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Legend notices because he is observant, not jealous. Observant. There is a difference, and if anyone asks, that difference is dignity. Hyrule has been acting strange for weeks. Stranger than usual, which is saying something, because Hyrule’s baseline is already a deeply concerning mixture of polite woodland creature, feral survivalist, and man who once looked at a poisonous mushroom and said, “Maybe if I boil it twice.”
At first, Legend ignores it. Ignoring things is an important survival skill, especially with this group. But Hyrule keeps disappearing. Not wandering. Not scouting. Not slipping off to gather herbs or sleep under a bush or commune with whatever alarming ditch spirit raised him. Disappearing. Into the woods behind camp, wherever they happen to be.
And he stays gone.
Sometimes for half an hour. Sometimes longer. Sometimes he comes back with leaves in his hair and dirt on his sleeves and an expression of mild satisfaction, like he has just successfully out-negotiated a raccoon. That, on its own, would be suspicious enough. But then Warriors starts going with him. Warriors. Polished, preening, perfume-and-presentation Warriors, who normally treats underbrush like a personal insult. Warriors follows Hyrule into the trees one evening with a grim, confidential nod and returns twenty minutes later looking strangely relaxed, one shoulder moving better, and smelling faintly of mint, mud, and criminal activity. Legend says nothing. Because he is not jealous. Then Wind goes. Wind, who cannot keep a secret unless threatened extensively with death. Or soap. Wind vanishes after Hyrule one afternoon, clutching his hand and wailing about a splinter the size of a needle point. He returns with his finger bandaged, a leaf in his mouth, and the bright-eyed expression of someone who has seen behind the curtain of the gods and found snacks.
Legend says nothing. Because he is not jealous.
Then Four goes. Four comes back carrying a hammer, three nails, and a haunted expression.
Legend says nothing. Because he is not jealous.
Then Wild goes. Twice. The first time, he returns with a bandage wrapped around his wrist and refuses to explain why it smells like swamp and cinnamon. The second time, he comes back holding a jar labelled DO NOT COOK and looking offended.
Legend says nothing. Because he is not jealous. He is, however, beginning to suspect. At first, he suspects a secret training circle. Some ridiculous hero bonding exercise. Warriors would love that. He can see it now… clandestine leadership meetings in the woods, everyone standing around pretending not to enjoy being important while Warriors says things like “team cohesion” and “field discipline” and “trust formation.” Then he suspects a secret food stash. This is more likely. Wild is involved. Then he suspects gambling. Then monster fighting. Then some sort of deeply embarrassing feelings club Sky accidentally started and Hyrule is somehow hosting because nobody suspects the quiet ones until it is too late. By the third week, Legend has constructed and discarded twelve theories, each more insulting than the last. The only thing he knows for certain is this: There is a secret. He has not been invited. This is fine, he does not care. He cares so little in fact, that he begins tracking the disappearances in his head. Hyrule leaves after breakfast. Returns with damp sleeves. Warriors goes that evening. Returns loose-shouldered and smug. Wind goes after tripping over a root. Returns with a bandage and a piece of bark. Four goes after muttering something about structural integrity. Returns silent and furious. Wild goes whenever he injures himself cooking, which is often enough to qualify as a schedule. Legend does not ask. Asking would imply interest. Interest would imply caring. Caring would imply vulnerability, and Legend would rather huff the potent fumes of Hyrule’s socks than be vulnerable.
Then, one morning, Wild burns his hand. This is not unusual, Wild burns himself at the cook-fire with the absentminded competence of a man who can kill a lynel, scale a cliff in the rain, and then touch a hot pan because “it looked less hot from this angle.” The burn is not serious. Red across the heel of his palm, angry but manageable. Sky fusses immediately, Twilight frowns, Warriors offers a strip of clean cloth, Time looks over with the tired attention of a man determining whether this is a crisis or simply breakfast.
Wild snatches his hand back from Sky. “I’m fine!”
Legend looks up. Wild says it too fast.
Sky’s brows pinch. “Are you sure? That looks—”
“Fine.” Wild repeats, already standing. “Just need to, uh. Check something.”
“With your burnt hand?” Legend asks pointedly, eyes narrowed.
Wild freezes. Legend keeps his expression bored. Wild looks at him. Then at his hand. Then at the trees.
“Yep.”
“That makes sense.”
“Yep.”
“No concerns.”
“Good.”
