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There is no destiny, only probability.
Fi considers this truth as she watches from within the sword of that seals the darkness, surrounded by the rippling emerald and gold leaves of the Korok Forest. For an unprecedented ten thousand years, she has waited in this glade half-asleep without end, gathering the divine energy needed for her next fight with Link.
A black-robed warlock disturbs her wait, wielding gears choked with the burnt-flesh odor of Malice. Though Fi does not often look to a person’s future, an analysis reveals a ninety percent probability that the warlock will die within a year, either from the Malice that wields him or from a blade in his gut.
Behind the warlock, the sounds of clashing weapons ring out in the clearing. Four pulsing warriors dart around, their violet shells crackling with Malice, facing a lone Hylian knight. In the light of this timeless forest, the Hylian’s hair shifts between nut-brown and gold, and his blue eyes are narrowed in fierce patience.
Fi calculates a ninety-nine percent chance that this knight is this cycle’s Link.
That calculation brings relief. Though Link is “fated” to wield the sword that seals the darkness, the probability that he does so is less than a hundred percent. In some timelines, Link dies before learning of his destiny, from the predations of beasts, bandits, and disease. In others, Link dies striving for the sword, falling off cliffs, off buildings, and sometimes against enemies.
Even here, Link struggles. He defends those behind him: his charge, the unpowered and vulnerable princess Zelda, and an egg-shaped automaton. Separately, his battle forms leave him open, as if he assumed the presence of another warrior beside him. The Malice warriors vanish and reappear, attacking these openings and keeping him on a frantic defensive.
Fi calculates a ninety percent probability that Link will die before reaching the sword.
But then the Goron Hollow strikes Link with its crushing blade. Link tumbles through the air, his blade shattered. He flies past the dark warlock, who ignores him, and lands with his back mere inches from Fi. He gets to his knees. He is alive, and in reach.
And thus, a single strike changes the course of this timeline. Between the improbable perfection of the Goron Hollow’s strike and the dark warlock’s maniacal focus on the sun-haired princess, the probability that Link will draw the sword rises to ninety-nine percent.
“Kill her,” the warlock calls out. The Hollows turn to Zelda, killing strikes at the ready. The Gerudo Hollow dashes for her. Zelda reaches out for her. Link, too, reaches out, his gestures dripping with the chemical signals of panic that his charge will perish.
Fi intervenes.
She casts out a pulse of divine energy, which erases the Hollows with pure white light. This takes merely an infinitesimal fraction of the energy she has gathered. As the scouring light clears, Link turns around with a new expression on his face. Much like her first Link, and every Link thereafter. It shows puzzled relief, at reaching the sword. A question, of whether he is worthy. Then resolve, that he must try.
His fingers clasp around the hilt of the blade, and Fi detects the throbbing heartbeat and the curtain of sweat. He tugs the blade repeatedly, hissing as the cold rushes through him. Finally, he pulls the blade free, and awareness of him fills Fi: his perceptions are added to her own, and she can put the names of feelings to the chemical signals rushing within him.
Link twirls the blade hesitantly, but it is light and natural in his hand.
The warlock turns to face Link, his black robes whispering as they brush against the stone plinth. “What?” he exclaims, in delayed comprehension.
Link points his blade at the warlock in challenge. His eyes narrow in confidence and resolve. Even if he were not destined to wield it, he thinks, the sword has accepted him because it had no other choice, and he must do his duty.
In this, Link is wrong. You are the first choice, Link. The only one I will serve.
In a heartbeat, Link charges with the sword that seals the darkness, with the blade of evil’s bane, with Fi. Detecting Malice, Fi sheathes the blade in divine energy.
The warlock defends with a Malice shield, but eventually, Link strikes his flesh and Fi’s energy detonates in the wound, splattering flesh and blood and bone across the forest. That detonation is too much, she notes: not in its effect on the target, but on how much it consumed of her reserves and risked her future plans.
The warlock howls, clutching at the crimson remains of his arm, and flickers across the battlefield. The Hollows return.
