Chapter Text
Goddesses and monsters have not roamed the land of Hyrule in centuries. Their remains linger in the wild earth, clustering in the shadowed ruins dotting the verdant landscape. An indeterminate number of hylians carry traces of godly power flowing through their veins, and nowhere is the exchange of arcane ideas more concentrated than in the bustling metropolitan hub of Castleton.
Shored up against Lake Hylia, the largest magical settlement in Hyrule boasts the nation's largest institution for hylian magical education and remarkably gloomy weather. The city is a storied patchwork of modern innovation and ancient foundations. Many of its streets are thin, winding threads of cobblestone that funnel into paved squares and highways. On one such street, a brisk wind howls through a set of chimes strung across the entrance to a tidy magic shop. In the window, a hand-painted sign reads: Smith Foundry, est. 864.
Link Smith shoulders his family's legacy by attempting not to fall asleep at the register. The fugue state natural to manning the shop on a quiet afternoon weighs down on him. Unsold items glint in the gloomy September light: belt buckles wrought in intricate natural designs, cloak pins, sewable buttons and zippers, with magic folded into the metal itself, reinforced with carvings in Ancient Runic Hylian. Half of the finery, piled on shelves and locked behind magical glass, is Link's own work. Link doesn't intend to brag when he says that his enchantments are some of the finest on the market. When he weaves magic through the metal he shapes, he feels generations of artificers and enchanters steadfast behind him.
Link idly runs his fingertips over the satchel resting haphazardly on the counter—supple leather, the size of a small book, custom-tooled as a gift from his grandfather for his sixteenth birthday. All of the fittings are Grandpa's work: tough copper packed with protective magic.
A rectangle of blue light cuts through the dusty air. Wind's face, in an unflattering pose that makes his forehead look twice as long as it should be, stares mockingly at him from the screen.
"Hey, Four," sings Wind as Link picks up, dragging out the syllables of the nickname in a staticky falsetto, "can you do me a favour?"
Vio groans and makes to push up his glasses in annoyance before remembering that the jackass he had been this morning left them at home. "I told you to stop calling us that dumb name."
"Sorry," chirps Wind, entirely unrepentant.
"What do you need?"
"Leggy's been goddamn morose—"
"Vocabulary word," Vio interjects warmly, and his face twitches into a grin at Wind's self-satisfied giggle.
Wind clears his throat loudly. "As I was saying, Ledge isn't feeling too hot recently. I think he's sick and just too proud to tell any of us, and I love Ravio, but he's…"
"…so wrapped up in his degree that he's forgotten how to make actual food and not experimental alchemy projects?"
"Yeah! I'm honestly kinda worried about the guy, and Rulie won't stop pestering me about being concerned but he doesn't fucking… talk to Legs? When I tell him to?"
"I don't think most people talk to their legs," quips Red, holding the phone at arm's length to avoid Wind's bluster about how bad their jokes are.
When Wind is through with his tirade, Vio hums thoughtfully into the receiver. "I can close up early and head up to the orchard tonight, if you think that would help. I've got some soup in the fridge that needs to go," his voice drops slightly, "I'll force it down their throats if I need to."
Vio coughs as Wind thanks him, trying to clear his throat of the gritty tension that Blue's interjections always leave behind. Red slips in to ask after Wind's family, and once he's ascertained that all is well, he recedes to let Vio and Green heckle him about his grades. The call runs for ten minutes longer than intended; the gloom outside has coalesced into a spitting rain by the time Link locks up.
The drive north to Legend's property is a peaceful one. Link narrowly escapes the burgeoning choke of evening traffic and hooks up Vio's playlist. The combination of ambient study music and jazz suits the misty sprinkling of rain pattering rhythmically against the roof of the car. As he makes his winding way out of the city, the sprawling brush in a proliferation of orange tones gives way to fields of alternating proud gold and muddy brown. The drive is pleasantly mindless; his thoughts wander.
Legend (whose nickname, Link insists, is equally as dumb as his own) came into ownership of the orchard before any of their friend group—called the chain, since so many of them wound up with the unfortunate name Link, and they're all despicable pun-lovers—met. Legend refuses to answer questions about the inheritance process. Link suspects that it has something to do with his lack of kin; most of his other friends are open about their families, but Legend often forgets to check the group chat until the conversation moves along. It's subtle, but Link has spent so much of his life learning to analyse emotions that he'd kick himself if he didn't notice.
