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Before Link can step out of his apartment, the glow of the Master Sword, still resting in its stand, catches his eye. He glares. “Don’t look at me like that.”
The Master Sword stares coolly back. Its purple light illuminates the spiderwebs in the corner.
Link crosses his arms. “Look, you’ve been helpful, and I appreciate that,” he says, “but I’ve got no use for you now. It’s Zelda’s fault, anyway. Blame her.”
The Master Sword silently judges him.
Link makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat and steps into the hallway. The door slams behind him. He ignores the nerves that cling to his shoulders as he locks the door and takes the stairs two at a time. The Master Sword will be fine. It’s not actually conscious. It’s not like it’ll get lonely.
No, it’s not the Master Sword that makes Link nervous. It’s the upcoming conversation with Zelda.
In the lobby, Link spots Mrs. Clarke, who juggles a mug of coffee and her phone at the same time. Link quickens his pace, just slightly, and tries to look inconspicuous.
“Why, Link!”
Caught.
Switching gears, he plasters on a smile. “Mrs. Clarke. How are you this morning?”
“This beautiful morning, I think you mean. It’s made especially beautiful by the fact that my grandchildren are coming for a visit today!” She grabs Link’s arm and pulls him close. Not a drop of her coffee spills. “Do you happen to be free this afternoon for tea? The young ones would be just delighted to meet you.”
“I’ve already got a meeting,” Link says, relieved it’s the truth. He’s lied enough times to avoid Mrs. Clarke. The last thing he needs is to add another black mark to his record with the goddess.
“Oh? With whom?”
“The Queen.”
Mrs. Clarke laughs. “I should’ve known! The princess’s personal bodyguard would know her mother, wouldn’t he?”
“It’s just a business matter.”
“Well, I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from such an important engagement as that. But don’t forget to call me when you’re free, young Link. My grandchildren will be here for a few days!”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Link says and makes for the door.
Outside, he lets the brisk wind wake him up and takes a moment to catch his breath. Here, with his hoodie and glasses on, few people will recognize him. The fact drains some of the tension from his shoulders.
He takes a sharp turn at the sidewalk and braces himself in the wind as he makes for the bus stop. The street he lives on is quiet and out of the way—as much as a street can be in Castle City, anyway—and in the early afternoon on a weekday, there are only a few cars and fewer pedestrians.
This turns out to be a boon when the air over the road turns an inky black and blooms into a dark, eldritch doorway.
Link reflects that maybe today wasn’t the best day to leave his apartment unarmed. He looks around, but conveniently, there’s no people in the near vicinity to complicate the situation.
Should he… touch it?
Before he can decide, a man strolls out of the black mass, wearing plate armor like he’s from the actual Lost Ages. He even has a comically large sword strapped to his back. After him comes another man, quite a bit younger, wearing a red tunic and skirt. Despite his bare legs, he shows no signs of chill in the wind-whipped day. Instead, he gives the street a judgmental look.
It doesn’t get better. As Link watches in increasing agitation, seven more men and boys appear out of the darkness as casually as if this were their typical means of transportation. With a rush, the portal—because that’s what it is—disappears behind them.
“Wow!” says the kid with some kind of sea creature printed on his blue shirt. “Those buildings are tall!”
One man spots Link and flashes him a smile he probably thinks is reassuring. His white cape swishes around his feet. “Don’t worry about us,” he says. “We’ll get out of your way soon.”
Link would normally have to work to not respond in some sarcastic or otherwise angry manner to the words that have just been leveled at him—don’t worry about us? Really?—but unfortunately, he’s distracted by the Master Sword the man wears on his back.
Yeah, as far as Link knows, it’s not possible for the sword to have been lifted out of its stand by anyone other than him, because that finicky blade doesn’t just let anyone wield it. That only leaves one other conclusion. His nose wrinkles.
Cosplayers.
Cosplayers with access to incredibly powerful portal magic, to be sure, but it’s not his problem. Explicitly so, thanks to Zelda. He’ll drop a quick call to the Knights before getting on with his day, but he’s free to wipe his hands of this particular situation.
He nods to himself, satisfied, turns on his heel, and meets the oncoming headlights of a car.
A horrible screech peals through the air as the driver hits the brakes. Link glances back to the group, but none of them move from their place in the middle of the street. Instead, they’re in the idiotic process of drawing their swords.
“Run!” Link yells. Surprisingly, they listen, scattering to both sides of the street just in time for the car to fishtail past them. It doesn’t stop, just keeps going at an utterly irresponsible speed, as Link blinks at the aftermath.
“So,” says the older of the two in blue shirts, as if he’s just making conversation, “anybody know where we are?”
Link snaps out of his stupor and shouts, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The cosplayers turn to him. “Thank you for that,” the one with the fur hood says, serene. “We’re not from around here. As you might’ve guessed.”
Link doesn’t grace that with an answer, instead turning his attention to the half of the group that escaped to the opposite side of the street. They’ve made their way back across, but they’ve stopped at the curb, not bothering to step onto the sidewalk. Link points at his feet. “Get over here! Or have you not learned your lesson?”
They step onto the concrete. “Sorry,” says a teenager with a ceremonial-looking sword gleaming with red gems. It doesn’t look fake, up close, but Link refuses to believe it’s real, because if it is, it belongs in a museum, not on someone’s actual back.
