young to lead a country— as if other queens in their kingdom’s long and storied history haven’t been much younger! She can’t well cite that to them though. They’d simply say that times have changed.
And times have changed. Trust has decayed, especially after the war ended. Artemis finds herself spending more and more of her time looking over her shoulder.
Now that the heroes from other worlds have left, only one of her captains— though he’s a commander now, she supposes— still merits her utmost regard.
Artemis scowls, exasperated with herself. Despite everything, she misses Link. The way his blonde hair shines in the light of war; his armor glinting in the sunlight, hinting at shapes beneath that draw her in. The teasing smile that comes over him in her presence. The flash of gold on brilliant blue. The way they dance around each others’ intentions like masqueraders at a ball, waiting for the other to make a move— it’s a familiar feeling. She wants it all back.
Ever since that portal, though, Link has all but vanished. She’s seen enough portals to know it might be some time before he returns, and even longer before he returns for good. And she has more than enough problems to deal with here on her own.
She’s been lost in her own head for too long. She raises her blade in a sign of victory. A hand reaches up from the dirt. Right. The soldier she defeated. She smiles, and reaches out to pull him up, keeping a cautionary hold on the hilt of her blade as she does. Traitors could be anywhere.
Find a sword and raise it skyward!
Huh? Now? Her sword is still pointed vaguely upward, so she technically already is, but wait—
A white light flashes before her eyes.
She stumbles.
The last thing she remembers is the glint of metal approaching her.
Era of the Four Sword
In her youth, Dot had never liked the bright light and intense heat of the forge. Stifling, she’d called it. She’d have rather spent her time playing in the creek.
But she has changed since then. Shivers overtake her at the memory of weeks and weeks spent trapped in cold stone, imprisoned in unfeeling light, or facing murderous gales atop the Tower of Winds. Dot has to admit: after all that, there’s something special about the close, real warmth of a fire.
The forge has become a place of refuge when the world feels too rigid and she feels too small.
That said, the blade she’s just forged… is not coming out great.
Dot eyes the sword critically.
It’s meant to be a simple practice sword, the hilt stylized to look like the Picori blade in honor of their teachings.
And indeed, her careful engraving on the hilt detailing the four elements marks the beginning of a splendid work, but it all goes downhill from there.
The blade, lying openly on the table after being quenched, still unattached to the hilt, looks a bit wonky in the middle. Dot lifts it up with the tongs. Ah. Definitely too thin in the middle. Something like this would snap at the first sign of pressure, and Dot has no idea how to patch it.
At times like these, it would be useful to have her dear friend Link around. Forging blades was something she set out to learn as a challenge to herself. She’s been improving, but she’s yet to be able to call herself a blacksmith.
She and Link both know that her true skill lies in spellcrafting.
Ever since Dot first held the power of the Mage’s Cap and channeled it to change the world, she’s been finely attuned to the way words, elements, and runes take shape into magic. Dot was the first to successfully recreate the spell of swordbinding, and use it to trap the Wind Mage when he rose again. She forged the contract that sealed the blade in place. She kept herself safe atop the Tower of Winds through simple charms, crafted paths of light for her heroes to follow, and channeled her power into one final attack to destroy the beast that had started it all.
They didn’t call her the leader of the Sages for nothing.
Ideas whirl through her head every day. So many new artifacts could be created, so many new spells made to keep their future safe. This peace marks the way for artisans to let their skills shine, and to open the doors to new solutions the world has not yet experienced.
Dot smiles as she eyes the duplicate Cane of Pacci she’s been working on. Right now, it’s merely a nondescript yellow staff. She and the other maidens haven’t quite gotten the magic to stick to it yet, but they’re close. She’ll be going back to the Sanctuary soon enough—
Find a sword and raise it skyward!
—or maybe not. Dot stands up, straightening out her sunset-orange overrobe and stretching to loosen stiff muscles.
She carefully sets the cane aside and reconsiders the hilt of her failed blade from earlier. It too is imbued with magic, of a simpler, more raw kind than the Cane of Pacci.
Even now, in its unfinished state, the hilt flows with magic power, drawn from the land, the elements, the light force, and herself. If she concentrates hard, she can channel her magic through it, just a bit— like light refracted through a prism.
But she’s getting distracted. She was about to raise a sword to the sky.
Dot lifts the hilt. She pretends it’s finished, pretends the element of wind is refined and cut and attached to the pommel of the sword in all its piercing glory, instead of just held in her pocket. She holds it aloft and imagines a wave of crashing wind expanding from the imaginary blade’s point of contact. A light smile graces her expression as she steps back, basking in the warm glow of the furnace, calm and assured.
And as she holds her sword up, the condition is fulfilled. A wave of white light washes over her mind. She lets it take her over and—
Ah. She's falling a bit more… diagonally than she intended.
Concentration takes hold of Dot as she swings her unfinished wind blade at the ground again, this time channeling as much power as she can into it. She's rewarded when it works. An uncontrolled blast of wind fires at the floor beside the furnace, propelling her rather slight form just far enough from the flames to collapse safely to the stone floor.
The edge of her cape is still a bit close to the hearth though. Dot looks at it from her position on the floor. A bemused smile crosses her expression. Oh dear. She does so hope Link's grandfather will be spared the pain of finding her scorched corpse amidst the ashes of her current works.
Fortunately, she can make sure that won’t happen. With the last of her consciousness fading, Dot pulls her cape back and uses the water element to splash a few drops onto the soft white fabric. Then she pulls the wind element again and draws air from the forge, suffocating the flames— slowly, so as not to damage anything.
Her consciousness and the fire go out at the same time, and she lets herself fade into the warmth.
