Chapter Text
Ocean looked at his friends from a past life, at their broken, limp forms and wondered when, if ever, he would stop failing.
He looked at each of his brothers, fingering the item he had taken from their past self. The ocarina from Time. The earring from Four. He remembered the red-hot pain from when he had pushed it through his ear, all those years ago. Hyrule's bracelets and Legends rings, feeling like weights pulling on his hands. He looked at Wild's sheikah slate, tightening the once blue scarf around his neck. Remembering. The pelt from Twilight, which he wore pulled up over his head, reveling in the undeserved comfort. Fi from Sky. An animalistic wail escaped his lips. He had vowed to protect her with his life, and he would. With his very soul. As if he could still claim he had a soul. He finally looked at the one who he had failed the most. He looked at himself.
The small figure of the boy he once was lay still on the ground next to their leader. His once lively eyes, once full of curiosity, were dead. Flat. He and the figure were the same that way. They were more alike then they had been before, when his younger self was still alive. The light that was once in both of their eyes was gone, the curiosity, the hope for a future. His had disappeared with his friends, and he had stolen it from his younger reincarnation.
He traced the lines left on his arms. Eight cuts, running horizontally. Eight fallen comrades. Eight missing brothers.
Eight missing pieces of himself.
He began work on what he knew must be done: digging rectangular holes. Nine of them. Nine rectangular holes, all in a row. The shovel was awkward and unwieldy in his grasp, but he didn’t care. He relished the sting of the grains of wood burrowing into his open cuts, the wood becoming stained red. The pain was grounding, clearing, comforting. He knew he didn’t deserve it, but he needed it. He wondered if they were looking at him, watching, seeing, judging. He had brought this on himself, he didn’t deserve to cry. He deserved to have this stored away inside, with no escape or relief, no way out of the hole he had dug for himself.
He picked up each of his friends- brothers- and placed them gently into the bed he had created for them. Closing each of their eyes. Laying them in a position that looked natural, like they were asleep. He washed the dirt and blood off their faces. His Fingers combed Hyrule’s hair, separating the clotted blood. He Wrapped Sky in his sailcloth. He Made sure Warriors looked impeccable, like he had just gotten out of a nice bath. He Got Legend ready for a date with Marin. Tears streamed down his face, filling his mouth with a salty taste. When he finished covering his eight brothers, he walked over to his young self, picking him up and cradling him.
Ocean brushed his hair back to reveal his forehead and traced the matching scar on his head. They had never told anyone the embarrassing story. He remembered how they had gotten it. He was still a child, sweet and innocent. When he was learning to use the Windwaker. Somehow it managed to pick up a chunk of bark and blow it toward his head hard enough to leave a gash.
Oh. Oh Hylia above. Oh, what had he done? What had changed? Why did it change? He squeezed his eyes shut and gently placed Wind into the hole he had dug for him and covered him, allowing him to sleep.
He placed their shields on their swords, hot tears dripping down his face. He fell to his knees and recited an elegy he had memorized by heart.
“My Hylia lead you well to peace. Your path has ended, quest finished at last. Find rest now for those left with your memories and legends to give. Journey once more to the land beyond us.” It was barely more than a whisper, the best he could manage. Head bowed, hands clasped in his lap, a weak whisper to send them away. The best he could manage for the group of heroes who had taken him in, no questions asked. Who-
His thoughts cut off there. He heard the rushing of the river. He reluctantly stood up, remembering the rule he had made, that his family had helped him make. When he couldn't think, couldn't feel anything but overwhelming pain, follow these- Five steps: Breath. Wash yourself. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.
He stumbled through the forest, blindly following the shushing sound of the river. He stepped in, numb to the cold, and he scrubbed. He scrubbed until all the blood had come off. He kept scrubbing. He scrubbed until his skin was raw until he finally left, accepting that he could not scrub away the sadness, the feeling of being broken. Of failure.