Ravio, too, is a part of Legend's life that fell into place before the friend group did. His origins are an open secret among the group, because none of them care more about reporting him to the magical authorities than they do about Ravio.
The details are hazy, but as far as Link can tell, Legend had fallen into some deep shit when rifts between dimensions had begun opening on his property. Ravio had taken advantage of the link between their worlds to escape the poverty-stricken mess that had become of his home nation. It was around this time that Legend had begun learning to work magic in addition to channeling it through items—according to a drunk Ravio, anyway, who is known to embellish.
One really does have to engage in this kind of detective work to figure out what Legend has going on. Talking about himself is not one of his strengths.
When Link finally exits the highway and enters the winding tangle of muddy side roads that leads to Emerald Orchard & Farm, the setting sun flares amber through gaps in the cloud cover. He just barely catches sight of the worn wooden sign in time to make a hard right onto a frighteningly narrow gravel road that spits him out in a wide clearing.
Link stands and stretches his aching muscles in the cool evening. Wild grasses and drying flowers brush against his knees. He sighs contentedly as he takes in the cottage; its quaint square windows spill buttery light onto the field. Container of soup in hand, he knocks on the door, just under the heart-shaped stained glass inlay.
Muffled shouting reaches Link's ears from inside of the house. After a series of bangs, Ravio answers the door, looking… slightly deranged. His dark circles are almost as pronounced as they were when Ravio shut himself up in Link's guest room to do his exams; he was the only member of the group with a clean residence near the Institution.
"Hey, Ravi." Red waves timidly, suddenly unsure of himself. We definitely should have called ahead.
Ravio grins widely and, to his credit, it only looks a little bit unsettling despite his pallor. "Four!" Red grimaces good-naturedly at the nickname and accepts an awkward one-armed hug as he balances the large container of soup. "I didn't know you were heading up here! Are you okay? Come in!"
The cottage is pleasantly warm inside, stinging against his chilled cheeks. The distant sound of the hearth crackling unwinds the part of Link that remembers curling up by the fire in the dawn years of their life, tiny and warm like an ember among kin; the part of him that's red, red, red.
"So," calls Ravio from the kitchen as Link toes off his shoes and pads in to join him, "What brings you to ours tonight? It's a long drive for you."
Red hops onto the counter and watches Ravio putter around the kettle, kicking his socked feet (Blue picked them out, so they're warm and fuzzy). "Can I be real?"
Ravio raises an eyebrow. "When can you not? Also, apple cinnamon or chamomile?"
"Cinnamon. To be honest, Wind called me."
Ravio fumbles with the tea bags as his head whips around to stare Link down. "Is the kid okay? Do I need to hurt someone?"
Red raises his hands placatingly. "Don't worry, he's fine. Doing well, actually, Aryll's getting along with her new classmates and he's relieved about it."
"Then what's the problem?"
Goddess, get to the point, thinks Blue, barging into front to bluntly state: "Wind thinks Ledge is sick and doesn't trust you to cook for him."
The switch must be written all over their face, because Ravio bursts into laughter and greets him, still chortling. "Hi, Blue! That's fair. He's the chef between us. I thought he told you guys he was coming down with something?"
"Have you met your man?"
Ravio pauses. "I see your point. Is that what the container is for?"
Red nods and pats its lid. "Spiced squash soup for you to share."
Ravio claps excitedly. "Gods, that sounds good." He glances out of the window. "It's getting dark. Can you make it back tonight or should I make up the guest room?"
Ugh, I don't want to be an imposition—I am not driving in the rain again, I've hit my quota—I want to weigh in on Ravio's projects—We need to tell Grandpa if we're going to skip tomorrow's shift.
"…I'll stay over," Link mutters.
"The Debate," intones Ravio with an entirely unfounded air of wisdom. Link nods sagely and picks up his phone to text his grandfather.
Taking care of Legend is a challenge. Link admits this easily. Ravio agrees, and sends him in with his familiar, Sheerow, as backup. The pale-plumed bird, shaped funnily in the way that most familiars tend to be during their time as magical conduits, perches calmly on their shoulder.
Red edges into their bedroom, hip-checking the door closed with a bowl of hot soup in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. Ledge pokes his head out of the cocoon of blankets he has constructed for himself, realizes that someone other than Ravio has entered the room, and begins emitting a droning groan. What Red can see of him is pale and sweaty; his light, fine hair is plastered to his forehead unflatteringly.