Era of the Great Sea
“What in the name of Nayru’s bountiful tits is that—!?” Tetra screams.
Her voice cuts off as a giant tentacle rakes over the deck of her ship.
Crates and sacks are smashed off into the churning ocean, nearly carrying Niko overboard with them before he catches himself on the prow. Tetra dashes back, flips up the mast, and leaps into the rigging. Nudge does an impressive vault over a set of barrels, stopping them with his foot as he jumps, before grabbing Niko under one arm and chucking him back onto the deck.
Torrential rain drenches Tetra’s simple vest and shirt, tugging her hair swirl from its position on her head with a vengeance. Tetra curses liberally as she pulls it up again, tighter, so that her hair stays out of her face.
“What. The. Fuck. Is. That!?” she reiterates, pointing, as she drops from the rigging and storms up to the starboard rail.
“A lot bigger ‘n we expected, is what it is!” Zuko calls from the crow’s nest, his telescope trained on the churning waves.
“It appears to be some form of mutated squid?” Mako posits, fiddling with his glasses as he rapidly flips through some kinda fancy animal-catalogue while Senza holds a large umbrella out to cover him. “Like the ones we saw earlier, I’d say.”
“Eh. ‘S a lot bigger ‘n those were, though,” Zuko emphasizes.
Another tentacle lugs itself out of the water and slams onto the deck. The sturdy wood creaks and groans— but holds. Mako slips his book back into his waterproof bag and bolts. Senza shouts in alarm, having just barely managed to dodge out of the way himself, though he trips and hits the floor hard. Niko pulls him the rest of the way to safety, his small form straining with the task. They steady each other as they rise.
This tentacle too, like the previous one, slides off the boat and splashes back into the ocean.
“Captain, what should we do!?” Gonzo shouts. He’s standing at the helm, wheel held in a white-knuckled grip.
Tetra growls her displeasure. They’ve got bombs, but they’re running out of ammunition fast. Should they defeat the thing, using up precious resources and braving the raging gales? Or should they run, trusting in their speed against a storm to keep them safe?
If Link was here, the wind would be on their side no matter which option they chose. And his carefree smile would no doubt lift the crew’s spirits— not hers, mind you: she certainly doesn’t need that annoying little gremlin around. She doesn’t miss him at all. Nope. Not one bit.
Either way, he’s not here. Don’t focus on him. Make the decision!
Think fast, Tetra, says the memory of her mother’s voice. The lilt of a smile is audible in her warm tones. When trouble truly strikes, you won’t have the time to sit and dither.
Right. Okay. Choice made.
“We fight!” Tetra screams over the chaos. “We can’t let this thing get anyone else— nor can we let anyone else get it before we do! Tomorrow we’ll start the six day round trip back to the island with all those stupid fucking oversized lizards to restock on bomb flowers! Use whatever the fuck we need to take this thing down!”
Shouts of acknowledgment cut through the wind to her. Niko dashes into the cabin with Mako to grab the bombs. Senza begins to prepare the portfire for lighting, packing the mixture in tight. Gonzo steers the ship in a wide circle around the churning froth from which the tentacles have been emerging, taking directions from Zuko, as Nudge heaves the cannon’s mouth into position.
A third tentacle rises up out of the water. The eyeball on its end swerves around, searching for a target. It spots the ship.
“Fire!” Tetra screams.
A blast, and the bomb rockets from their cannon and hits its mark. The eye is enveloped by an explosion. The tentacle writhes and sinks under the water.
“Good! Ready the next shot!”
They repeat the process nine more times. The squiddish beast starts making a monstrous noise that grates on everyone’s ears. It chucks detritus from the ocean at their ship with its remaining eyeless limbs, raining shards of wood and various projectiles down on the crew. Some of these items are actually valuable supplies. Nudge catches and retrieves a few crates, tossing them below decks for safety while Senza fires again.
Finally, its head appears, right up against the side of the ship. A giant eye swivels above the railing to regard them with unbridled fury.
They’re nearly out of bombs, but it looks like they won’t need them any longer. Tetra grins, fires her pistol once to fend off a stray tentacle, and draws her cutlass.
“Charge!!” She demands, thrusting her blade out, ready to sweep it down on that eye as she and her crew run forward with a yell.
Find a sword and raise it skyward!
“What?” Tetra blinks, pausing in her tracks, then realizes that she’s already fulfilling the condition. “Wait, no! Not now, goddesses fucking damn it; shit—“
But a bright light encompasses her vision, and before she knows it, she’s falling unconscious to the deck.
Era of Twilight
Dusk still feels the remnants of darkness in her.
Even after years, the effects of possession still linger within her body. She feels like a tea that has been left to brew for far too long: overly concentrated, burnt and bitter. It courses through her; the memory of Ganon puppeting her arms; lifting her voice into a cackle; sending her soaring down to strike at Link with the rapier her father gave her-
Stop. Dwelling on it makes it worse.
Dusk stretches and stands from her desk, neatly packing away her quill and setting the ink bottle aside. It doesn’t take long for her to gather herself for another visit to the town bar. She draws a simple dark cloak around her and makes her way out of the castle.
Her inner gate guards have begun a rousing game of dice. Her outer gate guards are even less alert: one dozes off intermittently at his post, while the other has given up pretenses and is snoring openly. They do not even notice her as she passes.
Dusk sighs. How far the knights of Hyrule have fallen from what she’s read of; the tales of yore that line her bookshelves. Her knights and the rest of the soldiers that make up her acting militia are the reason she was forced to surrender so quickly when Zant came calling. It was the only move— the logical move— to make at the time; she knows this. Yet the thought lingers that, if things had been different, the kingdom of Hyrule may have been able to fight back.