Wild leaves. Badly. He tries to be casual, which for Wild means moving with the stealth of a trained assassin while also glancing over his shoulder like a child with a stolen biscuit. He tucks his injured hand close to his chest. Legend waits three seconds, then stands. Warriors’ head tilts slightly and Legend glares at him before Warriors can speak. “I’m going for a walk.”
Warriors’ mouth opens. Legend points. “Don’t.”
Warriors closes his mouth, and Legend walks into the trees before he does something regrettable with a boomerang.
He follows Wild. Not because he is jealous. Because this is reconnaissance. Wild is good in the woods. Annoyingly good. Quiet-footed, quick, aware of the ground beneath him and the canopy above. But he is also cradling a burnt hand, muttering to himself, and distracted enough that Legend can trail him without much trouble. The forest thickens as they move away from camp. Branches knit overhead, the air cools, birdsong thins into the creak of bark and the soft shift of leaves. Legend crouches behind a fern as Wild slips between two pines.
Then he sees it.
At first his mind refuses to process it, and not because it is hidden well. In a small clearing, crouched between the trees like something the forest tried to cough up and then regretted, is a shack. Legend stares. No. Not a shack. A structure. A mistake with corners. It is a shack in the same way a lizalfos is technically a lizard. The thing leans dramatically to the left, though whether from poor construction or moral exhaustion is unclear. Its walls are made from mismatched planks, branches, pieces of bark, a broken shield, and what looks horrifyingly like part of a crate they had been using for supplies last week. A length of canvas droops over the roof, sagging under a pile of leaves and tied down with rope, vines, and at least three of Warriors’ spare belts. Legend recognises the belts because Warriors had spent two days complaining that they were missing. Legend had assumed Wind, now he owes Wind nothing, but perhaps a fractional apology. Bottles hang from bits of twine along the front. Some are empty. Some are not. One has something floating in it that taps gently against the glass from the inside. There are shelves outside, the shelves are too straight compared to the rest of the structure.
Four. Legend thinks grimly.
A curtain made of patched cloth hangs over the entrance. It has been weighted at the bottom with stones, one spoon, and a single polished gauntlet buckle. Warriors. Of course. And in front of the shack, nailed to a crooked post, is a sign. Legend narrows his eyes, the handwriting is Hyrule’s.
HURTS? MAYBE FIX.
REFERRALS ONLY.
NO TIME. NO QUESTIONS.
PAYMENT OPTIONAL. COMPLAINING TAXED.
Legend slowly lowers himself behind a bush. “…What in Hylia’s name,” he whispers, “is that.”
Wild approaches the shack like this is normal. Like this is a place one goes, like there is nothing concerning about a murder shed lashed together with stolen accessories and weirdly well put together shelves. He lifts his good hand and taps the hanging spoon. It clatters. From inside, Hyrule’s voice says, “Referral?”
Wild glances around, Legend freezes lower behind the bush.
“Warriors.” Wild says. A pause. Then Hyrule says, “Injury?”
“Burn.”
“Cooking?”
“…Maybe.”
“Come in.”
Wild ducks inside, the curtain falls shut behind him. Legend remains crouched in the underbrush, staring. Referral. Warriors referred him. There is a referral system. There is a secret shack. There is a sign that explicitly says NO TIME, which could mean no time limits but very clearly does not mean that, because Legend is not an idiot and Hyrule is a terrible criminal.
Legend’s first thought is: murder. His second thought is: medical malpractice. His third thought is: how many people know about this?
He waits. Inside the shack, voices murmur. Something clinks. Wild says, “What is that?” in a tone Legend recognises as fascinated horror. Hyrule answers something too low to hear. Wild says, louder, “Can I cook with it?” Hyrule says, sharply, “No.” There is another clink. A hiss. Wild yelps.
Legend nearly stands, he does not. This is reconnaissance. A minute passes, then another. A bird lands on the shack roof, takes one look at its surroundings, and leaves. Sensible creature. Eventually, the curtain lifts and Wild emerges, his hand is bandaged. The bandage is neat, clean, and coated faintly green around the edges. Wild flexes his fingers, grinning despite himself.
“Don’t touch fire for an hour.” Hyrule says from inside.
Wild pauses. “What counts as fire?”
Hyrule leans out just enough for Legend to see his face, he looks tired. “Wild.”
“Right. Okay. Fine.”
“And don’t lick it.”
Wild looks offended. “I wasn’t going to.”
Hyrule stares at him. Wild looks away. “This time.”
Hyrule disappears back inside and Wild tucks his bandaged hand close, glances around once more, then heads back toward camp. Legend waits until his footsteps fade, then waits longer. He does not know why. Dramatic instinct, perhaps. Or self-preservation. Or because the shack has begun to make very soft creaking noises despite there being no wind.
