Chapter Text
The Hero of Legend.
Oh, how his shadow hated him.
His shadow had been torn into the world, created from nothing but magic, hatred, and Link's essence, with nothing in its mind but the steadfast desire to "destroy the Hero."
It tried very hard to do that, you know. Time and time again, it clashed blades with its counterpart, desperate to win.
And time and time again, the shadow lost anyways.
Three times, actually. Thrice. The shadow had failed its entire cosmic goal, thrice- the one thing it was built to do, it couldn't manage!
So obviously, the shadow hated Link. It imagined that most did. He was Hylia's perfect little pretty boy, with sun-kissed strawberry hair and the bluest blue eyes. Who wouldn't hate him, really? He was goddess blessed from day one, and saving the world from year ten. He was pathetic. Pitiful.
This all was a perfectly reasonable basis to hate the guy, in the shadow's mind. The shadow was the antithesis, the anti-hero, the weapon with which to kill the real Hero. And while Link succeeded in practically everything he did, his counterpart was dull. Faulty. Broken. Failed. Had failed three times now, actually.
But for all he was worth, the Hero never managed to kill his shadow, either. Not truly. No, it simply.. disappeared, back to the ether that was magic, until it was called on again. Called on to "defeat the Hero."
Again and again and again. Three times over.
It never won.
...Or, well.
It never won, that is, until it did.
Link was fourteen years old, fresh out of Lorule, and entirely unprepared when he was murdered by the dark reflection of himself.
It's still not really sure why its magic had been enhanced recently. It stared up at Link from the ground, the setting sun behind him painting the world vibrantly as he walked home from his adventure. Maybe the new magic was from the dark world? Meeting Ravio had certainly sparked something in the shadow...
But that might've just been Ravio's demeanor. It was strange, seeing Link's shape with another palette. A counterpart of him. But not unwelcome, it thought, eyeing its closest enemy's awfully bright outfit. It scoffed to itself.
With this much magic, it was easy to move its image on the ground. A little laughable, how little energy it took- usually it had to rest for at least a day to move even a few inches. But now, it could move all this way and that, as much as it pleased.
Maybe the magic was a blessing from the gods?
Or a mistake. Could always be a mistake from the gods.
Well, whatever. Link was slowing his pace, sleep dragging his feet and pulling his posture lower to the ground. Perfect timing, too, with the way the sun was ducking below the horizon.
The shadow had always liked the night. For one, it usually got stronger during the night. The darkness was nothing if not a refreshment from the blazing, unforgiving sun, the burning and steadfast light of Hylia. The Hero would sleep, too! The shadow loved to imagine Link's still body was a corpse, instead of simply unconscious. It had its hobbies. But the best part of night was that they'd usually stay in the same place for a while (on account of Link sleeping), so the shadow had time to stop and do whatever it wanted. For a full six hours! Nothing could stop the shadow when Hylia's watchful gaze was away, and the Hero was dead to the world.
Despite that, though, "whatever it wanted" was still mostly staring at Link and getting lost in thought. Imagining. Hoping.
The shadow noticed movement from the Hero, and glanced up to see him stepping back from something. Link seemed to have made himself a little leaf nest, nestled under the protection of a tree. The shadow was honestly a bit surprised he'd spent that much effort to make a "bed" at all- Link looked exhausted from all the walking home.
Link threw aside his traveling pack and sword, and practically collapsed on the ground. Within seconds of curling up, he shut his eyes and fell asleep, as was usual every night.
And within seconds of the Hero falling asleep, the shadow stooped down to observe Link for six hours. ..As was usual, every night.
Ah, well, might as well get comfortable. It was a lovely night to daydream about the Hero's demise, the sky moonless and inky black, the way the shadow liked best.
The Hero's eyes fluttered, and the shadow dreamed of what it'd be like for him to stop breathing. For his chest to stop rising.
Would the world take its last breath with him? Would the drums of war start marching? Boom, boom, boom, a replacement for his unbeating heart?
As was usual, the shadow wondered. If only the shadow could reach out, experience Link's life. If only it could snuff it out, suffocating a flame. Suffocating the sun. If only it could stand like Link stands, walk like Link walks, see like Link sees. Like usual, it thought, if only, if only, if only...