Link had scoffed at the state of her army. Dusk is inclined to agree. She never knew the hero well, but she certainly misses his competence.
She's out of the castle now. Dusk strides through the cobblestone streets of Castle Town with determination and poise developed over years of ruling the country. Her destination isn’t far.
The bar door creaks open, revealing a normal amount of hustle and bustle. Dusk pulls her dark cloak closer around herself, carefully concealing her face as well as the glint of golden armor above her distinctive purple and white outfit.
She must not be doing a good job of it though, because various pairs of eyes swivel to follow her as she threads her way through the crowd towards Telma.
Telma’s voice soothes with a rough honeyed twang.
“Hey there, little queen,” she says as quietly as can be managed in the bar’s ruckus, looking up at Dusk’s towering height. She hands Dusk a drink— non-alcoholic, as Dusk prefers, and ushers her further into the back of the bar.
“Your assistance is appreciated, Telma,” Dusk says cordially. She recalls the glances thrown her way. “Was I recognized? Many of your patrons seem to be looking in my direction.”
“Are they?” Telma leans around Dusk with a puzzled look, then glares and snaps twice. The people that had been following Dusk with their gazes grumble and return to their conversation and drinks.
Telma laughs. “They didn’t recognize you, dear. They were ogling you.”
“Ogling me..?” Dusk is thrown for a loop.
“Sure. A pretty thing like you, tall and confident, with a gaze as cold as ice? I bet half of them would be falling over themselves to buy you a drink if I hadn’t just warned 'em off.”
“Oh,” says Dusk. “I… appreciate that, then.”
“Anything for the good of the country, dear,” Telma chuckles, patting a now rather disgruntled Dusk on the arm. “I’m doing my best to safeguard what little hope remains. That said…”
Telma takes an order, pours a drink, slams it on the counter, then turns back to Dusk all in one smooth motion. “It looks like your guards are slacking again, if you made it here in one piece.”
Dusk resists the urge to groan in a rather unprincesslike manner. “Indeed. I’ve told them repeatedly that I’ll be testing their attention by sneaking outside. I meant to make use of hidden shortcuts I learned from Link. Yet so far, nothing of the sort has been necessary at all— I need only walk through the gates wearing a cloak, and the guards notice nothing.”
Dusk feels her brow furrowing as she lays out her frustrations. “Absolutely oblivious, they are. Two of them had even started a game of dice! Dice; can you believe that! Bandits roam the countryside and our guards are playing dice! A few years of tenuous peace and we’ve fallen this far already— It makes me wonder what we— what Link— was even fighting for!”
Telma hums something conciliatory, patting Dusk on the shoulder. “Sounds like you need to show them a bit of tough love, dear.”
Dusk breathes out, controlling herself. “I intend to. I’ve been working out a system of hierarchies that should trim out the fat and help with management among the forces. Meanwhile, though, may I ask what the Resistance has been up to?”
The corners of Telma’s eyes crinkle in a proud smile. “Of course. Shad’s still investigating the City in the Sky, and I haven’t heard from Auru since he last visited Lake Hylia. Rusl’s back home, of course— but he says Maidie’s getting old enough now that he can start venturing out. Ashei, though… she’s picked up on some interesting rumors among bandits and thieves.”
“Oh?” Dusk asks, setting down her mug. “What rumors?”
Telma’s face goes serious. “They say connections to the twilight realm are opening up again.”
If Dusk hadn’t set down her mug, she would have dropped it. Her fingers still. She finds herself frozen in the grip of memories.
Midna…!
Telma nods. “I was thinking of calling Link to—“
“No!” Dusk says before she can even think.
Telma quirks her brow in surprise and question.
“I mean—“ Dusk stops. How is she going to explain? “Don’t tell Link about this yet, please. I.. It isn’t my story to share, but I don’t want to give him false hope. Let me investigate first.”
Telma seems confused, but she nods along anyway. “Alright then, dear. I’ll leave this to you.” Telma sighs. “Not like I have much of a choice anyways. Link hasn’t been seen around these parts for quite some time now. Wonder where he’s gone...”
Dusk doesn’t really know either. All she’s been told is that there’s a set of portals, and a quest, and heroes from across time have gathered to undertake it. None of her own counterparts know much more than that either.
Dusk shrugs lightly. “I’m unsure of his whereabouts. Nevertheless, I thank you for the information, Telma.”
Telma lets out a soft breath, a little more confused, but accepting. “It’s no trouble.”
Dusk feels the corners of her lips quirk upward. She calmly but quickly hides her expression behind her mug.
And then—
Find a sword and raise it skyward!
Dusk startles, but an instant is long enough for her to realize what this is. Her smile deepens from a slight quirk of the mouth to an approximation of an actual smile. Finally! She’s glad she brought her blade with her.
“Telma,” she calls. “May I trouble you to lend me a safe place to rest for a bit?”
Telma seems even more confused, if possible. “…Sure, dear. Take the bed at the back.”
“Thank you.”
Dusk lies down, closes her eyes, and lifts the sword carefully upward.
It takes a few seconds, but white light soon consumes her, knocking her into unconsciousness.
Era of the Timeline Split
The war rages on at the southern front, but here in the forest, it is peaceful.
Lullaby crouches, still as a statue, and lets the woods rustle gently around her. Two figures are conversing in a small clearing.
Lullaby stays silent and listens.
“I see. At daybreak in three days, we’ll rendezvous by Kakariko—“ there’s a brief gap where the man’s voice is inaudible. When it picks up again, there’s a hesitant lilt to it. “—says negotiations are under way.”