To muster the most efficient effect, Fi must time her detonation with Link’s strike – a difficult task, for Link strikes with more speed and force than her former masters. But as Fi quickens her detonations, Link slows his swing speed. After four strikes, they meet at a perfect middle, and each of their strikes shatter the Hollows.
Even so, as Link clashes with the dark warlock, Fi notes the same inefficiency in his offense. Whenever Link lands a strike, he darts away rather than pressing the attack, as if awaiting a partner’s flanking strike. He strikes down the Hollows multiple times, and strikes at the warlock multiple times.
Finally, they disappear for good, leaving Link victorious.
As Link and Princess Zelda approach the glade, the Deku Tree awakens. He gives the unpowered Princess Zelda well-worn platitudes, masqueraded as guidance; Fi calculates a five percent chance that they will help Princess Zelda awaken her power. These words do not assuage Link, whose body throbs with chemical signals that correlate closest to what Link’s people call fear and anxiety.
These feelings illustrate Fi’s limitations. For all her power, Fi cannot guide her master. When he is lost, no amount of divine energy can direct him. When he is joyful, no amount of divine energy can celebrate with him. And when he sobs, no amount of divine energy can wipe his tears.
They could meet again in another life if Fi spends enough divine energy to appear before further Links. Until now, Fi has never possessed enough divine energy to do so. But this time, for this Link, over the unprecedented ten thousand years? By Fi’s calculations, she can project herself and guide her master within months.
All this, Fi considers in a second.
Four pairs of footsteps brush against the grass behind Link, and only then do Link’s fear and anxiety dissipate. Fi quickly isolates each pair, and finds the one that give Link comfort. Extending her awareness, Fi correlates the comforting pair with its source. She finds a crimson and white Zora, whose scales glitter in the sunlight, and who bears royal jewelry and a silver trident.
Link turns around, and as his gaze meets this Zora, his eyes dilate and his heartrate quickens. Fi correlates those signs and digs through her memory of Links past, moments where he fell in love. Across these cycles, one truth holds constant. While Hylia commands Link to fight Demise, she does not dictate Link’s heart. One Link loved a sun-haired priestess in a long-forgotten temple. Another Link loved a sunset-haired princess beneath twilight skies.
This Link’s heart beats erratically; it is claimed by the Zora Princess.
Fi studies the Zora Princess with discretion. Her name is Mipha, she detects. And the way her eyes fall on Link, the way her cheeks redden faintly when he looks back, and the way her refined smile outshines the sun?
This Mipha’s heart beats erratically; it is claimed by Link.
And they both know this truth.
When we meet again in this life, I hope you will tell me about her.
A week after the battle of Korok Forest, Fi observes the ceremony on behalf of the five Champions. Their purported ancient words match no memory in her database. Times change, it appears.
The Champions gather after the ceremony to relax. As Link watches, Fi records every conversation. She pays particular attention to Princess Mipha, for not only does Fi’s master love her, he could stand to learn from her empathy and wisdom. Out of his earshot, Mipha gazes at him with eyes glowing in the sunset. Then she speaks with Daruk, about further training with him. “I wish to be stronger,” she chokes out, “to fight…alongside….”
Her fins and voice quiver in anxiety. Link should comfort her, Fi decides, so she expends a unit of her reserved energy to send those words back into Link’s ears. With a jolt, Link approaches Mipha. Confusion and affection fill him, and it is reflected in her flustered gestures.
Something significant does pass between them, and those words linger in Link’s mind.
So, later that night, Link takes Mipha, hand in hand, to sit near the Hyrule Castle Fountain and look at the stars. All is quiet save for their breathing and the burble of the fountain. His eyes find the dancing pattern of light that the fountain spray makes on her starlit scales, and Fi can hear his faint sigh of enjoyment.
Fi rarely observes a Link so drowned in such open romance so soon, but it is a pleasure to see him with such a full life and heart before his quest. She can only hope this quest will not consume all he holds dear. It is not her practice to expend her divine energy to look ahead and calculate the future of every happy moment. Everything dies, leaving only the misery of parting.