If only it could take on a physical form. It would be unstoppable. Unchained. Instead of being stuck here, trapped here, glued to the fucking ground from birth and only torn out to be a tool, a lesson, an aide to the Hero.
If only it had enough magic to manifest in the third plane...
..Ah. Hm.
It wondered.
It wondered, it wondered, it wondered. Where had this new magic come from? Why was it suddenly so powerful? Did it matter? Did it care?
There was a well of near infinite magic, practically pouring into the shadow. The night was of a new moon, casting the whole world in darkness. Link.. Link. Link was tired, Link was exhausted, Link was sleeping. Link was entirely unaware.
And his shadow hated him very, very much.
So for the first time, instead of simply wondering, wondering wondering, deep into the hours of the night, the shadow decided to try.
It could move across a 2D plane, it already knew this. That was simple. So all it had to do was move.. in a new direction! A 3D direction! It just had to move out. Easy as that.
The shadow started pooling magic in its hands, sourcing it to the tips of its fingers. It felt soft and cool, yet hot to the touch, liquid electricity burning through its form. The magic was comfortable, familiar, and sharp, like a childhood blanket made of needles. It wondered if Link could feel it, with how much there was. The shadow reached out, further and further, stretching as faaaar as it could reach and then some, until its fingers brushed what it knew as freedom. It hadn't felt that bright, clear feeling often, and it hadn't felt it a long, long, time. But the shadow would recognize that rush of.. life, that breeze of the universe, anywhere.
Quickly, frenzied, it gripped the edge of its prison, sliding its fingers between the cracks, before WRENCHING out. Pulling, and tearing, and grappling at the glass between it and Link, knowing despite all else that it would get through.. It would escape. Nothing short of its creator could stop it.
Finally, after draining an unknowable amount of magic (yet still having an inconceivable amount left... how curious), the shadow clawed its way through the dark ground. It tore its way through the dirt, not unlike a corpse digging out of a grave.
The whole world was silent as the shadow morphed to a third dimensional world, as if waiting, as if hiding. Not even the moon, ethereal beauty and judgement, was there to watch.
Shaking, the little shadow stood from where it previously laid. The shadow did it. It did it! It was standing, fully realized and manifested, in the 3D plane! It could touch things- It could, it could.. it could touch the Hero.
Its crimson eyes darted to the side of Link, where his sword lay.
...it could touch a little more than just the Hero.
The shadow creeped over to the sword, its usual silent movements newly creating sound. It could walk among the dirt, among the twigs and leaves and bugs.. crooked, stilted steps stumbling in joy.
It's never been outside before, other than while in the Hero's shadow. It relished the cool, sharp air. It loved the night and the world and most everything around, even instantly. Every time before this when it's been fully realized, it's been in a dungeon or a trial or a room with a living, breathing Link, cutting him down after infinite struggle. The shadow had never been allowed to relax.
Well, Link was lucky. The shadow was going to make this quick.
Grasping the handle of Link's most trusted sword, the shadow raised the weapon high enough to see. A worn blade, but worthy of the Hero. The shadow was almost surprised that it had weight- holding the sword was both the most natural thing it could do, and the newest, strangest sensation. Weapons, fighting, hating link was always familiar. But being able to touch the physical world? A sword other than his own? It was alien.
The sword was heavy. And warm.
The shadow turned itself and the weapon to Link. Stepping one foot on either side of him, quiet, quiet, ever so gingerly so as not to wake the Hero, it raised the sword up high. Its weight pointed downwards, as if the sword were eager to drop. Gravity calling it down. This was simply the natural way of things- the universe expectant, excited over something new.
This was.. this was it. The shadow was doing it. Its destiny. Its purpose. Its dream. The shadow was killing the Hero.
Sharpened point into giving flesh. Crimson eyes boring into flickering lashes. The Hero, alone, not a soul to call upon, despite the friends made on every adventure. The shadow, alone, never given the chance to be anything more than a trial. A tool. A prop weapon never sharpened. Now, they were alone together, as it always was. As was expected. As was usual.
Its hands shook with the weight of it.
It just had to do it. Just follow through. Once it was done it was done, and then it'd be over. The Hero would die. Link would be dead. The shadow would win. Easy! It was so easy!
(The shadow should be elated at this prospect. Why was it hesitating?)
It scoffed again, eyeing the Hero. It should get it over with.
Arms raised skyward, the sword followed their course, and the shadow steeled itself.