Lullaby crouches lower. Quick, light footsteps carry her forward. She ducks behind a tree with nary a sound, grateful for the dark skintight suit she wears and the fabric wrappings that conceal her hair and face.
The night is quiet around her, but not as quiet as she is.
Silence is her weapon.
Another voice responds to the first. This voice is much more confident, and rather androgynous in its aged nature. They speak quietly, but Lullaby can still hear part of the muttered rebuke.
“Don’t be stupid—“ Another inaudible gap follows. “—prepare. Of course she would attempt to organize peace talks; but this is an opportunity. Ganon’s orders indicate— …never our allies. Will you join us?”
“What’s in it for me?” The first man queries, and exhales audibly at the other’s answering look. “I— listen— all I’m saying is— I need some kind of assurance if I’m to continue trusting you.”
The second voice seems displeased. “It is not trust that matters here, it is strength. Power, if you will. Do not question the plan, or you and your people will suffer for it.”
There is some silence, but the first man acquiesces. “Fine. You had better keep your end of the bargain.”
“And I expect you to be worth it. Carry out the job as intended.”
“…I understand.”
“Tomorrow, she’ll be visiting the Zoran royalty. That is your opportunity—“
“I said I understand! And in return, I expect what you assured me.”
“If the job is done.”
“When the job is done. I meant what I said. I’ll do it, do not doubt that. And when the time comes, you’ll let me and my people live.”
“…Of course.”
The owner of the second voice leaves. The first remains in the clearing, staring quietly out at the forest, pondering something.
Lullaby waits.
Eventually, the man shifts. He reaches into his pocket and grabs a thin string to tie his hair— deep purple— behind his head in a ponytail, then begins to make his trek back. He’s heading towards Kakariko, striding through the bushes. He doesn’t cause undue noise, but he also isn’t doing much to conceal himself.
Lullaby follows him. She does not make a sound.
Patience. Timing matters.
Finally, he nears the village. Lullaby waits until she can almost hear the sounds of thriving nightlife outside the local bar. Soon.
His purposeful path takes him towards the ruckus.
A moment longer.
Now.
Lullaby drops from the trees above, taking up a position behind him. She reaches around him in a flash, pointing a needle at his neck. Her voice pitches lower, as Impa taught her all those years ago. Some days, she feels like a man, and the voice helps. Other days, she uses it to her advantage.
“Not another step,” she whispers.
“What in the blazes—“
“Quiet. Or I end you.”
She can feel his gulp against the point of her needle.
“What do you want?”
“Information.”
“About what—“
“Do not try me.”
She hears him choke out a laugh; sees him weigh his options and give in, almost suspiciously easily. “Damn it all, I never wanted to risk my life for this country. You want answers? You’re welcome to them.”
He’s… under the impression that she’s a foreign spy. That’s why, is it? She can work with this.
“Details.”
“Now, why don’t we work out a—“
He draws his sword in an instant, not even pausing in his speech as he tries to turn on her, but he has underestimated his opponent drastically. She blocks his blade— strange, it’s an ornate, diamond-patterned short-sword that she almost feels like she’s seen before— and shoves him back into her grasp.
It was a valiant attempt at an escape. Lullaby’s almost impressed.
She digs the needle into his neck a little. He jolts back. She lets him, adjusting.
“…How rude,” he begins again with practiced nonchalance. “I only meant to offer a deal.”
“I need no middleman,” she growls. “Details.”
“I find it hard to—“
“Details.”
“Please—“
She jabs the needle in until it breaks skin beside his artery, and he finally speaks.
“Alright! I aim to steal the queen’s war plans on the orders of an interested third party.” He lets out a breath. “The war must be won, one way or another. I see no harm in ending it this way, and fast.”
He’s hiding quite a bit, she can see. From the way he holds himself, he is or was a soldier— but his build is closer to that of a scholar. He looks to be around the same age as her, so he must have joined the army during the war. He speaks with a bit of an accent; he’s from a more remote part of Hyrule. He’s worried about his people, and asked to let them live— his motives go beyond simple wealth.
So. A Hylian soldier selling classified information to the enemy, presumably in exchange for foreign aid of some sort.
Lullaby ponders her options. She needs to know everything this man knows— and what he’s already told that employer of his.
The Civil War continues to the South, and even here, there is dissention.
“Who gave you this job?” she asks.
“Oh,” the man opens his mouth to speak, but closes it without saying anything. He makes a short, confused noise and tilts his head. “…How strange. I don’t remember. I’m supposed to meet them in Kakariko in three days, I recall, but I’ve no clue what they looked like.”
He doesn’t remember? A likely story. Lullaby wasn’t able to see much of the second person’s form due to the dark cloak, but even she can identify that they were…
That they were what? Tall? Short? Well-built, thin, or rotund? What did their voice sound like?
Why can’t Lullaby remember either?
“That’s extremely weird; what in the world?” the man mutters to himself. “How did they make me forget?” He shakes his head. “I suppose I’ve worked for weirder. Too many of my employers hide behind masks— of all kinds.” He looks up. “Can I go now?”
His tone is nonchalant, blasé. He speaks lightly and easily. But his unintentional rambling, the sweat pooling at his temples— these betray the truth.
This man is terrified, Lullaby realizes.
And rightly so. Her plan had been to kill him. To club him over the head with an empty wine bottle outside the bar, then beat him bloody with the shards. Not many would suspect an assassin when a lost drunkard is much more easily believable as a murderer. Killing him as an example would make him a martyr; killing him in an undignified manner would erase his name from history.
Impa would have done it. Lullaby can picture her at the height of her power, flipping a dagger between her fingers. If Impa had been on the job, this man would already be dead. But Impa isn't in fighting condition anymore, so it falls to her to decide.