Finally, Legend rises from the bush. Slowly. Every survival instinct he has ever honed across dungeons, dark worlds, cursed temples, and suspiciously cheerful islands tells him not to approach the shack.
Naturally, he approaches the shack.
The clearing feels colder now. His thoughts spin. This is ridiculous. It is a shack. A badly made shack. Hyrule is inside. Hyrule is alarming, yes, but generally on purpose only half the time. Legend has fought nightmare monsters. He has been inside places that most sane people wouldn’t approach even with the master sword in hand. He has entered paintings. He can handle a forest shed.
A bottle hanging from the eaves taps once against the wood. Legend stops dead, the bottle goes still. Legend stares at it, it stares back in the sense that it contains something with at least one dark spot that could, under hostile interpretation, be an eye. Legend takes another step and the ground squelches. He looks down, there is no mud.
“Nope.” he says under his breath. “Don’t like that.”
He keeps going. The sign swings slightly as he nears it, though again, no wind. Up close, it is worse. Someone has added smaller writing beneath the main text.
NO WALK-INS UNLESS BLEEDING.
BITES COST EXTRA.
DO NOT ASK ABOUT THE BLUE JAR.
WIND IS NOT ALLOWED REFERRAL PRIVILEGES UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
Legend stares. Wind had referral privileges. Wind lost referral privileges. Legend feels, with sudden clarity, that this entire conspiracy has a history. A tiny noise comes from inside and Legend reaches for his sword. Then remembers this is probably Hyrule, then keeps his hand on the sword anyway, because “probably Hyrule” is not the comfort it should be. He steps onto the small patch of flattened earth in front of the entrance. The spoon-bell hangs beside the curtain, Legend does not touch it. He leans slightly, trying to see through a gap in the canvas, there is darkness, shelves, jars, a shape hanging from the ceiling. No. Several shapes, herbs, probably. Hopefully. Legend takes a slow breath. The shack exhales, not actually. It’s wood settling, canvas shifting, something inside dripping into a bowl at exactly the wrong moment. Legend’s imagination supplies the rest because it hates him.
“Hylia.” he mutters. “This is how idiots die.”
He pushes the curtain aside with two fingers. The smell hits him first. Mint. Smoke. Wet leaves. Bitter root. Old bandages. Something sharp and clean. Something earthy. Something that makes his eyes water and his soul consider evacuation. Beneath it all is the unmistakable scent of Hyrule, dirt, travel, magic, and a complete lack of respect for soap. Legend slowly steps inside. The shack is bigger than it should be. Not magically, probably, just cluttered in a way that makes space difficult to understand. There is a low table, a stool, shelves crammed with jars, bundles of herbs hanging from the rafters, clean cloth stacked in a crate, a ledger made of bark strips tied together with string. A bucket labelled BAD WATER beside another bucket labelled WORSE WATER. On the far wall is a chart, Legend squints.
PATIENT TYPES
- Says fine = not fine
- Says don’t tell Time = normal
- Bites = Wind? maybe Wild
- Complains = fear of taxation keeps to minimum
- Compliments = Warriors
- Apologises to medicine = Sky
- Denies limp = Wind
- Moves shelves = Four
Something shifts behind him, Legend turns so fast his bad shoulder nearly seizes. Hyrule is standing in the entrance, utterly silent, totally still and holding a jar. Legend, who has faced down monsters, demons, and worse versions of himself, makes a noise that will never be discussed. Hyrule blinks. Legend lowers his sword by half an inch. There is a long silence.
Then Hyrule says, mildly, “You don’t have a referral.”
Legend stares at him, then at the shack, then at the sign, then back at Hyrule.
“…What,” Legend says slowly, “is this?”
Hyrule glances around as if checking. “First aid sans lectures.”
Legend laughs once, it’s a fearful thing. “No!” he says. “No, this is not first aid. First aid is bandages and clean water. This is” he gestures with the sword, because words are briefly insufficient “a crime with shelves.”
Hyrule frowns. “Four fixed the shelves.”
“That does not make it better.”
“It made it safer.”
“One of your jars is labelled ‘maybe teeth.’”
Hyrule looks past him. “That’s not for people.” Legend’s grip tightens on his sword, Hyrule pauses. “Usually.”
Legend closes his eyes. Opens them. “You have been disappearing into the woods for weeks, no matter where we camp.”
“Yes.”
“With Warriors.”
“Yes.”