Not that he can talk. The Master Sword isn’t exactly the most unassuming of swords.
He sighs. “If you’re not from around here, you should probably know unauthorized magic use is illegal in the city. No more portals, okay?”
“Noted,” Fur Hood says.
Link squints at him and the hilt of yet another sword that appears behind his shoulder. “You know what’s also unauthorized? Open-carry weapons, fake or not. That’s for the Knights only.”
“What kind of rule is that?” Skirt complains.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s the kind of rule aimed at protecting people who think pulling a sword on a car is going to work.”
“What else are we supposed to do when there’s a monster rampaging through the town?”
“Excuse me,” Link says, because it’s the only thing he can think of. He looks at the rest of the group, but none of them act like there’s anything wrong with Skirt’s statement. “Are you telling me you don’t know what cars are?”
“Like we said, we’re not from around here,” Fur Hood says. Again.
“That is not going to work twice.” Link shakes a finger at them. “The only excuse for not knowing about cars is—is—is being a baby.”
“What’s a car?” Plate Armor asks, evenly.
Link’s mind goes blank. “Please tell me you’ve at least heard of horses.”
“Who hasn’t?” says the one with the four-colored shirt, as if Link’s question is ridiculous.
White Cape shrugs. “To be fair, I hadn’t until a year ago.”
“Right,” Link says, unsure whether to feel vindicated that his question is not, in fact, ridiculous or disturbed that White Cape has apparently spent most of his life unaware of horses. He chooses neither, shoving the whole thing firmly out of his mind. “Horses can pull carriages, right? Cars are like carriages but without the horses.”
“That’s some pretty fancy magic!” Younger Blue Shirt says.
“It’s not magic,” Link corrects, feeling marginally more indulgent of a child. “It’s technology.”
Older Blue Shirt grins. “Hey, that’s what Zelda always says.”
“You know Zelda?” Link asks, alarmed.
Fur Hood’s eyes sharpen. “A Zelda.” He steps forward and peers into Link’s face. “What’s your name, kid?”
When Link is in his right mind, he doesn’t give out his name. If people don’t recognize him when he’s not in his uniform, it’s for the better. His name just ruins the ruse.
He is not in his right mind. He says it, and Fur Hood only nods. “Me, too.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re time-traveling heroes, and you want me to join you.”
Fur Hood—Twilight, is what he goes by, though Link is his name—nods. “More or less. What do you think?”
Link, who has been trying to puff himself up indignantly this whole time, deflates. “It’s not the strangest thing I’ve been asked to believe.”
The ten of them are stuffed into his tiny living room and kitchen. Despite Link’s protests, their grabby hands crawled over everything as they explained the portals, the time travel, and the fact that they are literally from the Lost Ages.
Twilight gives him a sympathetic look. “Don’t worry. It is a little strange. The portals only come every couple of weeks, so you have some time to decide.”
Before Link can respond, Warriors—and what ridiculous nicknames they have, too—inspects the shield Link has hung on the wall. “This is entirely ceremonial,” he says and raps his knuckles against it to make the thin metal clang. “Useless.”
“I’m aware,” Link says. “That’s the point. It’s just what the Knights get when they graduate from the Academy.”
Sky gives Link an excited smile. “You attended a Knights’ Academy?”
“Yeah. I never officially graduated, but I guess sealing Ganon away is enough to get an honorary degree.”
“Why give you a useless shield?” Warriors complains.
“Because we don’t actually use them.”
“But why not?”
“We have guns.” When Warriors only gives him a perplexed look, Link sighs. “I should’ve known all of you are pre-gun.”
“What’s a gun?” Wind asks from where he has his hands cupped under a lamp’s lightbulb, having just finished cooing about their resemblance to fairies.
“A dangerous weapon,” Link says as flatly as he can. All the questions are making him restless.
“What’s this thing?”
Link looks over to find Wild standing on his tiptoes to peer into the microwave as he presses random buttons on it. Feeling short, he says, “A device that cooks food with light.” He gets to his feet and raises a hand in as casual a goodbye as he can manage, ignoring their skeptical looks. “I have to call someone. I’ll be back. Don’t touch anything.”
He steps into the hall, closes the door, and pulls out his phone. It rings twice before Zelda picks up.
Link collapses against the door. “I am dying over here.”
“You will be when you finally make it to the palace.”
“What?”
“You know, our meeting? I told you to be here before you had to talk to my mother so we could discuss last night?”
Link winces. “Right, I was coming, but—”
“But you’re angry, I know. That’s no excuse. Avoiding it won’t change the reality, anyway.”
The reality that you fired me? Link wants to say but doesn’t. For once, he’s got bigger problems. “But,” he says, forceful, “I got held up because I met nine other versions of myself.”
Zelda is silent on the other end of the line.
“Or my—my reincarnations. Or, they’re not my reincarnations, but I’m their reincarnation, or the reincarnation of at least some of them, and they’re all reincarnations of each other, and it’s all very—”
“Link, slow down. What happened?”
Link goes back to the portal in the street. Once he catches up to the present, Zelda is laughing. “You get into the weirdest trouble!” she gasps out.
“What do I do?”