Unbidden, Lullaby's thoughts drift to Link, the flighty boy from the forest, and the steady man he’s grown up to be.
…Would Link kill this would-be deserter?
No, she decides, watching the man.
Link would not.
The marks of a powerful god on Link’s face, the well-built frame, the hero’s imposing golden armor— together, they hide a man kinder than any Lullaby has seen. He has saved the world twice over and practically no one knows of it. Still, despite everything he has been through, depsite everything Lullaby put him through, he's still standing; still kind. All he wants is to live a simple farm life with his beloved. On that thought, Lullaby needs to have a chat with Malon again. Lullaby's relationship with Link is… complicated, but Malon is undeniably a delight.
“Give me your sword,” Lullaby commands the man.
“What!? Now hold on a moment, there— I’ve had this weapon for years now—“
Lullaby digs the needle in again, and the man yelps. He unbuckles his sword with shaking hands and drops it behind him. Lullaby pulls it back with her foot and straps it to her waist.
“The job is still yours.” Lullaby says. “I do not desire to thwart you. In fact, I welcome you to try it.”
“I—“ he cocks his head, confused. “Wait. What—“
“And in return for your life, you will make me two promises. One: you do not speak a word of our association to anyone. Two: you meet me at this very spot in exactly four days’ time to report what you have learned from your employer after your next meeting. If you break either of these rules, I will know. I will find you. And you will suffer. Do I make myself clear?”
The man shudders. “Damn it all. Yes. Sure.”
“Good. Now go.”
“…Who are you?”
She knows better than to answer that. Before he can turn around, she has vanished into the trees. She watches from above as he stumbles away into the brush.
A strange feeling settles in her gut. She just released a man who was openly orchestrating the downfall of the Kingdom of Hyrule. From what she heard, he was possibly asked to assassinate her as well.
Still, this could be useful. With luck, turning one of the enemy into an informant will finally get her the information she needs to figure out who’s prolonging this war. She’s reasonably certain this was a good move. Something about that man seems to indicate that he’ll be a vital source of information.
Only time will tell.
Regardless, the sword she took from him is unique. Lullaby eyes the diamond pattern over it quizzically. Where has she seen it before? Tracking it should tell her a bit more about him, and where he obtained it.
Meanwhile, she needs a safe place to stay for the night. Princess Ruto will understand if Lullaby skips her meeting with the Zoras tomorrow to deal with this threat. Hyrule Castle is out of the option as well— at least for now. She needs to make herself scarce.
Lullaby looks up. Death Mountain looms benevolently overhead.
Darunia is more than happy to accommodate her. She’s finished speaking with him and nearly at her borrowed chambers for the night when the summons hit.
Find a sword and raise it skyward!
Lullaby stares at the sword she took from the assassin and shrugs. She fakes a body lying in her rock-hard bed, hides in a nondescript corner of the room, then wraps her hand around the hilt.
She’s out in a flash.
Early Downfall Era
“Last but not least, announcing the head of the delegation from Hytopia!”
Fable sighs. It is with great effort that she resists the urge to rest her elbow on the arm of her throne and prop her head up on her hand.
She’s been sitting here in this fancy dress for hours as a parade of visiting Hytopians has marched through her throne room in various fashionable attires— some more than once to display multiple outfits.
She doesn’t dislike the young princess of Hytopia, really. Styla’s a wonderful young girl in her own right. It’s just… well. The two of them don’t quite share interests. And it’s been a long day, and Fable really can’t help the uncharitable thought that it would be lovely if Styla would just get the fashion show over with. That way, Fable can show her and her delegation to their lodgings for the festivities, and everyone can get back to business.
Styla steps forward and begins a speech. To her credit, it’s well-prepared and clearly spoken, if a bit quiet.
“Dearest people of Hyrule,” it begins, and Fable is already not listening.
Instead, she opens up the borders of her mind.
“Hey, Ravio,” Fable says telepathically to the egregiously purple merchant sitting beside her.
Ravio quietly but audibly snorts awake.
Fable resists a scowl. Why does Rav get to hide his face behind his bunny hood? All he’d had to do was claim it as Lorulian fashion and the entire Hytopian delegation had nodded their impressed understanding. And the ambassadors from Labrynna and Holodrum aren’t even at court today, citing the need to settle themselves in, take care of other matters, and explore Hyrule before the tournament begins in earnest.
Lucky bastards, the lot of them. What Fable wouldn’t give to be exploring Hyrule right now. But here she is, stuck in this long dress that chafes at her skin. How she wishes she had her short blue skirt and pants.
Ravio’s gone back to sleep already.
“Rav, wake up!” Fable demands.
“Mgh. Oh, Miss Princess,” Ravio mumbles. He nods his head forward a little and pulls his giant purple bunny hood down and out. It looks weird now, sort of like his eyes are misplaced, but his whole face is shadowed and his mouth is effectively hidden. “What is it?”
“Shouldn’t you be awake for this important speech?”
Ravio grins sleepily. Faux innocence is already dripping from the merchant’s tone. “I don’t know. Shouldn’t you be listening?”
Fable resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Touché. You’ve been hanging out with Link too much lately.”
“Can’t argue with that!” Ravio admits with quiet joy.
Ugh, Fable thinks fondly. More of Link. Just what she needs.
Fable’s dear Link is a beloved nuisance. All five of the kingdoms signing this treaty were personally saved by him— not that he’d ever admit that he cares. Each of the five kingdoms has a different view of her brother, and none more complicated than the kingdom of Hyrule. Fable has done her best, but it isn’t easy to change public opinion, particularly with such an outwardly curmudgeonly hero.
