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“You know you’ll never have her, right?”
The construct had been standing past the edge of the training field, watching Princess Zelda train. Huge ribbons of golden magic arced around her, her face set in beautiful concentration. Fierce, determined, and learning rapidly. A construct shouldn’t yearn; constructs were not meant to want, only to do. To fulfill a purpose. But even the battery upgrade constructs were happy to see familiar faces. A programmed behaviour to encourage repeat customers? Or was wanting so innate to cognition that constructs of a certain complexity could not have one without the other? Regardless, the construct could feel itself drawn in to the scene in front of it until it heard the voice beside it and felt a hand on its arm.
It turned to look at the speaker, expecting an ally, only to jolt in surprise. Princess Zelda was training in the field but another Princess Zelda was standing at the edge of the field, placing a hand lightly on its arm. As the construct reacted, the imposter flipped the other slender hand palm up to show that it was holding no weapons.
“Peace, construct. I’m not hiding what I am or really pretending to be her today. I just wanted to see you.”
The construct tipped its head, showing that it was listening, but raised a clawed hand to gently but firmly dislodge the imposter’s small hand from the bands of its arm as it moved to put distance between them.
The imposter raised both hands in a pacifying gesture and made no move to stop the construct from readying a battle stance. “You and I, as we are, have much more in common.” Then she gestured between herself and Zelda, who continued to train without looking their way. “As you can tell, I’m a copy. A puppet meant to duplicate her, with memories and feelings intact to make the simulation stronger.” She gestured to her face, her head.
The puppet turned back to the construct, standing in readiness. “And you, oh you…” she mused. “Do you even understand what you’re a fragment of? I had to see you for myself.”
She started to circle him, slowly inspecting. “Are you only the fierce warrior parts, destined to stop my master?” A bare hand raised to gesture up and down at the construct’s battle stance and wary consideration. “You’re ready, but you didn’t immediately rush to dispel me. Is that programming so you don’t waste energy on anything not an immediate threat, or is it something more?”
Her face and body turned away from the construct to watch Princess Zelda, seeming utterly unconcerned about the implied threat of the construct’s body language. The construct was prepared, and yet it hesitated. The puppet looked contemplatively at the princess across the field but continued to speak. “Or is is that you can’t bring yourself to hurt that which you love? Did they need to pull in some of that indomitable spirit she sees in her Link?”
The construct did not flinch at the name.
“The legends have it that we only have the Hero’s spirit now because of the love of one goddess and the curse of one enemy.”
The puppet continued to gaze out at the training field, seemingly ignoring the construct at her back even as she continued to speak to it. “I don’t think you’re watching her to learn tactics. Your spirit calls to hers, does it not? Even if you’re merely a vessel. An echo. A fragment. Not a person.”
Zelda’s image turned sad eyes to the construct. “You’ll never have her, you know. I can feel it in who I am, even as a puppet. Even as a shadow of the real thing. She loves her knight too much to find comfort with you, even if she’s stranded in the past. She’ll die trying to get back to him before she’ll accept another.”
She reached for the construct’s shoulder. It did not push her away.
“You and I, we’re both tools. Fragments shaped into weapons of a war that never ends. But we’re also both sharp-edged reminders of love. Our purpose is to cut, not to feel. And yet.”
The puppet turned to face the construct. Her face a complicated expression of sadness and a wistful longing as she reached up to touch its glowing hair. “And yet…”
The construct didn’t consciously choose to lean towards the touch. Why would a battle construct be programmed to take comfort in such a gesture? And yet. And yet.
A pleased hum from the puppet as the construct leaned. “You can feel, can’t you? It’s not all battle tactics and programmed swordplay, there’s a a fragment of something more in there.”
It wasn’t a question, really, but the construct gave a hesitant nod.
“I can feel my purpose burning in me. My own fragment isn’t afraid to hurt her. Did you know, they trained her to hurt herself, really, in the name of gaining power? She was just a child. I can pull those memories. I can see where they fit together to hurt the most. And yet…” the puppet turned her face away from the construct’s mask as the construct itself stiffened at her words. “But I feel myself drawn to you. She tried to hurt her Link so many times that you’d think it would be easy to lash out. But you’re just like me. A fragment. An echo.”
The puppet turned searching eyes to the construct’s face. “You and I, perhaps we could find some comfort in what we are… together?”
Glowing eyes looked back at her.
She reached a hand up again to place it over the metallic structure of its chest. Magic hummed under her splayed fingers. She watched it scintillate and pulse as she waited.
The construct’s arm moved. Slowly, gently, a hand raised. A hesitant moment as claws stretched then turned inwards and it touched the puppet’s face gently, oh so gently, with the back of a curled hand.
The puppet leaned towards the hand, a smile curling gently on her lips.
A tendril of dark gloom curling from her fingertips into the construct’s core.