“Bring them to meet me! If they’re really from the Lost Ages, they’re like living fossils. A historical goldmine!”
“Of course that would be your priority.”
“Well, what’s yours?”
“Not that?”
“You dazzle me with your logical mind.”
Link scowls. “Do I even have time to bring them to meet you? My meeting with the Queen is pretty soon.”
“You’re right. How about this? You meet with my mother and then bring them to meet me.”
“Shouldn’t we tell her about them?”
“Aww,” Zelda says, in the tone of voice that means she’s about to convince Link to do something stupid. “She’ll be all stuffy and want to verify their claims or whatever, and if they might disappear through a portal at any point, we don’t have time for that!”
“Your mom, stuffy?”
“Oh, come on. You know she just acts easygoing around you because you’re cute, and she likes it.”
Link rolls his eyes. “Fine. There’s just one problem. I don’t think I should leave them cooped up—”
“Hylia!”
The curse comes from inside the apartment. Link grinds his teeth together. “Sorry, Zelda, I have to go.”
He hangs up and rushes inside. The smell of burning hits his nose even before he spots the smoke spilling out of the microwave.
“What did you do?” he demands as Wild wrenches the microwave open and pulls out charred plastic. A cup of dry instant noodles crumbles in his hands.
“I just put something from your shelves in it!”
“Did you follow the instructions?”
“I can’t read your Hylian!”
The smoke detector goes off.
Link throws his hands in the air and glares at the others, half of whom have their hands up to their ears and all of whom are doing nothing. He jabs a finger across the room. “Someone open the window!”
Four and Hyrule rush to do so. Link grabs the largest book on his bookshelf and waves it furiously under the smoke detector.
“I don’t understand,” Wild says. “It just used normal light, nothing dramatic. Nothing should have happened.”
“That’s because you can’t see the light it uses! It’s invisible!”
“You’ve got magic invisible light?”
“It’s not magic. It’s technology!”
Link puts on his most intimidating glare and ignores Legend’s amused smirk and Warriors’s soft snort. He gestures sharply to the large park around them. The breeze ripples the surface of the park’s duck pond. A block away, the palace rises above them.
“Don’t be a disruption. I’m trusting you.”
“That’s a mistake,” Wild says, and Hyrule, who stands beside him, nods. Twilight smacks Wild’s head without looking.
“We won’t be,” Sky says.
“We’ll do what we can,” Time says.
“Yeah, unfortunately, what the old man said is about the best we can actually promise,” Four says.
Link crosses his arms and glares harder.
Wind puts his hands together, an earnest look on his face. “You can count on us, Link!”
“Of course,” Link says, knowing Wild is right. He’s making a mistake. A big one. “I’ll be back in ninety minutes. Just be back by the pond by then, okay?”
“Okay,” Time says.
Before the rest can reduce Link’s faith in them any further, he nods, spins on his heel, and walks away.
Zelda and a bodyguard greet him at a side entrance to the palace. Zelda’s eyebrows raise when she sees him. “I hope you’re not planning to meet my mother like that.”
Link’s hoodie still smells like smoke. He scoffs. “We spent months in the wilderness together and now we have to dress up all the time?”
“Link.”
He sighs and pats his bag. “I brought a change of clothes. Can I use your bathroom?”
Ten minutes later, he stares at himself in Zelda’s ornate mirror. His eyes are big and clear and blue, framing a stubby nose that sports red marks from his glasses’ nose pads. His Knight’s uniform fits perfectly, specially tailored just for him. He hates it.
This is the way the rest of the world thinks of him. There’s already a painting hanging in the palace that depicts him and Zelda facing off against Ganon, with him dressed exactly like this.
The joke is on the world. There’s no contact cleaner in the wilderness. He fought Ganon in borrowed armor, and his glasses were destroyed in the fight.
Zelda knocks on the door. “Could you be any slower?”
“Will do.”
“You know that’s not what I meant!”
Link opens the door and grins. “I’m just following Your Highness’s orders.”
“Shut up and let’s go,” Zelda says. She grabs Link’s arm and pulls him out of the bathroom, marching him through her bedroom and down the hallway. It isn’t until they get to the throne room’s antechamber that Link starts to fidget.
Zelda stands primly and watches him. “Are you nervous?”
“No,” Link lies. “This is all formal, just to finalize everything. She can’t do anything worse.”
“She’s done nothing bad at all. Link, you know you’re suffocating as my bodyguard—”
“—pretend bodyguard—”
“—see? You can’t stop disparaging your job even while you’re pretending to be upset about losing it.”
“I am upset!” Link scowls. “Okay, you’re right. Being Mr. Hero in front of everyone in my glittery uniform and sword isn’t great. But at least it was something I could do after everything that happened!”
“Now you can do something different.”
“Like what?” he snaps, even as Zelda’s words make him think of the group he left at the pond.
“You could go to university,” Zelda suggests. Her voice has gone soft, almost tentative. “That’s what other eighteen-year-olds do, right?”
“For what?”
“For whatever you wanted.”
Link sighs. “That’s just the problem. I don’t know what I want.”
“What about for music? Have you been playing your flute lately?”
“Not really.” He shakes his head. “I just wish you had discussed it with me instead of going behind my back.”
Zelda reaches out and grabs his hands before he can dodge. “I know. I’m sorry. But you never would have left if we didn’t force you to.”