Sheerow nudges the crusted dishes on Ledge's bedside table and they begin levitating. If Vio squints, he can see the glittery residue of Ravio's magic clinging to their edges. Link sets the food and drink down and swats at Ledge's head until he stops making that damn noise. "You aren't getting rid of me that easily."
Legend makes a face that might have been intimidating if he didn't look like he was on the verge of falling asleep. "The fuck are you doing here?" he slurs.
"What do you think, dumbass, asking about the weather?" Blue scoffs. "Sit up."
Tough, prickly Legend drags himself up without complaint. Blue grins and sits on the bed.
Feeling accomplished? Vio jabs.
Blue sticks their tongue out at him. You know damn well that he doesn't listen. I get to be proud here.
Sounds like someone I know, says Green. His internal poker face is so practiced that it almost comes across as a neutral observation. Blue imagines throttling him.
Red rolls their eyes and dips a spoon into the warm, saffron-coloured soup. "Do you need me to feed you, Ledge?" Legend watches their face searchingly and says nothing. Link sighs. "It's Red. I'm not making fun of you. If you need it, I'll do it."
"…I can do it myself."
Red obligingly hands him the bowl. Legend's hand shakes on the way to his mouth, but his pace is steady, and Link lets their eyes wander as he eats. The cool light of the moon washes the room out, but he can see traces of vibrant colour in its shadows. The place is eclectic and cluttered, but mostly clean, bar the dishes Sheerow removed and a cluster of used tissues on the bedside table. Ravio has clearly been cleaning up when Legend is asleep. Link isn't sure if the place is messier when healthy people are living in it; Link does not spend enough time in Ravio and Legend's bedroom to tell.
Link will not think about spending time in Ravio and Legend's bedroom.
Legend coughs hoarsely and sets the spoon down with a clatter. Link slants a sideways look at him; he looks a little less dead than before. Good.
Link dabs at Legend's face with a fresh tissue. To his credit, he only grumbles a little bit throughout the process, even when Blue tugs a little at his greasy hair.
Satisfied, Link leans back. "Are you up to bathing?"
Legend looks at him strangely under his pale lashes. "Excuse me?"
"I can get Ravi, I mean-" Link stammers. Why do we put ourselves in these situations?
Legend flops back into his nest of blankets. "Fine. Grab him for me?"
Link obliges and finds Ravio rubbing light circles into Sheerow's feathers with his fingertips. The little bird chirps softly and presses its beak into Ravio's hand. He watches the witch and his familiar interact, surrounded by glittering violet magic, for a long moment. Before meeting Ravio, Link had never encountered a witch whose magic was glittery. It certainly matches his flamboyant personality. The sparkling edges of it brush up against his senses; he feels distinctly like an intruder, caught between Legend's vulnerability and Ravio's intimacy.
Blue hates hesitating like this. He coughs loudly, startling Ravio and Sheerow, who shriek in eerie unison. The thick aura of magic between witch and familiar dissipates, leaping in a shower of extrasensory sparkles to cling to the edges of them.
"Hi, Four! Is everything okay?" Ravio asks, smoothing down his robe anxiously.
Link nods. "Ledge's fine. Fed and cleaned him a little. Think you're up for helping him bathe properly? I'd do it, but…" He doesn't trust me like he does you. He doesn't trust anyone like he does you. A silent understanding passes between them. Ravio looks somewhere between guilty and grateful. Link tries to telepathically convey that Legend's idiosyncrasies are no one's fault, but clairvoyance is not among his talents.
As he leaves, Ravio squeezes Link's shoulder. "Thank you for coming, Four. The guest room is ready when you are."
Then Ravio brushes past him in a swirl of glitter, velvet, and glass, and Link is alone with his selves.
Hey, so what the fuck was that? asks Blue. You can't just offer to wash the homies.
Red makes a face. Says who? If he let us help, we would.
Maybe you would.
Don't other him, chides Vio. It's good that he cares. We've been over this.
Of course you're defending him, Blue derides.
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
You care too much, and it's bad for our image, says Green definitively.
Red, Vio and Blue abruptly snap into perfect alignment: Fuck your image. Green scowls at their rebuke and retreats into the back of their head.
Vio allows the room to cool, then asks, What's your problem with it?
…I was just surprised, honestly. We're usually less… touchy, replies Blue.
Red projects the mental image of a kicked puppy. Blue mentally corrects himself. The three of us are usually less touchy.