Mipha leans against his shoulder, and he kisses the top of her head, in the space within her silver tiara. These gestures, so obvious and in such an obvious place, set Link’s heart racing. Memories overwhelm him, vivid enough that Fi can read them: his childhood looking up to her, his adolescence looking at her, and their forays into adulthood together.
Relief fills Link, at the thought that Mipha loves him the way he loves her. But when Link observes Mipha falling quiet and her face tensing, he knows Mipha needs comforting. I wish to be strong enough…he remembers her words. “Mipha,” he whispers. “You are strong enough to fight alongside me. You know that, right?”
Mipha blinks in surprise, then looks back up at the stars. “I suppose.”
Link has missed the point. Fi spends a fraction of energy and sends a thought to Link, disguised as his own inner voice to preserve his comfort. Mipha is worried about more than fighting besides you.
Link tenses. “And even if you weren’t besides me in battle… why is that so bad?” He brushes his lips against her fin, and whispers, “It would keep you safe. It would help us protect more people.”
Mipha does not answer, only clutches at his fingers more tightly.
Fi detects the moment Link comes to the truth. “Oh. We haven’t spent much time together recently, and the only way you think we can spend time together is by fighting on the front lines?” He brushes her fingers with his free hand, enjoying the rasp of her scales against his skin.
Mipha swallows, nods. “I know it is petty. We have already promised to protect each other. That does not depend on whether I can spend time with you.” When she looks at him, her eyes shine with tears. “But you will be spending much time with Princess Zelda. Of course I will worry.”
Link’s heart twinges, and a mild resentment fills him at what his appointed duty demands. “I’m sorry, Mipha. They say the Sacred Knight traditionally protects the Sacred Princess.”
Mipha sighs wordlessly.
It is not tradition, but Fi cannot correct him. Though her first Link fought to rescue and protect that first Zelda, relatively few Links stayed by Zelda’s side. Even ten thousand years ago, when Princess Zelda and Link gathered Champions and Divine Beasts to fight that Calamity, that Zelda and that Link only interacted twice before defeating Ganon. Ruefully, Fi recalls that Link as a bitter loner, unloved and unloving, dedicated to protecting people but not to being kind. After his victory, he died alone and forgotten.
But this Link knows how to love and to be loved, she thinks with pride.
As in answer to that thought, Link smiles and cups Mipha’s face. She squeaks in surprise. Then he gently lifts one of her fins and whispers into her ear. “Mipha, you’re the only one I want to spend time with. Now. Later.” Fi can detect both their hearts racing, Mipha’s short and tight exhalations, the way their fingers and claws press into each other. “I don’t want anyone else at my side. Ever.”
Trembles course through Link and Mipha at his words, as do the chemical signals of love and hope.
When we meet again in this life, I hope that she will accept me.
The quest drags on. Zelda, with Link and her automaton in tow, struggles to awaken her powers in the wake of Hylia’s silent plan. Mipha develops her connection with her Divine Beast Vah Ruta. The dark warlock continues his feckless plans. Meanwhile, Fi gathers her divine energy, increasing her reserves so that she can manifest to Link around the predicted date of the Calamity.
A month before Fi can manifest, Link returns alone to the Domain on Mipha’s invitation. Mipha awaits them on Vah Ruta, majestic and glowing in the sunset. Her confidence is apparent from the thousands of microorientations in her posture.
The strength of her connection with Vah Ruta is also quite apparent. On certain frequencies invisible to the naked eye, she is suffused by Sheikah light, which flickers irregularly; there is a high probability that these flickers correlate to the communications between Beast and Champion. Fi cannot tell for sure, for the Beast has not answered her queries, nor sent any of its own.
Link, of course, knows nothing of this. The sight of Mipha fills Link with joy, as does the press of her warmth against his arms, and the texture of her scales against his lips. Soon, Mipha takes Link by the hand, smiling shyly, and invites him into Divine Beast Vah Ruta.
Fi very deliberately shuts down her sensory input.
After two hours pass, she reawakens to find Mipha and Link sitting on a trunk. Several new wounds dot the flesh around his collarbone. Mipha, instead, focuses on an older and longer gash on Link’s arm. The glow of her power, which stems from the will of another divinity, covers Link’s wound. Mipha is both Sacred Princess and Knight, Fi thinks, for her martial skills equal Link, and her divine powers currently surpass Zelda. Briefly, Fi wonders what destiny this other divinity plans for Mipha.