It took a breath, lungs rushing with fresh, free air. New new new. The shadow closed its eyes
and let
go
the point plummeting downward.
Down down down, straight towards the heart of the shadow's greatest enemy. Its purpose. This is what it was created for, this was its universal goal! The shadow should be sick with excitement!
It was killing the Hero. It was killing the Hero. It was fulfilling its purpose. This was the right thing.
It will never forget the sound of Link's body cutting apart.
Faster than he knew, Link's eyes shot open, and his mouth parted in a quiet gasp. The shadow's did the same. He was scrabbling, all instinct, fighting for purchase against the sword, cutting his fingers and palms open in the desperate attempt to get it out, get it out, get it OUT-
The shadow couldn't breathe, there was a searing in its chest- something cold forcing its way through ribs, a torture no man alive could know.
It wasn't deep enough. The sword wasn't deep enough. (The shadow could feel it.)
So its trembling hands grabbed the hilt, and held it down. Pushing, pushing, deeper and deeper, scraping into the dirt underneath Link's back. Red red red, shining inky black under night sky, pooled into the pock left behind him.
Link finally focused his eyes, and could only gasp and stutter at the dark dark dark above him. No moon to light the way, no sun to stave off the shadows. He couldn't see anything, anything at all. Only two wide, crimson eyes, filled with an emotion neither of them could name, searing in the black of night.
Or maybe Link's vision was just going dark.
The shadow stared, deep into blue blue blue, as Link's perfect blue eyes became unfocused and his skin cool and pale. His movements were weakening, slowing and creaking like a machine without oil. His lips were beginning to match his eyes.
Some horrible, ugly bird screamed in the distance, a gunshot in the silent forest. A bell tolled. If the shadow weren't frozen solid, it'd make a scathing remark over it.
And while Link finally stopped struggling, the shadow stared. It watched. It examined. It saw the life drain out of a fourteen year old boy, just as much as it felt it. Red red red, on his hands and clothes and face and back, above him, below him, anywhere it could touch. Blue, fading fast. Glazing over.
Once one last gasp of air left the boy's lips, only then did the shadow allow itself to think.
It saw, unblinking, its hands on the hilt of the sword, and Link's hands wrapped around the blade. It saw fresh new wounds, cut through desperation, cut through fear. And it saw scars on its own hands, eerily mirrored.
The shadow had fulfilled its purpose, and the only thing it could think was
My hands are like his.
...Its chest hurt.
Really, its whole body hurt, but its chest especially so. Its chest hurt, its hands stung, its stomach was sick.
Must be some sort of magic byproduct of killing the shadow's original.
Yes, of course. Magic byproduct. Nothing else was happening. No other reason to feel this way. (The shadow ignored the strange, sudden urge to cry).
It was crouched beneath a tree across the clearing, opposite from the collection of leaves and blood. The shadow stared, quiet, harrowed, at Li..
at the Hero, from where he laid. Cold. Unmoving. That damned sword still skewered right through.
What happened now? Where did the shadow go? It had followed the Hero its whole life, did it stay here still? With the Hero? Surely not. It had fulfilled its purpose- it was free now! The sickly weight in its chest was a sign of its freedom, its joy and newfound life.
So it should.. go somewhere. That's something people do, right?
The shadow stood up, decided. It was. Going... Somewhere. It glanced around, avoiding the spot of red and green next to the tree, and chose a random direction to walk.
Before long, it came across a quaint little house. Cute, cozy, squat and square. It had been here with the Hero over a thousand times, over and over again, always returning to his home. The shadow used to glower up at the Hero's small smile when they always came back.
Then, with a start, the shadow remembered that the Hero's uncle lived here, too.
it wondered if he knew. What had.. happened.
Last it had checked, the Hero's uncle was bedridden, sick to the point of weakness. The Hero had been hoping to return home fast enough to care for his uncle.
Bunch of good that did.
The shadow wasn't sure why, but it wanted to see him. Unc- ..The Hero's uncle. It just.. wanted to know how he was. What had happened in their time away. If he knew.
Slinking to the front door, the shadow creaked it open. The house was just as they left it, almost entirely untouched. The shadow thought it remembered some of the townspeople saying they'd care of Uncle, which explained why bowls and cups were out of place in the kitchen. It stepped across the floorboards, unused to physical form, heavy boots leaving scuffs of (red red red) dirt staining the wood.