Next step: Eat. He redressed and found an open spot. With any luck, a monster would come. He almost smiled. He had kept watch to make sure no monsters came, and now he was wishing for one. Wasn’t that funny? He squeezed his eyes shut, digging the heels of his still bleeding palms into them, then dragged them down his face. Then he did the only thing he could think about doing. He pulled out the wooden blue instrument and blew softly into the mouthpiece. One note after another.
The music, the notes, they bended and swelled, all the parts coming into a whole. The notes swirled around him, encasing him, protecting him from-
He jerked the instrument away from his slightly parted lips. What were they protecting him from? The only thing he needed protection from was himself. Link -- the one who destroyed everything, who burned it all. The one who-
He collapsed from the struggle of sitting up, tempted but unwilling to pull the scarf up to his face, to pull the pelt over his head and try to escape from it all. Tempted, but unwilling to allow himself to have the comfort. He rolled over. He had rolled onto something. He had rolled onto something… sharp? He sat up, confused. He turned on the Sheikha slate, letting the soft blue glow illuminate the object. It was a small swo- this was the four sword! Then he had a realization. If the weathering had done this, if this rusted and warped sword was the four sword, the, in his opinion at least, best sword in the entire country of Hyrule, then what had happened to his friends? He desperately started tearing at the ground with his fingers, trying to get to the smithy. He didn’t know what he would do then, he just knew that he had to see Four again. He scraped at the hard dirt, breaking through and digging . Mindlessly digging all night. To free Four. From the prison of dirt he had put him in. He would free him and then- then what would he do? He curled up, ignoring the light from the sun that had somehow risen and moved to the center of the sky in almost a moment. He looked at his bloodied hands. At the shredded skin and the broken nails. Warriors would be ashamed of him. Of course, Warriors was already ashamed of him.
~~~
Link chased Cottla through the village. He played with her almost every day. Sometimes they would race, sometimes they would play hide and seek, sometimes they would play tag, like today. She seemed sad. So he played with her. So she wasn’t as sad. Some things can’t be fixed, but a good game of tag certainly helps most of them. He focused on the sensation of his feet hitting the stone, weaving through people, jumping over tables, keeping an eye on his new friend. He jumped up on a tree and used his glider to catch up to her, and she squealed, ducking around a statue of Hylia and continuing to run. Link stuck his tongue out at the statue and continued his pursuit, gaining on her with every footstep until finally he caught up.
“Tag!” She giggled at his heavy breathing.
“See you tomorrow, Mr. Phantom!”
That is what the citizens of the town had taken to calling him. Mr. Phantom. They said he was so mysterious, like a supernatural being, and even though they wouldn't say it to his face, he knew the fact he was covered in white scars also played a part in that nickname. He had stayed in the town for a few days, helping out the citizens. Even though he couldn't help his brothers, he could help others. And, although he knew he didn’t deserve it, it made him feel better. A little less horrible. He walked to the inn near the center of town. Although he could technically light a fire, he was only one man. He didn’t need all these rupees. And Ollie needed it more. Link smiled as he pushed forty rupees onto the desk.
“Have a good day, Ollie?” He grinned at the shy girl, and she looked up from her hands, startled.
“O-oh, hey, Mr. Phantom! She smiled after her initial moment of shock. “Yes, I had a pretty good day. How about you?”
Link smiled at her. “Fine. What are you reading?” He nodded to the book lying on the table, the object she had been looking at.
Her eyes lit up. “I’m reading the Book of Medora! There were multiple copies made after the burning of the House of Books , but I’m still surprised I got ahold of a copy. They’re extremely rare, you know. It talks about the Hylian language, which is super cool.”
“Awesome! That sounds really interesting. If I have time, maybe we can talk about the history of it. I’ve always been interested in language.” He smiled and walked to his usual bed, pulling out his hip flask.
“Hey, Pik.” Link smiled at the artist, who was already dozing off. He nodded and muttered something along the lines of “good night” before his snoring started.
The once hero sighed and took a swig from his flask, tracing his fingers along the eight lines on his forearms. He had been getting better, this bottle had lasted since Gerudo Town. He had successfully been weaning himself off it, and running was a much more efficient strategy, let alone cheaper. He put his bag on the ground and rested Fi along the side of his bed, placing one hand on the hilt. He let his eyes slowly blink shut.