With a clang, the trunk comes to a stop, accompanied by high whines only Fi can perceive.
“I was thinking,” Mipha says. “This reminds me of the time we first met. You were but a reckless child.” She meets his eyes. “I thought it was funny, how being a Hylian, you looked grown up faster than I did. I was always willing to heal you. No matter the wound. Even back then.”
In response to her words, vivid memories appear in Link’s mind, readable by Fi: flashes of Mipha looking over him, sunlight pooling in her golden eyes, her crimson scales sparkling in waterfall spray. Even long ago, Fi can detect Link’s young affection for this beautiful and kind princess; that affection has matured and grown along with Link.
The wound heals. Mipha lets go, and a rush of disappointment fills Link. She clasps her hands together and looks down, in a familiar gesture of introspection. “Once the Calamity attacks, what will we do? We do not know much about what we are facing.”
A momentary fear stabs Link, that Mipha will die young, or that he will die and leave her alone, or that they will all die.
But Mipha presses on. “Know this,” she says. “If anybody tries to do you harm, I will heal you. No matter when. No matter how bad the wound. I hope you know… that I will always protect you.”
Link’s fear mixes with a flush of love, tinged with the clash of ringing steel and the odor of smoke and blood, the sense of bone-deep exhaustion masked with adrenaline.
Mipha continues. “Once all this is over, maybe things can go back to when we were younger. You know.” She meets his eyes again. “Maybe we could spend some time together.”
And at those words comes one of Link’s most treasured memories. Mipha, spinning gracefully, bathed in the ethereal light of the gathered luminous stones. Link, taking her in his arms, overcome with her beauty, pressing his lips against hers for the first time; his joy when she responds eagerly.
He contemplates Mipha, fondness filling his entirety. Without a word, he leans in and rests his forehead against hers, his breathing ragged, his heart rate quite elevated, his eyes shut. “What about the rest of my life, Mipha?”
“What?” Mipha’s eyes fly open, though Link cannot see it. They glimmer in the sunset.
Link opens his eyes too, and pulls back. “I…I know this might be soon, Mipha, but..,” The words are slow to come, lost as he is in the tangle of her gaze and his thoughts. “I look at the life I’ve had so far. Fighting in and for Hyrule. Staying here and with you. And then I think of my life if we win.” He swallows and strokes her cheek; Mipha leans into his touch. “We’ll all go our separate ways, free to do what we want. I look at that future, and I know what I want to do with that freedom.”
“Link?” Mipha continues meeting his eyes, fearless despite her tight breathing and the throbbing pulse visible against her throat, her chest, and her wrists.
At this moment, panic closes Link’s throat. Perhaps, he thinks, she is not yet ready for these words. In this, Link is wrong: Mipha loves him in the way he loves her. Nevertheless, Link is likely to fall silent, and Mipha likely to reach the wrong conclusion herself.
So Fi expends a minute’s worth of energy to send thoughts to Link, couched in the sound of his inner voice. Tell her, Link. She is ready.
Link stiffens. Though the fear does not dissipate, he opens his mouth, and inhales. “I love you, Mipha. I want to spend that freedom with you.” A spate of anxiety follows, rushing his words. “But I’m so sorry. I hadn’t thought this through. I could have brought a ring, or I could have waited for you, but I just ruined this, it’s not following either of our traditions-,”
“Link, I want to marry you,” Mipha says firmly but Link does not hear.
“-and I’m sure you-,” Link stops, processes her words. The blush deepens. ”You do? You do!” Tentative excitement course through Link at those words.
Mipha presses a clawed hand against his cheek. “After the Calamity. Once we are free of our duty.” She leans closer, brushing her lips against his cheek, and then his ear. He shivers at the touch, and closes his eyes again. She whispers. “You claimed me long ago,” and goosebumps prickle his skin. “I’ve already made your armor.”
Link startles. He knows of the tradition, had hoped so much it would happen. “How,” he stammers, “how long have you been making it?”