“And Wind.”
“Yes.”
“And Wild.”
“Yes.”
“And Four.”
“He came for the shelf.”
Legend points at the patient chart. “And Sky?”
“He apologised to the medicine.”
“Of course he did.”
Legend’s voice drops. “And no one told me.”
Hyrule studies him and shifts the jar under one arm. “You didn’t ask.”
Legend’s face goes flat. “I didn’t know there was a murder shack to ask about.”
“It’s not a murder shack.”
“It looks like a murder shack.”
“It’s a medical shack.”
“That is worse.”
Hyrule tilts his head. “How?”
“Because now the murder has paperwork.”
Hyrule considers this, then says, “Not much paperwork.”
Legend stares. The jar in Hyrule’s arms taps softly from the inside. Legend looks at it, Hyrule looks down, then, very casually, moves the jar behind his back. Legend points. “Absolutely not.”
“It’s not for you.”
“That is not the reassurance you think it is.”
Hyrule steps into the shack, forcing Legend either to move back or be brushed aside. Legend moves because he has pride, but he also has instincts. Hyrule sets the jar on a high shelf labelled LATER. Legend watches him. His anger has not gone anywhere, it is still there, hot and sharp, wrapped around something much more embarrassing. He had thought they were meeting without him, he had thought there was some secret hero club. There is a secret hero club. It is just significantly stupider and more medically unsound than expected.
Hyrule turns back to him. “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
Hyrule’s eyes flick once. Legend stiffens, Hyrule says, “Shoulder?”
Legend’s blood goes cold. “Warriors told you.”
“No.”
“Wild?”
“No.”
“Wind?”
“No.” Hyrule points vaguely at him. “You’re holding your sword like your left side hates you.”
Legend lowers the sword immediately, but it’s oo late. Hyrule hums, Legend glares. “Don’t hum at me.”
“You followed Wild.”
“I was investigating.”
“…You were jealous?”
Legend goes utterly still. The shack, wisely, says nothing. Hyrule’s eyes widen a fraction, as if he has only just realised the danger of what he said.
Legend’s voice is very soft. “Repeat that.”
Hyrule chooses life. “You were investigating.”
“Good.”
“Thoroughly.”
“Better.”
“Without a referral.”
Legend points at him again. “Stop returning to that.”
“It’s referral based.”
“It’s a shack in the woods.”
“It’s a private practice.”
Legend’s mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “No.” he says finally. “No. You do not get to call it that.”
Hyrule’s chin lifts with quiet dignity. “There are no laws in the forest.”
Legend freezes. Slowly, very slowly, he turns his head. “What.”
Hyrule looks completely serious. “There are no laws in the forest.”
Legend stares at him for a long moment, then he laughs, not because it is funny, because something inside him has given up. “That,” he says, “is not how laws work.”
“It is how forests work.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It does here.”
“You cannot build an illegal medical shed and declare yourself outside of civilisation because there are trees.”
Hyrule looks around. “There are a lot of trees.”
Legend presses the heel of his good hand to his eye. “Hyrule.”
“Yes?”
“Does Time know?”
Hyrule goes very quiet, Legend lowers his hand. Ah. There it is. The real answer hangs in the air between them, obvious and damning. Legend smiles slowly. Hyrule’s eyes narrow. Legend says, “He doesn’t.” Hyrule says nothing, Legend’s smile grows sharper. “Time doesn’t know about your illegal forest doctor shack.”
“It’s not illegal.”
“Because trees.”
“Yes.”
Legend looks toward camp, then back at Hyrule, then at the sign, then at the patient chart, then at the jars. A terrible, wonderful thought blooms in his chest. Hyrule sees it happen. “No.”
Legend’s smile becomes dangerous. “No what?”
“You’re thinking something.”
“I often do.”
“Something bad.”
“Define bad.”
Hyrule points at him. “You cannot tell Time.”
Legend places a hand over his heart, offended. “I would never.”
Hyrule does not relax. Smart. Legend glances around the shack again. His eyes settle on the chart, his smile twitches. “I have conditions.”
Hyrule’s shoulders slump by exactly one degree. Legend steps fully inside the shack now, confidence returning in warm, vicious waves. “First,” he says, “I want a patient page in that ledger, I’m part of this now.” Hyrule sighs. “Second, I want to know exactly why Wind lost referral privileges.”
“No.”
“Then Time finds out.”
Hyrule’s mouth tightens. Legend points at the stool. “Third, fix that before someone dies of furniture.”
“Four said it was stable.”