The door creaks open. Zelda pulls her hands away, and Link stands at attention as a guard steps out and bows to her. “Her Majesty will see you now.”
They walk into the throne room together. Instead of sitting in her throne, Queen Zelda—every girl in the royal line is named Zelda, bizarrely—sits at a table temporarily placed in the middle of the room.
Zelda goes to greet her mother, and Link kneels, crossing his arm over his chest in salute. “Your Majesty.”
“Sir Link. You may rise.”
As he does, the Queen smiles at him fondly. “Come and sit. As luck would have it, I was just sitting down to tea.”
Link sits down next to Zelda and refrains from pointing out that the Queen knew about this meeting already. “That sounds lovely, Your Majesty.”
The Queen takes Link’s hand. “You have served my daughter well, and I thank you for that. Now it is time for you to serve yourself.”
“Thank you,” Link says and tries not to sound skeptical.
“With Princess Zelda as my witness, I officially release you from your service to the royal family.”
Link bows his head. When he looks up, Queen Zelda lets him go. Her smile broadens. “Now. How about some tea?”
On the way back to the duck pond, Link spots Impa. This wouldn’t be so unusual—the old Sheikah woman can reliably be found passing her days on the benches of the palace’s park—except that she’s accompanied by a small figure who’s listening to her intently.
“Hey, Four,” Link says as he approaches. “You forget what time it is?”
“Sorry,” Four says. “Impa was just explaining some biology to me.”
Impa claps her hands together and smiles serenely. “Not exactly biology, but true nonetheless. I was telling him about the four humors of the human body that must be in balance for a person to be healthy.” She puts a hand on Four’s shoulder. “I’ve never met someone quite so balanced as this one here. Blood, the yellow and black biles, and phlegm… all in harmony.”
Link refrains from sighing. Impa has moments of clarity and wisdom, and she once saved his life in those first chaotic days after the city’s invasion, but most of the time, she just spouts nonsense.
“It takes a lot of work,” Four chirps as he slides off the bench. “But I know the value of unity.”
“That you do,” Impa agrees. Her gaze slides to Link. “As for you, young man. You could do to lay off the yellow bile.”
Link grabs Four’s hand and pulls him away. “Thank you for the advice, Impa. Come on, Four. We’re already late.”
He releases Four once they’re far enough away that he’s sure Four won’t go sprinting back. “The four humors theory isn’t actually correct, just so you know.”
Four’s eyes glint. “Maybe not in those exact words,” he says, “but the essential idea isn’t wrong.”
Link should’ve known. People from the Lost Ages will believe anything. He opens his mouth to explain that blood is just blood and that since the four humors theory was used to justify bloodletting, it really shouldn’t be used as a paradigm today, clearly—
“Get away from my grandkids!”
Four and Link exchange a glance and practically sprint through some bushes to follow the shout. On a shallow slope of carefully maintained grass, Mrs. Clarke stands with her phone in hand. She points accusingly towards, of all things, a wolf standing with two children, a boy and a girl, flanking its sides.
“Wolfie!” Four says.
“Link!” Mrs. Clarke gasps. “Thank the goddess you’re here! That wolf is attacking my grandchildren, and I can’t get animal control on the line!”
The wolf flattens its ears and steps away from the kids. The girl crosses her arms. “He was playing with us, Grandma! He’s not dangerous!”
The boy nods. “Yeah. He’s fun.”
Four steps forward and waves at Mrs. Clarke. “Hello! Sorry, that’s my wolf. There’s no need to worry. He’s perfectly harmless.”
“Your wolf?” Link demands. Four didn’t have a wolf. How could Link have missed a wolf?
A vein pops in Mrs. Clarke’s forehead. “You can’t just own a dangerous, wild animal!”
“Okay, okay,” Link says, stepping forward. “Everybody take a moment to breathe. Kids, why don’t you go stand by your grandma?”
The boy and girl give him dirty looks but do as he asks. Four stands by the wolf, and Link smiles. “Great. Now, how about we all just get on with our days?”
“You can’t trust him,” Mrs. Clarke says. “He obviously can’t keep control of the wild animal he thinks is his pet!”
“I can vouch for him,” Link says and hopes he isn’t making a terrible mistake.
Mrs. Clarke gives the wolf and Four a deeply suspicious look. Her chin rises, and she closes her eyes. “Fine. Only because you’re a fine young man, Link. Come on, children. Let’s find your older sister.”
Once they’re gone, Link rounds on Four. “If that’s really your wolf, Mrs. Clarke isn’t wrong. You need to keep a better eye on it.”
“He’s not my wolf.”
“Then why did you say he was?”
Four huffs. “Let me finish. He’s not my wolf, but he travels with us sometimes. He’s helpful.” He pats the wolf’s head. “Isn’t that right, Wolfie?”
The wolf nods.
“Wolfie,” Link mutters incredulously. “You know what, I don’t care. Just keep an eye on him.”
“Will do.”
“Let’s get back to the duck pond. Maybe we’ll find some sanity there.”
Instead of sanity, they find Wild. He stands atop a block of ice that inexplicably rises out of the pond’s water. On another ice block, just a few feet over, stands a teenage girl. Wild holds his arms out towards her. “Come on! Just jump! If you slip, I’ll catch you.”