"..Link?"
Ah. Right.
"Link, my boy, is that you? Have you returned?" The old man coughed.
Without thinking, it moved to the door of Uncle's bedroom. Hands down, body still, it stared at the sickly old man, who called for a boy miles away. (Called for a boy unmoving. A boy pallid.)
He squinted, analyzing the shadow, before exclaiming, "Link, you're so dirty! What in Hylia's name have you been up to?"
It looked down at its dark form, covered in (red red red) shadows and dirt. Quickly, deliberately, it shrugged. The old man's eyesight must be getting worse and worse as of late, to not recognize that the shadow wasn't the Hero.
"I suppose you'll have to take a bath later. For now, Link, will you get me a glass of water? This old man is drying out!" he said with a hearty laugh, devolving into hacking and scratching.
The Shadow hesitated for only a moment, before turning to look at the kitchen. With one last glance back to Uncle, it headed towards the sink, grabbing a glass along the way. Turning on the water, the tap roared, far louder than it should be, before the Shadow took its glass back to the room.
It slowly, slowly, slowly creeped towards the bedside, like it expected the old man to lunge out and bite the shadow. Handing the glass over with a steady hand. (Despite everything, because of everything, it made no matter)
But instead of the glass, the Hero's uncle grasped at the shadow's hand, the shadow just barely managing not flinching away.
He patted its arm, and smiled at it, crowing "Ah, thank you, Link!"
Just as the shadow managed to pull away, there was a thunderous knock at the door.
Oh Hylia. Oh Hylia. The old man might not recognize the shadow from Link, but whoever was at the door surely would. And then someone would know, and they'd tell everyone, and then everything in the world would be out to get the shadow- for murdering the perfect golden boy, for killing their favorite beacon of hope, for snuffing out the sun.
Gods, how had it managed that?
With wide eyes, the shadow glanced around, looking for something, somewhere to hide, but the room was barren besides the bed, end table, and Uncle.
The door was creaking open.
The shadow ran to the living room, the only place in the house not readily seen from the front door, scrabbling, scrambling for a reflection or shadow or something to fall into,
There weren't any shadows in the house. Every window was wide open, every dark corner lit with a candle, and the shadow faintly remembered the Hero's wariness towards the dark. Uncle must have asked for every goddessdamned crevice to be lit up in case the Hero came home.
The door was more than halfway open now.
Far too late, the shadow remembered its overflowing pool of magic. It had manifested itself into the third dimension, surely it could make a simple disguise. But what? Something that fit in, something inconspicuous-
The Hero. The Hero. The shadow would pretend to be the Hero.
Magic dripped down its skin, liquid heat freezing the crown of its head. The shadow could feel dark shadows melting into skin, whispy black hair turning bright strawberry blond.
"Link!"
The shadow whipped around, skin falling in place just in time. Standing in the doorway was one of the townsfolk- here to take care of the Hero's uncle, surely.
"It's so nice to see you!" She exclaimed, moving towards him with her arms out. "We haven't seen you in so long, you'll have to tell us all about your adventure!"
Her arms enclosed it, wrapping around its shoulders and pulling its face close. It took the shadow a second to realize it was a.. a hug. (it had never experienced a hug. Only cold, cold, cold, cold steel and cold death and cold return.)
But before long, she let go with a gasp, like she just remembered something. The woman pulled a bag to her front, and reached inside, pulling out a plate of cookies. Peanut butter cookies.
"I baked cookies for your uncle, but I'm sure he won't mind if you have a few," she said with a wink, as if the shadow were something truthful and genuine. (something to be cared for.) "come along, now, tell me all you've been up to!"
The shadow trailed after her, hesitant, as she greeted Uncle. Most of its panic had ebbed away, leaving the shadow with.. apprehension.
Seeing its hesitation, the woman grabbed it by the arm and drug it down to sit.
It was sitting on the floor next to the Hero's uncle, chewing on cookies with little hashes and hearts on top, shrugging or shaking its head at questions, when the shadow realized.
It wanted to be the hero. After everything, because of everything, despite everything. It wanted to be what it was never allowed to. It wanted, wanted wanted wanted SO DESPERATELY, to be him.
The shadow wanted to become the Hero.
And so it-
...no.
And so, he would.