The sun came too early. The day he was going to leave. He needed to refill his flask, anyway. He woke before the village, grabbing his bag and sheathing Fi before silently creeping out of the inn, out of the village, into the wild. Into the loneliness.
Link closed his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms into them and dragging them down his face.
~~~
Link always hated being alone, but he liked it, too. He had a bit of a love/hate relationship with it. It was really more being lonely, the feeling, that he didn’t like.
He climbed up the tallest tree he could find, and sighed, running his fingers over eight white lines that stood out from his sunburned skin like a sore thumb. He unconsciously uncorked his flask and took a long swig. He had given up on his no-drinking goal after some bandits came a few weeks ago and he panicked. He decided that it was better to just have it if he needed it, and the habit came back. He slowly blinked his eyes shut.
The sun, like every morning, rose too quickly. Link groaned but climbed out of the tree. And immediately began walking. He had a goal in mind, and he was going to get there. He walked along the road absentmindedly, running his fingers over his forearms and thinking. It was coming closer to the anniversary of the day his life changed. But he should have been watching the road. He tripped and blood pounded through his ears as he fell through time and space. He fell on the ground. And he heard a cry of surprise he at once knew. So he did the only thing he knew how to do.
Link ran.
His past self ran after him. “Wait! How did you get here?” Holy mother of Din, he used to be fast. And back at the village, he thought Cottla was quick on her feet. The boy started gaining on him, and he sat down, admitting defeat. But he wasn’t laughing this time.
“What’s your name?” The younger boy sat next to him, and he flinched away. Remembering. “I’m Wind.” He grinned.
“Link,” he sighed after a moment. “I’m Link.” He rubbed his forearms absentmindedly and took a swig from his flask.
"Link?" Wind asked excitedly. "I'm Link! My nickname is just Wind. The others are all Links, too, so we all have nicknames for each other. What do you want us to call you?"
Did he really used to be this obnoxious? He didn't think his younger counterpart took a breath in that entire sentence.
"We usually come up with our nicknames from our hero titles. That's why I'm Wind. Cause they call me the Hero of the Wind."
Link thought for a second, then let the corners of his mouth turn up slightly. "Phantom. You can call me Phantom."
Wind looked at him for a second before responding. "That's so cool!" He grinned, face lighting up like the sun. "Wait till' you meet the others! Our cook is getting started on dinner, he's really good. Come on! He grabbed his hand, pulled him up, grabbed a bucket of water, and headed down a path. There was smoke rising in the air somewhere in front of them.
~~~
Wild sighed, wondering where Wind was. He had heard him yell, and he, Warriors, and Time went out looking for him. They had found him skipping down the path, man in tow.
" Hey! This is Phantom!" he called, and the man in question, Phantom, stumbled. "Oh!" Wind turned to him, frowning. "Sorry, should have warned you I was stopping."
"It's fine." Phantom stared wide-eyed at the heroes as he let his hand slide from Wind's own. He slowly, hesitantly walked over, looking like he thought if he moved too fast, they might disappear. When he finally reached them, he stuck his hand out, touching Warriors as if to make sure he was really there. Tears started leaking from his eyes as he fell to the ground, grabbing his arms. He mumbled something over and over under his breath as Time put his hands under his arms and gently pulled him up.
"Are you ok?" Time looked worriedly at the newcomer, who nodded and fell forward into the leader, wrapping his arms around him. After an initial moment of shock, Time returned the gesture, awkwardly patting Phantom's back. "Let's get you to camp." The man let go of Time, tips of his ears red.
"I'm sorry, I've just been alone for so long. Lonely." He gestured toward the path, walking back to Wind and grabbing his hand like it was his lifeline.
Time walked in first, followed by Wild and Warriors. Finally, Wind pushed aside the bushes, grinning from ear to ear.
"Everyone, meet Phantom!" he said grandly, gesturing to the man as he pushed aside the bushes and walked into camp.