The girl giggles and blushes. Link presses the heel of his palm to his forehead, just for a moment. When he looks up, the girl has jumped. Wild holds her around the waist and says, “Great job!”
Link marches forward to tell them to lay off the illegal magic. And the flirting, if they can bear it. Before he can, Mrs. Clarke rounds the corner with her two grandchildren.
She presses a hand to her chest. “Alba!” she cries.
Please don’t tell me this is the older sister.
Alba looks down and frowns. “Grandma.”
“Get off that ice this instant!”
Alba rolls her eyes, but Wild throws Mrs. Clarke a salute. He grabs Alba’s waist and holds her steady as they jump down, splashing in the pond’s shallows. Alba laughs the whole time.
“Sorry my grandma is such a spoilsport,” she says to Wild.
“It’s no problem.”
“We should meet again.” Alba pulls a pen from her purse and writes on Wild’s finger. “Call me.”
“Uh, what do you mean by call—” Wild says, but Alba is already running back to her grandmother. Mrs. Clarke grabs her hand and begins to march her away. On her way past, she shoots Link, standing by the wolf, a dirty look. “I’m disappointed in you,” she says.
“I don’t understand how I have anything to do with this,” Link mutters under his breath. He makes his way over to Wild. “Are you done flirting?”
Wild blinks. “Flirting?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You have her number.”
“Number?” Wild peers down at the ink on his finger. “Is that some sort of… identification code you guys have?”
Of course. Wild doesn’t know what a phone is. “Sure,” Link says. “Let’s go with that. The point is that she was into you, and you weren’t exactly discouraging her.”
Wild’s eyes go wide. His face flushes. “Oh. I didn’t realize.”
“You’re oblivious,” Link says in amazement.
The wolf bumps Wild’s hand with his nose. It barks once, short and sharp. Wild steps back. “Hey! Don’t make fun of me.”
The wolf huffs. Link convinces himself the wolf is not laughing—it’s not—and says, “The larger problem here is the magic. I told you magic use is unauthorized in the city. The Knights will come after your hide if they see you.”
Wild blinks at him innocently and grabs the tablet off of his hip. He flicks at it, and Link is amazed to see a screen come to life. With a swipe of his fingers, the blocks of ice rising from the pond shatter. A duck squawks and beats its wings to get away.
“But you don’t understand,” Wild says slowly. “It’s not magic, Link. It’s technology.”
Link’s eye twitches, and Wild smiles. “Regardless,” Link grinds out, “they’ll think it’s magic. Don’t do it anymore.”
Wild tucks the tablet into its slot on his belt and inclines his head. “As you wish.”
“Where is everybody else?” Link asks, pretending he’s not being made fun of. “They should be back by now.”
“Don’t know. I guess Four and I are the only responsible ones.”
Link thinks of Wild standing on a block of ice and encouraging Alba into magical parkour. “You have the worst definition of responsibility I have ever heard.”
Wild grins, but before he can respond, Four chimes in, “We can help you look for the others.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Link says. “Frankly, I don’t trust you, so you two and the wolf will stay right here. I’ll find them. The park isn’t that big.”
Two Links and a wolf down; seven Links to go. He’s got this.
Ten minutes later, Link crouches in the straw next to the outdoor zoo’s employee and peers into the cuccos’ enclosure. In the middle lies Sky, cape spread out around him and cuccos cuddling into the fabric. His arms hold three cuccos each.
The employee gasps. “He’s dead!”
“He’s not dead,” Link says, watching Sky’s chest move up and down. “Just asleep.”
“Can you help him?”
Link groans. “He’s not the one who’s going to need help.” He stands and steps over the first of two fences that separates the cuccos from visitors. One of the cuccos spots him and ambles closer.
“Be careful!” the employee calls after him.
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Link creeps towards the inner fence, maintaining eye contact with the guard cucco. It clucks menacingly.
“I come in peace,” Link says. “I’m just going to wake up that man over there. No harm will come to you or your kin.”
He takes a step into the enclosure.
The cucco squawks an alarm call. The next moment, the air is a mess of sharp claws and white feathers. Link throws his arms up in front of his face, and claws rip the sleeves of his hoodie. It occurs to him, quite suddenly, that he has no plan past this point.
“Hey! Stop that!”
The cuccos retreat. Link lowers his arms to see them on the ground, staring up at Sky, who stands with his hands on his hips. “That was mean,” he says.
One cucco clucks. If Link didn’t know better, he would call the sound ashamed.
“I know he was scary, but that’s no excuse. He happens to be my friend, you know.”
“Friends might be a little far,” Link says before he can think better of it.
Sky gives him a startled look, but he just says, “That’s fine. I’m just putting it in terms the cuccos will understand.” Turning his attention back to the birds, he continues, “Now, are you going to be nicer in the future?”
Another cucco clucks.
“Good. Until we meet again, friends.”
Link and Sky step over the fences together. “You’re the cucco whisperer,” the employee tells Sky.
“Well,” Sky says.
The employee throws his arms around Sky’s torso. Link rolls his eyes as Sky brings a hand up to pat the employee’s head. “You’ve tamed the evil beast!” he cries.
“They’re not evil,” Sky says. “You just have to know how to talk to them.”