Fair, muses Vio. Their mind is silent for a blissful moment.
Tentatively, Red thinks: Hey, can we do something that isn't standing in the middle of the living room?
…Link had forgotten where they were. The distant, warbling hum of running water underpins their thoughts. If he listens, he can hear soft, sweet murmuring from down the hall.
Link needs to leave this godsdamned house with all of these people and animals that love each other more than they love him. He doesn't blame them for it, but—sometimes it's lonely, that the only ones that love him more than anyone else in the world are the shades of self in his head.
Sheerow watches them flee into the night knowingly from its ornate perch.
The orchard is eerie at night, but cool wind that whistles through the trees is refreshing against his cheeks. Link draws his coat tighter around himself and turns on his phone flashlight. Colour is leached from the world by the light, leaving only value and texture behind. Under his feet, the crunching of leaves is rhythmic. The earlier rain has returned as a light patter that kisses the top of his head but demands no shelter from its touch.
By the time that Link realizes he's gotten himself lost in the dark, it's been—he checks his phone—an hour. This deep in the orchard, the once-orderly rows have grown into a thicket that shows no mercy to his clothes. All four of Link's calls to Ravio fall through. No service.
Red wants to cry. Blue wants to scream. Green wants to try Ravio's number again. Vio wants to retrace their steps.
They agree that Vio's idea is the most viable. In the soft, cold earth, Vio draws an arrow with the toe of their boot in the direction that they're facing. Then, he flicks off the light and turns in a circle, searching for pinpricks of light in the gloom. Ravio's sleep schedule is so awful, it's highly unlikely that he fell asleep before midnight, unless Legend managed to trap him in bed. Considering his state, that seems unlikely. The light must still be on.
From behind: a rustle in the leaves.
Link's head whips around. "Who's there?!"
Another rustle—this one distinctly footstep-like.
Blue reaches into their satchel and draws an enchanted dagger that glows softly in the darkness. The shadows are so thick in this part of the orchard that its light just skims the trees; he can't even see the pattern of the bark. Low in the brush, two gleaming pinpricks catch the azure light.
Oh goddesses, Red thinks, we're going to die. There are eyes in the dark watching us and we're going to fucking die! Grandpa didn't even respond to our text! We won't ever see him again!
Link's grip tightens on the dagger. They haven't had to fight for their life in years. He curses at himself in shades of aquamarine for not keeping up with the blade.
Shades of sinuous midnight follow those bright eyes closer in a smooth, languid motion. Vio remembers that they have two arms and flicks on the flashlight with their off-hand.
As it happens, terrifying creature is a cat. A rather small one, at that. Great teamwork, everyone. Red drops to his knees and coos. The other three protest—That thing could have rabies!—to no avail. The cat's short coat is such an inky black that the shadows around it are put to shame. Patches of it are matted and dull.
Red wants to wrap it up in their arms and take it home. Weren't we just thinking about how much we wanted a familiar? he wheedles.
"No, we weren't. Stop that," Blue replies out loud—they're alone in the woods, after all. The cat cocks its head at them in a distinctly human gesture of confusion. On instinct, Red reaches out to smooth the fur across the top of its little round head. The cat recoils, then leans forward on its little toes to bump its nose against his fingers.
"Don't worry about Blue," Red murmurs to the cat, soft and sweet, "He's just a sourpuss."
The cat bats at his hand and meows loudly. Red swears that it sounds inquisitive. Even Green is hard-pressed to disagree. Blue scoffs, "It's a cat, it can't understand you." In reply, the cat nips at them, drawing twin beads of blood on their hand. Blue hisses more out of reflex than pain. "What the fuck? Is our insurance valid?"
Green rifles through their memory and replies, "It is, don't freak out."
The cat's pupils eclipse its irises. Red pokes its nose. "See, it's harmless!"
Blue rolls their eyes and pushes up from the ground. "Well, we're still lost, cat or not."
The cat perks up. "Aw, buddy, you want to help out?" Red croons. It nods in another strangely anthropomorphised gesture, sniffs the air, and promptly sets off several degrees to the right of the arrow marking their direction. Conflicted, Link watches it leave. After a few paces, the cat realizes that Link isn't following suit and returns to paw at his boots. When Red crouches to pet it again, it seizes the opportunity to scamper up their arm and coil around their shoulders like a strange and slightly scratchy pillow. Red holds Blue back from throwing the thing off of them. Don't hurt him!