Mipha smiles. “I gathered the materials and I waited. And then when you told me those words at the fountain… I knew I could proceed.”
Link’s chest twinges with the pressure of his throbbing heart. He takes her scaled hands in his, and looks at her through watery eyes. “Let’s get married, then, Mipha. After the Calamity.”
This is the first time, Fi calculates, that a Link has found his heart to this degree during his quest. But every Link receives Hylia’s blessing to do what they will with their heart. This Link is entitled to love Mipha so deeply, to find his way to her after the Calamity.
As Link leans in to kiss his love, to celebrate the hope of a marriage, Fi enjoys a hope of her own.
When we meet again in this life, I hope I can guide you two together.
The day before Fi can project herself, Link’s world falls apart.
The Calamity rises. The violet dragon envelopes Hyrule Castle beneath a bloodening sky, curling its malicious bulk through the air. With every twist, shockwaves course through the air and tear stone walls. Around the castle leer four crimson pillars, each dripping with more Guardians.
By Fi’s calculations, many knights have fallen. Even the King has given his life for Zelda.
And so, Link stands watch over the castle, a powerless Zelda quivering in pain, and her greatest friend shouldering her in consolation. The bloody automaton called Terrako joins her, silent as always to Fi’s own attempts at communication.
Link stares at the dragon, all other senses muted: his heart races distantly, his hand trembles, and his every thought turns to Mipha’s fate. There is a ninety-nine percent chance that Link will slay this dragon, Fi observes; she does not, however, send this thought. For one, that calculation does not account for Mipha. And for another, Fi’s unprecedent reserve of divine energy is almost large enough to manifest to Link tomorrow; she must harbor her energy carefully.
With that thought, Fi studies the ancient enemy. The power of Demise has not weakened, Fi notes, but he appears to have devolved into a shambling wreck. Once, Demise had been a proud and massive warrior with ambitions; now, he is as articulate as his once-Imprisoned form.
Zelda’s choked sob catches Fi’s attention. Zelda has fallen on her knees, clutching grass, and the Sheikah Slate faces upward, its images plain to see. As Link observes them, his breath and heart stop. His eyes waver, his hands tremble, his throat closes. Fi registers images of Mipha and Daruk passing through Link’s thoughts. Some are memories of those two, her smiling, her gentle laughter, his grin, his backslap. Some of nightmares: Mipha, fighting alone, her trident gleaming in the Sheikah light of Vah Ruta; Mipha, killed by unknown assailants; Mipha, dead. Mipha, dead. Mipha, dead.
Mipha, dead.
Zelda sobs and cries, bitterly blaming herself for this apocalyptic failure. The automaton takes to soothing Zelda, so Fi turns to Link.
Though the probability that Link will defeat the Calamity remains at ninety percent, the probability that he shares his life with Mipha dwindles every second. Fifty percent.
Forty-five percent.
Forty percent.
There is no destiny that they share their life; there is little probability.
Link’s eyes prickle with tears; no amount of divine energy can wipe his tears.
Master, we must make for Vah Ruta immediately! She sends to Link, expending another minute’s worth of energy. Link stiffens. But before he can turn, Terrako beeps. Piercing white light blinds Link, but Fi can see it originate from Terrako. An aquamarine light shoots up from Terrako, matching the signatures of Hylian divine energy. It explodes outward in a ring, and dissipates.
For a fraction of a second, Fi detects another timeline overlaid with this one.
Within that moment, a scream in her own voice reaches her. Data accompanies that voice, telling the story of the future. Hyrule dies, Mipha dies, Link falls, and Zelda delays the Calamity alone. Link returns, bearing the sword. Link and Zelda defeat the Calamity.
Link falls from Shatterback Point, twice.
Crucial seconds pass as Fi processes this data. She could not guide that Link. If I speak to you, Master, what use am I when you lose everything? What can I tell you?
I am your blade, Master. I will help you cut down your foes. I will help you avenge your loss. But I cannot bring them back. If they die, you cannot meet them in this life.
That is answer enough.