“Cucco whisperer,” the employee sobs.
Sky looks up at Link and mouths help.
Having bagged the job of Hylian whisperer, Link pulls the employee away, grips him by the shoulders, and looks firmly into his eyes. “Everything is all right. We’re happy to help, but we need to go now.”
The employee sobers and nods. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” Link pauses. “Seriously. I want to forget this ever happened.”
Once they’re clear of the zoo, Sky has the decency to look sheepish. “Sorry I forgot about the time.”
Link shakes his head. “Trust me, that’s the least of my problems with what just happened.”
“Why, what do you—”
The uncertain murmur of a crowd noticing something wrong cuts Sky off. He and Link look to the outdoor magic show just next door. It seems that most of the zoo families, evacuated during the cucco incident, have migrated there to see a man pull rabbits out of hats. “Uh, sir,” that man says, his voice amplified by the microphone affixed to his collar, as he stares at a person advancing slowly across the stage. “What are you doing?”
“Is that Hyrule?” Sky asks.
To Link’s great disappointment, it is. He changes directions abruptly, Sky just behind him, and gets close in time to hear Hyrule say, “That’s not real magic. You shouldn’t advertise a magic show if you’re not going to use real magic.”
The kids look on, perplexed, while the parents glare. “Sir,” the man repeats, managing to be much more respectful than Link would be, “please remove yourself from the stage at once or I’ll have to call security.”
Link points to the ground next to him. “Don’t move,” he tells Sky before making his way to the edge of the stage. He waves his arms to get Hyrule’s attention.
Hyrule doesn’t notice him. “You shouldn’t be lying about magic,” he says. “Here, I know some. Let me show you what it really is.”
Link curses under his breath, runs onto the stage, and grabs his arm. “My greatest apologies,” he calls to the crowd, tugging Hyrule away. “We were just leaving.”
“Hey,” Hyrule protests but lets Link drag him off the stage. Luckily, with a joke that draws an awkward laugh from the crowd, the man starts the show again.
“Magic is illegal in the city, or did you forget?” Link says as he drags Hyrule across the grass.
“That’s a dumb rule,” Hyrule says. “Anyway, I just wanted the children to know that the man isn’t using real magic. It’s a scam.”
“It’s not a scam. Half the kids know it’s fake magic.”
“He shouldn’t be doing it if it’s fake anyway.”
“It’s a tradition,” Link says. He lets go of Hyrule’s arm when they reach Sky.
“A tradition?” Hyrule demands. “How can it be a tradition to lie to children?”
“They’re not lying—”
“Multiple lies came out of that man’s mouth—”
“But everybody knows—”
“Not everybody—”
“Let’s settle down,” Sky interrupts. “Why don’t we go and meet up with the others? Maybe Link will have time to explain the fake magic later.”
Hyrule crosses his arms. “I hope so. This injustice demands an explanation.”
Upon arrival to the duck pond, by a miracle of the goddess herself, nothing else has gone wrong. In fact, Twilight has even arrived of his own accord. As Sky and Hyrule join Four and Wild, Link takes a moment in silent, thankful prayer.
Twilight waves a hand. “Sorry I’m late.”
“So far, you’re the only I haven’t had to extricate from some ridiculous situation or another. I’m not complaining.”
“I won’t argue with that.”
Link takes a moment to breathe. “I can’t believe you want me to come with you,” he says. “I can’t believe any of you are still alive.”
“Are you considering it?” Twilight asks.
Yes, Link doesn’t say. As much as the other Links are ridiculous, he hasn’t had this much interest in his life in months. He will never admit this to anyone, but sometimes Link misses the months between the invasion of Castle City and his defeat of Ganon. The first couple, when he was alone with only the Master Sword for a companion, were tough, but after Zelda joined him… he actually had fun. Hitchhiking between towns, meeting new people, and hiding from Ganon’s spies, Link found that he liked a life on the road instead of being cooped up in the city, every day the same.
When Link doesn’t respond for long enough, Twilight smiles. “You are,” he says, unacceptably pleased.
Link runs a hand through his hair. “Whatever.” He lets his eyes sweep over the others, counting them, and freezes. “Where’s the wolf?”
“Oh, he’s around.”
“He’s around,” Link repeats, flat.
“Yes.”
“The wolf that almost got animal control called on him is around.”
“That’s right.”
“The wolf that decided it was appropriate for it, a wild animal, to socialize with children, is around.”
“Hey. I take offense to the term wild animal.”
“Is it your wolf?”
Twilight tilts his head and brings a hand to his chin, looking thoughtful. “In a way.”
“In a way?”
“Yeah. That’s a good way to put it, actually. In a way.”
Link throws his hands into the air. “Fine. You’ve claimed the wolf as your own with the spectacularly vague phrase in a way. When animal control carts it away, don’t expect me to vouch for you, because I won’t. And trust me, it will be a lot harder to get it out of there without me vouching for you.”
“I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” Twilight smiles. “But thanks for the warning.”
Link crosses his arms and scans the Links present. He is done worrying about the stupid wolf. It’s time to find the last four Links.
Or to have them find him. A shout makes Link turn to see Wind, Time, and Legend racing with wild abandon towards them. Behind them, huffing and puffing to keep up, runs a middle-aged man who holds up a handful of colorful gems. His apron identifies him as one of the shopkeepers that line the edge of the park.