Link is off gallivanting across eras and worlds again now. This makes his seventh adventure. And, well— Fable misses him dearly. She hopes he’s not being too self-sacrificial out there. He’s kind of prone to it.
At least he has others with him. Fable’s heard good things about his companions, the other heroes.
Fable feels her eyelids begin to droop again.
“Anyways, Ravio— talk to me. Please. I’m going to fall asleep, and I can’t hide my face like you can.”
“Alright, alright. Demanding, aren’t we?” Ravio sits up a bit straighter, still hiding his face with his hood. “What do you want me to chat about?”
“I don’t know. Anything!”
“Hm.” Ravio ponders his options. “Well, since we were just discussing him, what do you think Link would say if he was here?”
That does actually startle a chuckle out of Fable, one that jolts her relatively more awake. “He wouldn’t say much, I bet. He’d take one look at Styla and throw himself out of one of the castle windows.”
Ravio laughs a bit himself. “Right you are, Miss Princess.”
“Surprisingly enough, the splash as he hits the moat below is audible from all the way up here.”
“…You say that like he’s actually absconded through a window before?”
Fable sighs internally. “Sure has. I used to invite him to these things when we were younger, sometime between his first and second quests. No castle walls could hold him; no windows could halt his thrilling escape.”
Ravio chuckles quietly. “And he calls me the coward.”
“Aw, Rav, you’ve never been a coward. A bit of a scaredy-cat, maybe, but never a coward.”
The resulting smile on the Lorulian’s face is strong enough to be audible. “You really do mean that, don’t you, Miss Princess? I appreciate the thought.”
Fable grins. “You’re most welcome, Mister Hero of Lorule.”
“Oh stop it, you.”
Ravio quiets abruptly, and his next words are whispered in a rush.
“Miss Princess, they’re waiting for you to say something!”
Fable forces herself to remain calm as she focuses her gaze to find that Styla, her court, and the citizens watching the ceremony are all staring expectantly at her. Her nursemaid Impa, shuffling along the back of the room, is giving her a disapproving look.
Crap.
“Rav, did you hear what they last said—?!”
“No!” is the quiet, equally frantic response.
Styla is starting to look worried. Poor girl. She was so shy when she first met Fable a few years ago. To have come out of her shell to the extent that she can give a speech like this is commendable. And Fable just ignored all of it. What a terrible friend Fable is.
Terrible friend she may be, but as far as bullshitting goes, Fable’s one of the most skilled practitioners in the land. Fable sits up straighter and smiles.
She turns back to the audience and gives Styla a dainty, solitary clap— a regal applause.
“Bravo, Princess Styla. We found your words both fashionable and fitting; as much so as the elegant outfit you wear. Truly both your speech and silks are of the highest quality, and tailored to match.”
Pleased murmurs and nods from the visiting Hytopians indicate that this is an acceptable answer.
Styla brightens. “You think so?”
“Indeed. You and your delegation are a blessing to behold.” Fable spreads her arms. “Welcome, friends, to Hyrule. We hope you enjoy yourselves here as much as you would at home, and make yourselves comfortable before the start of the tournament. In fact, we’re sure you must all be exhausted. Impa, would you show our visitors to their temporary lodgings?”
“Of course, dearie—“ Impa begins, and Styla nods gratefully as well, but a ministerly-looking fellow from the Hytopian delegation interrupts.
“Pardon me, your highness, but before we go, we’d like to display the winter collection of our kingdom’s finest formalwear—“
“Minister, no, I don’t think that’s necessary right now...” Styla says, hesitantly, but the minister continues.
“Nonsense! There’s always time for fashion! Men, ready the suits—“
Styla sends Fable a reluctant but resigned look, and Ravio groans very quietly, and Fable settles in for another boringly diplomatic hour when—
Find a sword and raise it skyward!
Oh. Oh yes. By Farore’s grace, yes!! An excuse to create an excuse to leave!
Fable smirks. She eyes the table to her side. With a casual stretch, she bumps the candle that rests on top of it. Her gaze follows it eagerly as it tips over onto her dress.
The candle flame, however, spites her by simply sputtering out before it can catch on any fabric.
Really? Seriously? Here she is trying to practice a little innocent arson and the universe just refuses to cooperate!
Fine. She’ll have to do it herself.
With a whispered call to Din’s Fire, Fable sets her own dress alight.
The hem of her gown sparks in a small explosion and begins burning. Now the rest of the hall notices. Ravio yelps and cringes away, grabbing the edge of his own robes in the same motion and diving back in to try using his robes to put the flame out. Fable is touched by the gesture, but can’t let Ravio ruin her plan.
“Ah!” Fable shrieks, like a princess who has just been set on fire. She jumps from her chair away from Ravio, giving the fire a few seconds to burn through more of the dress before she finally lets Ravio extinguish it.
Once he’s done, he shrinks behind her but continues to scan the crowd intently, watchful gaze hidden by his hood but just as resolute and perceptive as ever. His hand is already reaching for the hammer in his sack of items.
“Relax, Ravio,” Fable sends. “I did it myself.”
She feels Ravio’s tension release beside her.
Aloud, she exclaims in shock and alarm. “Oh dear! My dress!”
“Are you harmed, Princess Zelda?” Styla asks worriedly.
“No, not at all, but my dress! Oh, what a travesty! What a fashion faux pas! I cannot show myself before the delegation of Hytopia in this singed monstrosity!”
“It… is rather burnt,” Styla says, catching on. “…Perhaps we should give the Princess time to change.”
“But what in the world was that?” blusters the minister.