Divine Beast Vah Ruta screams across the continent from Cepha Lake, its voice vibrating in frequencies only available to Fi and the automaton. As Link races there, Fi expends energy to translate these screams. By the time Link’s feet touch ground, Fi can forecast Mipha’s fate. Terrako's intervention has elevated Mipha's probability of survival to seventy percent.
By the time Fi processes this probability, it drops to sixty eight percent.
As Link races through the battlefield, he catches a glimpse of Vah Ruta flickering blue and red in the lake, and his heart stutters. A memory of Mipha flickers in his thoughts, but he quickly dashes it aside and runs.
Ganon’s Malice, violet as always, clenches the lake in its pulsating grip. Navigating this Malice through nonintuitive twists and turns causes delay.
That delay depletes the probability of Mipha’s survival to fifty percent.
Though Link does not know these precise probabilities, a panicked intuition still fills him. The longer he takes, the more likely Mipha will die.
It does not help that Link now fights in poor form, his grip slick with sweat. His arm trembles, faintly, from the ocean of adrenaline and panic. Memories clog the subliminal clarity between perception and strike.
In his slowed perception, he does not notice the shadow of the Ice Lynel thundering from behind. It is only with a message from Fi that he twists and feels the beast’s roar. Link dashes to the side, a beat too late. As the wind from its strike brushes against him, Fi feels him lose his footing. Instead of loading up tension in his legs for an explosive counterstrike – as he normally could – he skitters backwards, sword and shield trembling.
Forty five percent.
By Fi’s calculation, one strike and detonation to the Lynel’s rib cage will shatter its skeletal framework and tear apart a fraction of its internal workings. Another strike will detonate the internal organs within. Ten more, at this current power, will destroy this beast.
Link leaps forward with an overhead strike, his movements both too slow and telegraphed. The Lynel shifts out of the way, and the detonation burns only skin.
Forty two percent.
The Lynel lands a hit on his shield, and the force shudders through Link as he flies back, tearing away his panic to reveal a moment of battle clarity. Link lands, grip steady, and explodes back. His cross-cut finds the Lynel’s torso; Fi detonates divine energy at the ordinary power, and pulverizes the Lynel’s rib and lung.
The Lynel’s blade races for Link’s head in a flash of silver steel; that flash brings to mind Mipha’s Trident, and again Link ducks just a beat too late. His counterstrike meets the Lynel’s flank, but the Lynel dances away just as Fi detonates. That strike, at that power, does nothing more than burn off flesh.
Thirty nine percent.
At this rate, Mipha will perish before Link reaches her. Fi can predict the scene as if it had already happened – and perhaps it has, in the future: Link barging in to see Ganon consuming Mipha’s remains; Link barging in over her ice-shrouded-form; or Link barging in only to see the ice flail crush her.
I must do something!
The Lynel charges, perhaps smelling weakness in Link’s quivering form. Once more, Link dodges a half-beat late. His downward strike barely scores the Lynel’s hide. Just then, Fi detonates at an unprecedent level of power, drawing more from her reserves.
Her attack, fueled with more power than ever, shatters rock and flesh both, liquefying and tearing apart the Lynel’s flank. The Lynel roars and thrashes, its front and back half attached by mere strands of sinew that quickly separate in its dying throes.
Link turns around to Vah Ruta before the Lynel halves bleed out.
Meanwhile Fi calculates: if she keeps striking like this, she will spend her reserves.
As Link and Fi enter Divine Beast Vah Ruta, Fi examines the golden-brown layout. The waters of Ruta are frozen over, glimmering in the light of the blade and the drips of the fading day.
Link’s heart screams with exertion and fear, thrashing against his ribcage. His sweat-drenched grip quivers in time. Through labored breathing, she can feel the muscles of his jaw working, repeating a single name over and over again.
Thirty one percent.
Fi detects ragged breathing from the control room, so quiet as to not reach Link; but she expends a minute’s worth of her energy to direct that knowledge to Link. He turns to the control room without delay.
As he breaches the room, his eyes fall on Mipha, her scales scratched with battle-wounds, the crimson and white of her glowing against the ice-choked room. Immediately, his grip settles down; battle clarity fills the space between his perception and action.