"Oh, it's a him now?" bites Blue. The cat purrs against their hair like the sputter of an unused engine. Blue would turn its head to give the creature an incredulous stare if he could without knocking it off of their shoulders and upsetting Red. "What the actual fuck?"
Vio speaks for the first time since the cat made itself known. "Is it just me, or is it replying to us when we speak?"
Another purr. Blue preemptively mourns what remains of his sanity. "Fuck, I think it is."
Red claps gleefully. "If it's magical, then it really might know the way back! Can we follow it?"
Green hems. Vio haws. Blue says fuck no. Red decides that he doesn't need anyone's permission, actually, sheathes their knife, and gingerly lifts their arms above their head to deposit the cat on the ground. The cat nods approvingly and trots off in the same direction. Red bounces after it. The others resign themselves to seeing Red's whim through.
Astonishingly, light begins filtering through the foliage after—Link checks his phone again—sixteen minutes of walking. Red exclaims, "You're such a good boy, little kitty! Yes you are!"
As is the divine right of cats, the creature manages to convey simultaneous pleasure and annoyance at the cooing. It sniffs dismissively and continues forward, but its tail whips and curls in satisfaction. Red thanks his past self for obsessing over cat videos on the internet, thus granting him the sacred knowledge of feline body language.
The cat leads them directly to the cottage door and sits on the stoop, even when Link steps inside and shrugs off his coat and boots. Link watches it watch him from the threshold. Red ends their staring contest by crouching again and beckoning with his hand, cooing, "Don't you want to warm up?"
The cat meows plaintively.
"Come on," Red entreats, "I've got food if you come inside."
It repeats itself, flicking its tail back and forth in a way that Link can only describe as indignant. Red pouts. "Come in already, it's cold."
The cat's pupils narrow into slits and it bolts into the house just as Blue begins to complain that it doesn't understand Hylian. Sheerow shrieks at the thing, projecting a weakly visible film of glittery magic at it. It hisses back, bristling in jet black. The shimmering field crashes against the cat like a wave and melts into empty air. As Ravio bursts into the room, the cat scrabbles onto Link's shoulders, digging its claws in deep in its retreat.
"Link is asleep, don't wake h-" Ravio stops short when he takes in Link's countenance. Sheerow dives for its witch and Ravio moves to cup it in his hands. A shower of sparkling magic erupts where they touch; Ravio hisses and shakes his hand like he's been burned. He strokes Sheerow's head gently and murmurs, "That's a lot of magic, Sheer, are you okay?"
The bird chirps agitatedly. Ravio nods thoughtfully. "Very strange indeed. Thank you for keeping us safe, little one." Sheerow preens and returns to its perch.
Ravio gives Link a wary look. "Sheerow thinks something's wrong with your cat. Also, when did you get a cat?"
Link shrugs helplessly. The cat digs its claws in deeper, and he winces. "Right now, I guess. It found me in the orchard."
"What were you doing out there?"
"Getting fresh air," Link hedges.
Ravio squints at him. "You're not telling me something."
Red deflates. "I got lost."
"How'd you manage that?!"
"I don't know," Blue groans, burying their head in their hands. "One minute I knew where I was, and the next I was in a forest so overgrown I could barely see a metre ahead of me."
Ravio gasps. "You went past the wards?"
"Not on purpose," Red protests, "and the cat brought me back!"
Ravio looks shrewdly at the cat. "How did it know to find us?"
"I…" Red falters, glancing at it. It stares back with eerily bright eyes. How had they not noticed that its irises were crimson? It was dark, but… "I don't know. I felt like it was talking to me."
Ravio gasps. "You found your familiar?!"
"No way," Blue objects. "We'll give it to a shelter in the city tomorrow." Ravio eyes them and the cat knowingly. It's infuriating. Blue dumps the cat unceremoniously to the ground, where it twines around his legs affectionately. "I'm going to bed. Night, Rav."
Ravio laughs. "Good idea. Night, Blue."
"Hey, how'd you know it was-?!"
"No one else in that head of yours calls me Rav."
Blue grumbles indignantly all the way to their room. They lock the cat in the bathroom to change into their nightclothes, but let it watch them curiously as they get ready for bed. The cat situates itself on the mouth of the sink, right underneath the vanity mirror, as they brush their teeth. When they crawl into bed, it curls up on a nearby chair and watches them with wide carmine eyes, pupils razor-thin. Link tosses and turns through the entire night.