“Four is small. That stool has never faced a normal-sized person.”
Hyrule looks at the stool, then back at Legend. “And your shoulder?”
Legend’s smile vanishes. “My shoulder is irrelevant.”
“It’s not.”
“It is to this negotiation.”
“You want treatment.”
“I want information.”
“You want both.”
Legend hates him, Hyrule knows. The spoon-bell outside clatters softly in the breeze. Legend glances toward camp again, Time is somewhere beyond the trees, unaware. Warriors is probably being smug. Wind is probably committing a crime. Wild is probably showing someone his bandage. The entire camp has apparently been participating in woodland healthcare treason without him.
Fine.
Legend sits on the stool, it wobbles. He grips the edge of the table, dignity suffering in silence. Hyrule reaches for a jar, Legend points sharply. “Not the moving one.” Hyrule pauses, hen reaches for a different jar. Legend watches him with narrow eyes. “This does not mean I approve.”
“Of course.”
“This is still illegal.”
“No laws in the forest.”
“I will stab that phrase.”
Hyrule smiles faintly, Legend scowls, but his shoulder throbs again, and the shack smells terrible, and the stool is an affront to carpenting, and somehow, somehow, he is less angry than he was five minutes ago. Not because he has been included now, absolutely not. Hyrule meanwhile opens the jar and Legend recoils. “Oh, Hylia.”
“It works.”
“It smells like something died resentful.”
“That’s the root.”
“The root died?”
“Everything dies.”
Legend stares at him, Hyrule looks peaceful. Legend sighs, from outside, a bird lands briefly on the roof. The entire shack creaks in protest. The bird leaves. Legend looks up. “If this thing collapses on me.” he says, “I’m telling Time from beyond the grave.”
Hyrule dips two fingers into the paste. “Then don’t die.”
Legend mutters, “Worst secret club I’ve ever joined.”
Hyrule’s smile widens by a fraction. “Welcome.”
Legend narrows his eyes, Hyrule does not blink. The jar sits between them on the table, open and glistening with the quiet menace of something that should have remained underground. The paste inside is dark green. Not a pleasant herbal green. Not a fresh spring green. A swamp green. A grave-moss green. A green that suggests it has opinions about sunlight and considers soap a personal enemy.
“No.” he says.
Hyrule reaches for a strip of clean cloth. “Yes.”
“No.”
“You sat down.”
“I was misled.”
“You walked in.”
“Under duress.”
“You followed Wild.”
“That was investigation.”
“You negotiated treatment.”
“I negotiated information.”
Hyrule dips two fingers into the paste, Legend’s entire body recoils before his pride can stop it.
The sound is obscene. A wet, thick, reluctant squelch. The sort of sound a bog makes when it gives up a corpse but wants everyone to know it is doing so under protest. Hyrule lifts his hand. The paste stretches in a slow, glossy string between his fingers and the jar before snapping back with a soft plop. Legend stares. His soul retreats three steps. “That,” he says, voice carefully flat, “is alive.”
“It’s not alive.”
“It moved.”
“So do rivers.”
“Rivers don’t cling.”
“Some do.”
Legend points at him. “Stop saying things like you were raised by a haunted swamp.”
Hyrule considers that, then says nothing, which is somehow worse. Legend inhales, immediately regrets it, and turns his head away. The smell rolls through the shack in a damp, aggressive wave. Bitter root. Wet bark. Mud. Mint. Something mineral and sharp. Something fungal. Something that smells like it has personally witnessed a battlefield and decided to become medicine about it. He gags, not fully. A controlled gag. A dignified gag. The kind of gag a veteran adventurer might make when faced with evil beyond ordinary comprehension. Hyrule’s mouth twitches, Legend’s eyes snap to him. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t.”
“You thought something.”
“I do that sometimes.”
“Do it less.”
Hyrule nods solemnly and gestures at his shoulder. “Tunic.”
Legend scowls, the word hangs between them. Tunic. The horror of the paste is bad enough. The smell is worse. The stool remains a threat to structural integrity and personal dignity. But now Hyrule expects him to undress in the murder shack.
Medical shack, Hyrule would say.
Illegal forest doctor shack, Legend thinks viciously.
He reaches for the hem of his tunic with the expression of a man being forced to sign away rights. His shoulder pulls sharply the moment he lifts his arm, he freezes. Hyrule does not comment and that is possibly the only reason Legend continues. Slowly, stiffly, with several small pauses he refuses to acknowledge, Legend strips the tunic up and over his head. The movement drags pain hot and bright across his shoulder blade. His jaw locks. His breath catches. He keeps his face blank through sheer spite. The tunic comes free. Legend drops the tunic into his lap and glares at the opposite wall, daring it to have an opinion. Hyrule’s gaze flicks over him, quick and clinical, and then he makes a quiet sound in his throat.