Still running, Legend turns around and shakes a fist at the shopkeeper. In it is clutched, of all things, a selfie stick. “I paid for this fair and square!”
The man throws a gem. It hits Legend in the face.
“Oh, I’ll get you for that—”
Time holds Legend back with an arm. “I’m sure we can work something out,” he begins.
“You have to pay in rupees!” the shopkeeper yells.
“Those are rupees!” Legend yells back.
Link looks to Twilight for commiseration, but he’s suddenly nowhere to be found. With a sigh, Link hurries to step between the two men and demands, “How much?”
“Fifteen,” the shopkeeper says.
“All this over fifteen rupees?” Link slips his wallet out of his pocket and hands the shopkeeper two bills, a ten and a five. “Zelda is so reimbursing me.”
The shopkeeper takes the money, but he doesn’t look at it. Instead, he stares at Link with an expression that’s a bit too familiar. “You know the Queen?” he says, and—there it is—his eyes narrow. “Hang on. You’re—”
“Yes.” Link presses another five into the shopkeeper’s hand—Zelda is paying, after all—turns him away, and pushes on his shoulders. “The hero has just given you money out of the kindness of his heart, so please be on your way nice and silently. Thank you.”
The shopkeeper wanders away, dazed. Link turns around to find Legend examining his selfie stick with a pride that should be reserved for one’s child. Hanging from both Time and Wind’s ears are large, clip-on earrings. Time’s is a set of ocarinas, and Wind’s depicts masted ships. Cheap tourist crap, all of it.
Wind’s cheeks puff out. He shakes his head, and his ship earrings go clanging. “What was that guy’s problem?”
Link picks a small green gem out of the grass. Upon closer inspection, it’s actually made out of colored glass. “You shouldn’t expect currencies to translate across times,” he says, resigned to the chaos. He doesn’t think he could find the energy to yell even if he wanted to.
He hands the gem to Wind, who takes it and looks affronted. “But he said he accepts rupees!”
Link pulls out a lime green one rupee bill. Queen Zelda’s face smiles out of it. “Rupees obviously mean different things in our times.”
Legend steps forward and grabs the bill out of Link’s hand. The selfie stick secured in the crook of his elbow, he holds onto either end of the bill and tugs at it sharply. “Rupees are made out of fabric here?”
“Plastic,” Link corrects, snatching it back.
“What the hell is plastic?”
“It’s like—” Link makes a frustrated noise. He tucks the bill and his wallet away and points accusingly at the selfie stick. “Do you even know what that is?”
Legend looks up at the selfie stick and grins, extending it and retracting it repeatedly. “I have no idea, but it’s going in my collection.”
“I’m sorry for all the trouble we’ve caused you,” Time says.
With the comically large ocarina earrings framing Time’s all too amused face, the only thing Link can think to say is, “I’m so convinced.”
Time’s smile broadens.
Link’s phone buzzes. He pulls it out to find a text from, of all people, Beedle. He’s only more surprised to see the text isn’t an advertisement.
Do you have anything to do with this??? it says instead.
A moment later, a photo pops onto the screen. It shows a man with a long, brilliantly blue scarf—a man that Link recognizes—holding a sword in the air while Knights’ Academy students stare up at him in awe.
He says his name is Link, Beedle says. And I don’t think he’s supposed to be here??
“Link!”
Link barely spares Beedle a glance as he marches down an Academy hallway, even when the other boy grabs at his arm. “Thank the goddess you’re here,” he babbles. “I think the Headmistress is going to take that man’s head off.” He pauses, then adds, “And I sort of let him in, so I need you to make sure she still lets me run my stall.”
“You what?” Link demands.
Beedle’s other hand latches onto Link’s arm. “It was an accident! He said he was a new instructor at the Academy, and was I really going to close the door in his face when he was standing four feet away?”
“Yes,” Link says as they emerge into the courtyard. He shields his eyes against the sun to find a cluster of Academy students holding wooden swords. Warriors stands facing them. He, of course, has an actual steel sword. He demonstrates a jab and explains something about the rotation of the arm, but Link isn’t really listening.
The students are. As they jab their swords out, one student hits another in the back and makes her stumble.
“Terrible!” Warriors yells. “Spread out more and try it again!”
As the students devolve into another mess of jabbing swords, the Headmistress bursts into the courtyard. “Everybody, stop! Put the swords down! This is unauthorized weapons’ use!”
The students jerk around. “But Headmistress,” one says, “Professor Link here told us that our free period was being replaced with a sword-fighting class.”
“They need it,” Warriors says.
“Didn’t you tell them he was an intruder?” Link asks Beedle.
“And you think they listen to me? I had to get the Headmistress!”
Link sighs and pulls away from Beedle, stalking forward as the students waver away from Warriors. “I mean, really,” Warriors continues, “how can someone properly be a knight without knowing how to use a sword? I don’t care how good you think your guns are, it’s simply irresponsible not to teach—”
Link grabs Warriors’s scarf and wrenches.
“And just who are you?” the Headmistress demands, pointing at him.
Link takes his glasses off. The Headmistress, along with the students, gasp. “The hero!” the Headmistress says.