The probability of Mipha’s survival jumps up to fifty percent.
“Such strength.” Faint relief brushes through Link to hear her living voice, but pain follows, at how quiet she is. Still, she stands with strength, clutching her Trident and advancing.
Fi perceives a new voice. “No, sister, please don’t!” And then she detects the speaker; a massive Zora who shares Mipha’s colors, and wields her Trident and his own.
The word “sister” tells Fi that this is Sidon, Mipha’s brother. Sidon’s titanic proportions, and the fact that he towers over both Link and Mipha – admittedly not a hard thing to do – tells Fi that this is Sidon from the future.
“Oh,” Sidon says as he turns to Link, “you’ve come at last!” This Sidon knows the future Link. Fi can detect the scream in her own voice echoing around Sidon, and that tells her two things: Sidon comes from the future where everything failed, and Sidon held Link’s sword after his death and survived.
Conclusion: this Sidon is a worthy ally.
Link subconsciously hears Sidon’s acknowledgement, but his battle focus sets it aside, finally, as he takes his place by Mipha’s side.
They face Waterblight, a facet of Ganon. The creature hangs from mid-air like a rotting shrimp, taking up a quarter of the chambers itself. Ganon has decomposed with the years; dignity shredded away to leave only danger. The odor that clouds its form matches that of water, choked with poisoned organic matter and buried beneath an ancient cistern she once traversed.
Out of the creature’s bulk stretch lean and angular limbs, clutching a icy flail and a mockingly-long spear of Sheikah Light. Across its carapace spills the blood-red hair of Ganondorf, writhing with the motions of hidden creatures. Atop the ruin of what passes as its face peers a single glowing blue eye.
Its blue eye snaps to Link, and at the blade in his hand, in a gesture of recognition. The bulk of its consciousness – detectable by the microorientations of its limbs – focus on Mipha.
Then it strikes. Every attack targets Mipha, likely out of purposeful cruelty after cycles upon cycles of defeat by Link. But this focus is also utilitarian, for killing Mipha will give Ganon control over the Beast.
“Link, I knew you would come!” Mipha calls out even as she evades its attacks, for she is no longer fated to die alone. But still, against Waterblight’s targeted strikes, Link and Sidon and a weakened Mipha fight on their heels. Flail and blade race towards Mipha each time, as do blocks of gleaming ice each strong enough to shatter a single warrior.
In the wake of Waterblight’s focus on Mipha, the probability that Link survives grows to ninety percent; that of Mipha plunges back to thirty.
Link spends his energy protecting Mipha. Waterblight’s flail and spear bounce off his shield, and the ice shatters across his own flesh instead. Despite the injuries, his battle clarity is in full form, and adrenaline has muted his pain. For now.
Sometimes, he can deflect its blows so perfectly that Mipha and Sidon strike their own blows. Sidon, though injured and exhausted, also commands attention from Waterblight, occasionally scoring heavy blows on its carapace.
But Waterblight’s every attack puts them on the retreat. Waterblight will not tire.
The probability of Mipha’s survival drops to twenty three percent, then nineteen.
Before Fi can whisper a suggestion to Link, Mipha speaks up. “Link, we must take the offensive. A pincer strike.”
Goosebumps break out on Link. “Risky, Mipha. It’s after you. I don’t know if I can distract him.” Their preferred pincer attacks would leave her vulnerable, for it relies on a momentary hesitation from the enemy. If, however, that enemy focuses on Mipha and can ignore a strike from Link, the pincer attack will only leave her unprotected. It will only leave Link to a future alone.
“I trust you, Link,” Mipha says.
Fondness and fear mix in Link at those words. In an instance, Fi measures the remains of her reserve. If Fi holds herself back, she can manifest to Link tomorrow, guide him through the war, comfort him through his losses.
But to Fi’s relief, the answer comes clear and quick, and she allocates her reserve for these strikes. They must distract Waterblight.
Link brings his blade up, and Mipha and Sidon both coil. Waterblight also tenses, perhaps in anticipation.