Legend bristles. “What.”
“You should’ve come sooner.”
“I didn’t know there was a crime clinic!”
“You knew your shoulder hurt, I do normal healy things too, it just comes with a Time lecture.”
“I know many things. That does not mean I make them everyone’s problem.”
Hyrule looks at him, Legend looks back. The silence becomes pointed. Legend says, “Do not put me on the chart for that.”
“I already have a category.”
“Change it.”
“No.”
Hyrule steps closer, Legend stiffens despite himself. “Hold still.”
“I am holding still.”
“You’re preparing to flee.”
“That is different.”
Hyrule presses the paste to his shoulder.
Legend sees Din.
The cold hits first. Not ordinary cold. Not river water cold. Not winter air slipping beneath armour. This is deep, wet, bog-hearted cold. It sinks into his skin with terrible purpose, sliding under the heat of the injury and wrapping around the ache like a damp hand. Then the smell doubles, Legend clamps his mouth shut so fast his teeth click. The paste spreads thickly beneath Hyrule’s fingers, slick and grainy at once. There are tiny fibres in it. Legend refuses to identify them. Something gritty drags across his skin. Something soft bursts under the pressure of Hyrule’s thumb. His stomach rises, he forces it down with the kind of discipline usually reserved for curses and royal banquets. Hyrule works in small circles, pressing around the bruise, careful but firm. The paste makes a faint wet sound with each movement. Legend stares at a point on the wall just above the patient chart and considers every decision that brought him here. It smells worse warm, that is the awful part for Legend didn’t think smells could get worse than its original state. Against his skin, the paste releases layers. Bitter green. Rot-sweet earth. Crushed leaves. Smoke. Frog pond. Lightning-struck mushroom. An undertone like old socks that have repented but not been forgiven. Legend’s eyes water. He speaks through his teeth. “I hate this.”
“It’s working.”
“I hate that too.”
“Your shoulder’s loosening.”
“My shoulder is being threatened into compliance.”
“That counts.”
Hyrule presses his thumb beneath the knot of muscle near Legend’s shoulder blade, Legend makes a sound. Hyrule pauses, Legend’s face has gone perfectly blank. “Say anything,” Legend whispers, “and I will burn this shack down with us both inside.”
Hyrule resumes working. “That would damage the shelves.”
“I’ll aim for the shelves.”
“Four would be upset.”
“Good.”
The paste prickles now, not painfully, more like a thousand tiny needles waking up under the skin and deciding, reluctantly, to help. The heat of the bruise fades by degrees. The ache thins. The sharp pull in the joint softens into something dull and distant. It works. Of course it works. This is humiliating. Legend swallows against another gag as Hyrule scoops more paste from the jar. “No more.”
“You need more.”
“I need a priest.”
“You need to stop lifting things with that arm.”
“I lift things with whatever arm I want.”
“That’s why you’re here.”
“I am here because I uncovered a conspiracy.”
“You’re here because your shoulder hurts.”
“I can be here for two reasons.”
Hyrule hums, Legend closes his eyes in suffering. The second application is worse because he is expecting it. Hyrule smears the paste across the back of his shoulder, down toward the joint, along the angry line where muscle has been pulled too tight for too long. It seeps into every sore place with horrible competence. Legend’s fingers tighten around the edge of the stool. The stool wobbles, he freezes, the stool settles. Legend exhales slowly, Hyrule says, “Careful.”
Legend says, “Fix your furniture.”
“Four said—”
“If you say Four said it was stable, I’ll put you through the wall.”
Hyrule wisely shuts up, for a few moments, there is only the quiet creak of the shack, the faint drip from somewhere Legend refuses to locate, and the disgusting slick sound of Hyrule wrapping the paste-covered shoulder in clean cloth. Legend forces himself not to ask. He lasts seven seconds. “…What’s in… it?”
Hyrule’s hands stop, just for a moment. Legend turns his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “What.”
Hyrule’s expression has gone very still. The sort of still. people get when the answer is either dangerous, illegal, or emotionally complicated.
“You don’t want to know.” Hyrule says darkly.