Fable places a delicate hand to her chest. “I must apologize— I was so excited by the by the prospect of another viewing that I clumsily knocked a candlestick over onto myself— and lost a good dress in the process! Alas, it seems we have no choice but to end today’s meeting. I can only content myself with the thought that we shall have more than enough time to discover the glories of your country’s finery during the tournament and subsequent events.”
The minister looks confused, but doesn’t press. “Very well,” he grumbles, and Styla smiles.
Impa quickly takes charge, and the Hytopians are off to their rooms.
Fable walks serenely to the inner halls, Ravio following close behind. When she exits the public’s view, she breaks into a run.
“What?” Ravio asks, as he somehow keeps up. “What is it?”
“A summons!”
“Oh!” Ravio exclaims, stopping immediately. He flips back his hood cheerfully, and waves as Fable keeps running. “Well then, I won’t be needed for that. Good luck, Miss Princess!” He chuckles. “Boy am I glad that I never get summoned to fight in random battles across time!”
Fable laughs. “Suit yourself, Ravio. I find it quite fun!”
She skids to a stop in her room and tosses on her blue blouse with the short skirt and dark pants. Link’s extra pair of pegasus boots adorn her feet, and she removes her heavy tiara to wear the simple gold band with a red jewel at its center that her mother gave her before she died.
She’s ready.
…But wait, what was the key again? What was she supposed to do to answer the summons this time?
Lift something. Was it a blade? A sword. The blade of a sword?
She slams her door open. “Hey! Ravio! Can I borrow a sword?”
Ravio turns at the end of the hallway. “Sure! Rental fee is 200 rupees—“
Fable zooms over and smacks the money into his palm before he can say anything more. “Done!”
She makes sure to take the sword by the hilt, holding it up so as not to accidentally activate the summons before she can get back to her bed—
But she has misremembered, clearly, because as soon as the sword is vertical, she can feel the summon take hold.
Ah. Raise the sword skyward. Whoops.
“Rav? Catch me,” is all she manages to communicate before white static washes over her.
Era of the Great Decline
Dawn carries a potted plant gently in both hands as she walks up to the gates of Hyrule Castle.
The sprout within the pot hasn’t blossomed yet. In fact, its very identity is a mystery, although Dawn can be reasonably certain that it’s a flower of some kind. Perhaps the villagers of Rauru Town told her what it was supposed to be while she was helping them with the border wall, but if they did, she can’t recall it.
Instead she recalls their fierce warmth, their guarded yet kind gratitude. She’d spent the day carrying water and buckets of mud to help rebuild the walls around Rauru, and her heart has never felt more full.
The castle echoes even her quiet steps. She’s always found the cracked columns that decorate this place to be rather imposing. Her parents hadn’t quite liked it either, and had begun slowly adding touches to the halls to make it feel more welcoming. Nothing too fancy— just a hand-carved chair here; a simple wall-hanging there. Enough to make the rooms feel a bit more like a place others would want to visit. All of that stopped when Ganon invaded and killed them, and everyone fled to the North. But now, Ganon is gone, and Dawn is back home, continuing her parents’ work.
Dawn steps into one of the older rooms, built after the northern style. Frayed violet curtains blanket the room in a haunting chill. Cold plinths host statues of knights and ladies wearing armor of a style beyond Dawn’s imagination. Most of the statues are missing their swords. One still has theirs, but the stone blade is cracked off near the base, leaving mostly just the hilt.
Dawn places the potted plant on a stone pedestal that sits in a ray of light. Its tiny leaves reach for wamth, and suddenly, the stone knights seem less menacing.
Dawn smiles.
Footsteps echo beside her. She doesn’t need to turn to know who it is— but she turns anyways.
“Aurora!” Dawn waves excitedly.
Aurora wears a tired smile, but Dawn can see it become just a bit more genuine at the sight of her. “Hello, Zelda.”
Aurora’s nearly straight blonde hair has been tied up into a neat bun. Her ragged, worn cloak, lovingly patched together to stop it from falling apart, is the only part of her that isn’t immaculately put together. Her deep red blouse and white fabric sleeves hide a build that is both lithe and surprisingly strong— Dawn has watched her shove entire boulders aside like it’s nothing.
Every so often, the thought enters unbidden into Dawn’s mind— that Aurora looks the part of a princess more than Dawn ever has with her scrawny, malnourished build, short stature, and the unruly mop of brown atop her head. Dawn tries not to let it get to her; not to think of all the ways she’s inadequate. It’s easier because she loves Aurora so much.
“I see you’re redecorating,” Aurora says.
“Yes!” Dawn gestures to the potted plant. “Look, Aurora, the people of Rauru Town gave us a flower!”
“Ah. That’s wonderful.” Aurora seems to ponder something for a while, then asks it anyways. “Is… is it— out of curiosity, does it do anything special…?”
Dawn cocks her head to the side, confused. “It’s a flower! Isn’t that special enough?”
Then she remembers who she’s talking to, and the confusion makes more sense.
Dawn’s heart sinks. Her voice is quieter than before when she speaks up. “Right. There used to be flowers everywhere, in the past.”
She’s seen it herself, the times she’s been summoned before. It hasn’t yet sunk in that that’s what most other eras are like, that those wide monster-free green fields were more than a dream.
Aurora seems to have caught on to what she’s missing. “In a sense,” she admits. “Certainly there were areas in which flowers didn’t grow. There weren’t too many on Death Mountain, for example. But, yes, we had a good many flowers scattered around.” Her smile turns even more sorrowful. “My grandmother used to love them.”
“My mother did too,” says Dawn. She looks up through the skylight. “We do have flowers growing outside in this age: wildflowers and thistle blossoms and weeds!”