With a yell, Link charges at Waterblight’s side, into the frigid air that sheathes the creature. The beast’s eye glances at him; the ice-flail follows Link, but for one heart-shattering moment Link sees the spear plunge for Mipha.
Mipha’s probability of survival descends to five percent.
Link’s blade meets Waterblight’s side. Fi detonates, at five times her power. Waterblight reels back as its flail-wielding limb and parts of its carapace fly off within a shower of malice, clumps, and frozen hair. The spear goes wide in its momentum, striking the ice-laden floor with a screech.
Its eye snaps back to the blade, to Fi, almost as if in shock. You had such power?, it seems to ask.
Fi does not dignify that with a response.
Link darts back instead of pressing the attack, drawing Waterblight’s eye, as he awaits his partner’s flanking strike. And just in time, Fi observes two streaks of crimson and white behind the reeling beast: Mipha, in perfect timing despite her injuries, and Sidon not too far behind. Three tridents score blows on the Blight’s flesh.
Before Waterblight can smash down its vengeance, they too retreat, and Link advances as if pulled on a string, this time with a shower of clashes and detonations. Beneath their attentions, Waterblight falls. With a roar it retreats, thrashing, and its flesh boils; hair, ice, and Sheikah glow mix and then subsume beneath violet Malice, until finally it dissipates.
The probability of Mipha’s survival soars to match Link’s; ninety-five percent.
“I was right to put my faith in you.” Mipha’s words are firm, even as she trembles against her Trident.
Relief fill Link once more, and gasping raggedly, he wraps an arm around his beloved, even as he still gripps the blade. Fi observes the rasp of her scales against his armor, sees how Link’s muscles relax further. Tears spill forth, mixing with the mist of his breath.
Mipha is there. She is warm against him. She is alive.
The adrenaline leaves them both; exhaustion takes its place. His many wounds cry out in pain. Link’s arms grow numb from constant strikes. His fingers tremble but he keeps a grip both on Mipha and on the blade.
But his legs downright quake, and Fi registers the sudden acceleration as he collapses, and the weight of Mipha as she falls with him. The soft impact as Sidon’s titanic arms catch them mid-fall. Slowly, with giggles and helpless apologies amidst constant tears, they make their way to seated positions, nobody willing to let go of anyone else.
Link pulls Mipha to his chest, and they lean against Sidon’s own. Sidon’s thunderous heartbeat drowns out his own, but no signs of fear or worry cross Link’s body. Though this Sidon is a stranger, the name he bears, his naming of Mipha as “sister,” his naming of Link as “friend” in the frigid battle, and his shielding of Mipha, all put Link at ease.
Mipha trembles in his arms once more, quietly sobbing. Her claws dig into his back even as he strokes her tail with one hand and clutches at the blade in the other. Transitory images of Mipha flicker in his mind, the fear-laden scenes of Mipha dead slowly giving away to the Mipha before him.
“Thank you for believing in me, Mipha,” Link whispers. “I would never leave you.”
Fi detects a spasm of pain in Sidon at those words. All he knows is the world where Mipha perished, the world where Link falls from Shatterback Point, twice. But here, in this world, Mipha and Link have survived to fight another day. All will be well.
As if in answer to that thought, the ice dissipates, and with three grunts Link, Mipha, and Sidon, slide an inch down into the water. Laughter follows as the splashes catch their limbs; Link, Mipha, and Sidon entangled in knowing joy, Fi held on tightly and sharing in every bit.
Fi runs one last calculation on her reserves. Her store of divine energy is insufficient to project herself.
She and Link will not meet in this life.
But that does not mean she is unhappy. As Fi explained to her first Link upon their parting, she still does not have the capability to fully understand the human spirit. And yet, at the end of this journey, seeing Link with Mipha, Fi expresses a feeling she can now identify. She has sufficient data to be sure of her conclusion; this feeling corresponds to what Link calls happiness.
May we meet again in another life. Mipha will protect you in my stead.
Fi pauses, and then sends words that she can mean herself, after all this time. Thank you, Master Link.
Link looks at the blade of evil’s bane, at the sword that seals the darkness. His eyes meet Fi.
“Thank you.”