Legend waits, Hyrule ties the first loop of bandage, Legend keeps waiting, Hyrule does not elaborate. A bead of paste slides slowly down Legend’s shoulder blade beneath the wrap. Legend’s skin crawls. He thinks about the smell. The texture. The fibres. The way the jar had moved. The way Hyrule had said “usually” about teeth. For once in his life, Legend makes the wise choice. “…Fine.” he says.
Hyrule glances at him, almost surprised, Legend points sharply with his good hand. “Do not look proud. This is not trust. This is self-preservation.”
“Of course.”
“If I start glowing, I’m blaming you.”
“You probably won’t.”
“Probably?”
“It’s a good probably.”
“There are no good probablies in medicine!”
“There are in the forest.”
Legend inhales, Hyrule adds quickly. “I’ll stop.”
“Do.”
Hyrule finishes tying the bandage. It is neat. Firm enough to support the shoulder without cutting into him. The cloth is clean, the knot sits where Legend can reach it, and the ache has faded to a low, begrudging murmur. Legend hates all of this.
Hyrule steps back. “There.”
Legend rotates his shoulder carefully, the movement does not stab him, he lowers his arm. “It’s adequate.”
Hyrule smiles faintly. “That means good from you.”
“It means adequate.”
“It means very good.”
“It means I know where you sleep.”
Hyrule’s smile widens by half a degree. Legend reaches for his tunic, then pauses, eyes narrowing as another thought rises, he looks around the shack again. The shelves. The sign. The patient chart. The referral system. The ledger. The evidence of weeks of secret visits by half the camp and, apparently, a disturbingly organised medical economy operating under Time’s nose. Legend pulls the tunic back over his head with slightly less difficulty than before. Once dressed, he fixes Hyrule with a look. “Who else doesn’t know?”
Hyrule goes still, Legend’s eyes sharpen. “Ah.”
“It’s not—”
“Who.”
Hyrule shifts his weight, the shack creaks ominously, as if leaning closer. Legend folds his arms carefully. Hyrule notices, Legend unfolds them immediately. Hyrule looks away, which is the only thing that saves him.
“Who.” Legend repeats.
Hyrule sighs. “Time.”
Legend nods slowly. “Obviously.”
“And Twilight.”
Legend blinks, there is a pause. Then another. Legend’s expression changes. Not anger, not quite. It’s something more offended. More personal. “…Twilight,” he says. Hyrule nods. Legend stares at him. “Twilight doesn’t know.”
“No.”
“And Time doesn’t know.”
“No.”
“And I didn’t know.”
“No.”
Legend stands, the stool wobbles in relief. “You lumped me in with Time and Twilight?”
Hyrule opens his mouth, Legend points at him. “No. Think very carefully.”
Hyrule closes his mouth. Legend’s eyes are wide now, not with horror but with supreme, blazing insult. “You put me,” he says, each word clipped, “in the same category as the two most authority-shaped men in camp?”
Hyrule makes a face, it is small, barely there, but Legend sees it. Legend always sees it. His jaw drops. “You did.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You made a face.”
“I have a face.”
“You made a boring face.”
Hyrule’s brow furrows. “A what?”
“A boring face. A ‘Legend wouldn’t understand because he’s responsible’ face.”
“I didn’t—”
“I am not responsible.”
Hyrule looks at him, Legend’s outrage deepens. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“You are very responsible.”
Legend recoils as if slapped. “How dare you.”
“You carry supplies for everyone.”
“For emergencies.”
“You know where everything is.”
“Because none of you do.”
“You have a tool for every problem.”
“That’s called being prepared, not boring.”
“You tell Wind not to lick things.”
“Because he will lick things!”
“You glare when Wild cooks too close to explosives.”
“Everyone should glare when Wild cooks too close to explosives!”
“You ask questions before drinking medicine.”
Legend points violently at the jar. “That is called survival!”
Hyrule’s face says this is not helping, Legend sees it. His offence reaches new, unexplored territory.
“I am not Time.”
“No.”
“I am not Twilight.”
“No.”
“I am fun.”
Hyrule says nothing, Legend’s eyes narrow to slits. “Hyrule.”
“You’re… practical.”
Legend makes a noise, not a word. A noise of deep, wounded betrayal. “Practical?” Hyrule appears to realise he has stepped into something worse than a monster den. “Reliable?”
Legend looks personally injured. “Stop making it worse.”
“You’re useful?”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“In a responsible way.”
Legend takes one step toward him, Hyrule takes one step back. The shack wall bumps his shoulder and drops a faint sprinkle of dust onto his hair. Legend points at the sign. “I am not some rule-following old man.”
“No.”
“Or some honourable ranch-hand enforcer.”