Warriors blinks. “That’s a cool trick.”
Link puts his glasses on and rolls his eyes. “We’re leaving now,” he says, dipping his head to the Headmistress. “I’m truly sorry about all the trouble my… associate… has caused you, but—”
Warriors pulls away, unraveling Link’s grip on him easily. “I’m not leaving until these students learn the importance of the sword!”
“He can’t leave yet!” the Headmistress says. “I’ve informed the Queen about this, and she will decide what to do with him!”
“That’s really not necessary,” Link begins and is cut off by a hawk’s screech. It sweeps over the courtyard and drops a letter from its claws. The Headmistress snatches the paper out of the air and rips the envelope open. “By the order of the Queen,” she says with a triumphant cry, “this intruder must report to the royal palace at once!”
“I’m disappointed in you, Sir Link.”
From his position kneeling on the marble floor, Link flicks his eyes to the side. He catches Zelda’s gaze. It’s okay, she mouths.
“And in you, my daughter.”
Zelda’s face falls.
“Rise now, Sir Link.”
Link rises to face the Queen, letting his shoulder brush Zelda’s. She presses back against him as the Queen gives him a considering look. “You two should have come to me as soon as you met them. Really, what did you think I was going to do? I’ll lecture you later, my daughter, but Link… I must say that I hoped you wouldn’t act out in disappointment. I understand that you have not been happy about my decision, but I did not expect you to shirk your duty as a Knight because of it.”
“Your Majesty,” Link begins, a thousand defenses on his tongue, but he closes his mouth over them.
“You may speak freely,” the Queen says, amused. “Your excuses, no matter how petty, will not offend me.”
The idea that any of his excuses might be considered petty is enough to get Link to say, “It wasn’t about shirking my duty. All I did was agree with Zelda’s idea.”
“Hey,” Zelda says.
“I know that,” the Queen says. “And that is something I will deal with later. But I wonder why you didn’t push back against her more, hm?”
Link gapes.
The Queen waves a hand. “A question for later, then. For now, don’t you think it’s a good time for tea?”
“More?”
The Queen laughs. “You can never have enough tea! Besides, I simply have to introduce your friends to my favorite blend.”
As Link gives Zelda an incredulous look and receives an eye roll in return, the Queen leads them out of the throne room and into the dining room, where the table is large enough to fit everyone. At her entrance, the Links, already seated, stand at varying speeds.
“None of that, my friends,” the Queen says. She takes her place at the head of the table as the others settle back in. Zelda sits next to her, and Link slides in one place away. “Now, why don’t you tell me more about these portals? And your plans for Link?”
Time leans forward and begins explaining the whole thing over again, even though Link knows for a fact that the Queen has already spent some time speaking to them. He’s probably just filling in details, but the only one in the room who doesn’t already know the gist of what he’s saying is Zelda, who reacts accordingly.
“Hang on,” she interrupts. “You want Link to go with you?”
“Yes,” Time says.
Link looks at her guiltily. “Zelda, I know that—”
“That’s a great idea!” Zelda says.
“What?”
“I’ll miss you, of course,” she says, “but Link, remember what you were saying earlier today? This is something you can do.”
Something that just feels right settles in Link’s chest. “You’re not wrong.”
“And I, for one, support any decision that furthers the safety of Hyrule,” the Queen says softly.
Link looks at the others. Wild is absentmindedly braiding his hair, one elbow pressed against Twilight’s shoulder for balance. Wind is trying to clip one of his earrings to the bridge of his nose. Legend is using the selfie stick to reach behind Sky, who’s pretending not to nod off, and poking at Warriors.
Warriors swats the stick away, cutting off his lecture to Four and Hyrule about why the Knights here are incompetent. Time nods at Link in encouragement, his ocarina earrings swinging and utterly ruining the serious effect.
Link sighs. “I’m going to regret this so much, but yeah. I want to go with you.”
“Great,” Warriors says, grabbing Legend’s selfie stick and pushing it away with some force. “We need a nickname for you, then. What’s your hero title?”
“My hero title?”
“On the official advertising, we call him the Modern-Day Hero,” Zelda says primly.
“Modern-Day? It’s a bit clunky,” Warriors says.
“You’re one to talk,” Legend says. He jabs at Warriors with the selfie stick, hitting Sky’s head in the process. Sky sighs and leans forward, resigned. Link can relate.
“Would Modern work?” Wind asks.
“That’s pretty good,” Twilight says.
Link opens his mouth to tell them that he will not be called Modern under any circumstances, because that’s a stupid name, and while he will travel with them, he refuses to bow down to their level when it comes to stupid names. Tragically, a sharp snap cuts him off.
“Oh, dear,” the Queen says mildly.
Legend leaps to his feet, holding up half a selfie stick. “You broke it!”
“You were the one trying to stab me with it!” Warriors exclaims.
As Legend yells back, Link turns to Zelda for sympathy. “What are you looking at me for?” she says. “You’re the one stuck with them.”
“What has my life become,” Link intones, and Zelda laughs.
Link shakes his head. Twenty-four hours ago, he couldn’t have predicted this. A year ago, when he was still just a student at the Academy nearing the end of a long era of peace, he couldn’t have predicted any of it. Yet, for better or for worse, here he is.
What has my life become, indeed.