There are more dangerous sorts in the dark forests as well. But the earth for the most part is either cracked and hard or perilous swampland, and water outside the towns is poisoned more often than not. Monsters rot and decay what little wildlife is left. Things have been better since Ganon was defeated, but, well…
Not everything has been fixed.
Monsters, drought, starvation, poisoning; and now, differing opinions on the influx of Calatian residents and Hylian escapees back into Hyrule proper.
Dawn scrunches her eyes shut, willing herself to hold it together.
How does Link do it? No matter how bad things get, he’s always there with a smile and a helping hand. There’s something about him that gives off the feeling of overwhelming softness, and yet his eyes flash like lightning when anyone he cares about is in danger. And he cares about everyone. That’s what makes him special.
Aurora too. Stuck in this desolate era with Dawn when she should have been living amidst the neverending gardens of the past— but she hasn’t complained at all. Dawn thought it was hard getting summoned to another era a few times; how difficult must it be to be trapped after the Great Decline, knowing you’ll never see your family and friends again?
Dawn must have made some kind of noise, because Aurora’s expression turns softer in a flash.
“Oh, Zelda,” says Aurora softly. She holds her arms open. “Come here?”
Dawn throws herself at the older princess and is caught in a tentative and exceptionally gentle hug. Dawn sobs and pulls Aurora in tighter, nestling into her new sister’s arms. Aurora bends down to match Dawn’s height more closely, leaning over her. For years and years, Dawn hadn’t been hugged like this at all. Now, with Link, Aurora, and the other Zeldas, she isn’t quite so alone.
Aurora seems equally unwilling to let go, but they do part eventually.
“Zelda, I’ve been thinking. Have you heard anything about…” Aurora begins, then hesitates. “Never mind. I don’t want you to have to—”
It is at this moment that a voice echoes in Dawn’s head.
Find a sword and raise it skyward!
Dawn jumps in surprise, and consequently misses the rest of Aurora’s sentence. Aurora seems to have noticed.
“Another call?” Aurora asks kindly.
“…Yes.” Dawn wants to respond to the summons. She does. She loves seeing the world outside, and all the life that grows in other times. It gives her hope for her own world.
And yet— to Aurora, how must it feel that Dawn continues to have the chance to see another time? Aurora herself, despite bearing the name Zelda, has never been called. She hasn’t been able to leave the era of the Great Decline since she woke up in it just a short while ago. For someone like her, so bright and vivid who clearly belongs sometime else; it must sting that Dawn is the one who gets to leave.
“Go ahead, Zelda,” Aurora says, and her voice is softer than ever. “I’ll carry you to your room. Go to the others; go have fun, and tell me all about it when you return. Alright?”
“…okay.” Dawn’s voice is small, but Aurora doesn’t give her the chance to decline, instead prompting her softly.
“What’s the trigger this time?”
“Holding a sword up,” Dawn mumbles, hating that she still feels so guilty.
Aurora casts around the room. Both of their eyes alight upon the one stone knight on a plinth with their broken sword still in hand.
“Would that do?”
Dawn walks over to the knight. She’s a bit too small to reach the hilt comfortably, but Aurora is there, and with her strength, easily lifts Dawn up the last few inches she needs until she manages to rest her hand over the stone knight’s grasp. She pulls the broken sword from it and holds it aloft.
“I’ll see you soon, Zelda,” Aurora says gently, old sorrow hidden behind the gentle quiet of her voice, “I’ll be there when you wake up. I promise.”
And Dawn’s consciousness fades into the static white.
Era of the Open Sky
Sun stands proudly at the edge of the cliff.
At her back is the rising light. In front of her, a horde of foes. Above her rests the sky she loves, and at her side…
“Miss Sunshine?” asks a voice with a strange metallic twang.
Ah, Scrapper. What a strange little contraption. Sun finds him amusing almost as much as her dear boyfriend Link finds him annoying.
Scrapper’s whirrs and clicks have grown familiar to her ears. With a bit of tuning and tinkering, he’s managed to eliminate a portion of it from his speech, though he does lapse every now and then.
“So, uh… are you going to defeat all of those enemies alone?” Scrapper asks.
It would be impossible, or at least highly improbable. Even her dearest Link, master of the sword, would have difficulty with this many foes, and while Sun is no slouch at the art of the blade, she can admit that she falls slightly behind Link in that aspect.
In any case, Link has been away for a while. A quest calls him across the eras, and as always, he is bound by duty and goodwill to respond. In fact, most of their old classmates— Groose, Pipit, and the others— have spread out across the lands below in a quest to clear it for habitation. They’d come if she called, of course, but they’d take a while to get here.
The surface is fraught with danger. The mob of moblins and bokoblins below her cannot be left to their own devices.
Of course, there are others Sun can call for help.
Scrapper is still looking at her with that open-eyed questioning stare of his. Sun realizes she hasn’t responded to his question.
“Alone? No.” Sun lets her lips quirk upward.
Little by little, she gathers the power she’s been gifted. It flows to her in pointed ribbons and light, coalescing at her core.
She grasps her humble practice sword tighter in her right hand and lets her mind reach across the boundaries of space and time.
A crack splits the sky into segments above her.
Find a sword and raise it skyward!, she calls into the void, and eight other minds reach back.
An inventor in the wilds.
A general unfazed by war.
A sorcerer of four elements.
A pirate battling winds.
A historian steeped in twilight.
A spy bereft of time.
A diplomat chasing legends.
A gardener with hope for Hyrule.
Their spirits appear beside her, granted physical form in this era by the power they all wield. They put away their swords and draw their weapons of choice as they join her at the edge of the cliff.
Sun— Zelda— smiles.
She is the founder from the skies, the first of the nine.
And she does not fight alone.