“No.”
“I break rules constantly.”
“…When it’s petty.”
“That still counts.”
“You break them with plans.”
“Plans are cool.”
Hyrule hesitates, Legend’s voice drops. “Say what you’re thinking.” Hyrule does not want to, Legend smiles without warmth. “Say it.”
Hyrule, who has survived monsters, curses, bad roads, worse winters, and his own cooking, makes a tactical error. “Time also has plans.”
Silence.
The jar on the shelf labelled LATER taps once. Legend looks at it, then at Hyrule.
Hyrule whispers, “That was the jar.”
Legend says, very softly, “You have ten seconds.”
“I meant different plans.”
“Nine.”
“Cooler plans.”
“Eight.”
“More criminal.”
“Seven.”
“Legend plans.”
Legend pauses, Hyrule looks hopeful. Legend considers. Then says, “That was pathetic.”
“I tried.”
“You did.”
“Did it help?”
“No.”
Hyrule sighs, Legend turns away, pacing the tiny shack with the restless energy of a man who has just discovered he is perceived as sensible. He looks at the shelves with renewed hatred. At the ledger. He points to it. “That changes, add me. I break rules. I’m part of this secret society!”
Hyrule nods quickly. “Yes.”
“Right now.”
Hyrule grabs the charcoal, Legend watches like a judge at sentencing. Hyrule starts to scribble and Legend relaxes by one furious inch. Then Hyrule writes:
Legend. Very reliable.
Legend goes still, Hyrule looks at the chart. Then at Legend. Then, with visible fear, adds.
Dangerous when offended.
Legend studies it, the shack holds its breath. Finally, Legend says, “Acceptable.”
Hyrule exhales, Legend turns back to him, still offended, still bandaged, still smelling like a swamp. “From now on,” he says, “I get told about secret things.”
Hyrule tilts his head. “All secret things?”
“All secret hero things.”
“This isn’t a hero thing.”
“It has a referral system and a no-Time policy. It is absolutely a hero thing.”
Hyrule considers, then nods. “Fine.”
“And I want referral privileges.”
Hyrule frowns. “You don’t need them. You’re in the ledger now.”.” Hyrule reaches for the bark-strip ledger, Legend snatches it first. Hyrule makes a small noise. Legend flips it open.
Names. Injuries. Notes. Payments.
Warriors — shoulder, pride — paid: compliments.
Wind — splinter, dramatic — paid: beetle, button, future favour.
Sky — rash, worry — paid: cleaning.
Wild — burn, suspicious — paid: mushroom.
Four — no injury, shelf — paid: repairs.
Legend turns the page.
There, in fresh charcoal:
Legend — shoulder, jealousy? paid: complaint, threat, possible blackmail.
Slowly, Legend looks up, Hyrule looks at the exit.
Legend says, “Jealousy.”
Hyrule says, “Question mark.”
Legend takes one step, Hyrule bolts.
By evening, Hyrule is avoiding him. Badly. This is, admittedly, a little satisfying. Hyrule can vanish in a forest like a fox with debts. He can slip through underbrush without snapping a twig, disappear behind a tree too thin to hide a squirrel, and reappear twenty feet away with mushrooms, a knife, and no explanation. He is very good at not being found when he does not want to be found. Unfortunately for him, guilt makes people stupid.
Legend watches him from across camp.
Hyrule is sitting near Wild. Wild is crouched by the fire, sleeves rolled up, bandaged hand held carefully away from the heat while he stirs something in a pan with the intense focus of a man who has never met consequence and does not plan to start now. Every few seconds, Wild shifts his injured hand closer to the fire. Every few seconds, Hyrule’s entire body reacts. He reaches for a spice pouch with his bandaged hand, Hyrule’s head snaps up. Wild freezes. Hyrule shakes his head once, slowly, very firmly. Wild lowers the hand.
Legend squints. Hyrule is glowing, not literally, probably not literally. With Hyrule, one can never be sure. But there is a shine to him. A contained, stubborn brightness. The expression of a man who has successfully treated six idiots in secret and is now protecting his work from immediate re-injury by sheer force of glowering. Wild switches hands, Hyrule relaxes by half an inch. Then Wild tries to scratch his nose with the bandaged one. Hyrule shakes his head again. Wild makes a face, Hyrule shakes his head harder.
Legend leans against a tree and folds his arms.
So.
That is how it is. Hyrule can run a secret forest clinic, Warriors can refer people, Wind can have loyalty privileges, Wild can get treatment for cooking burns, Four can fix the shelves, Sky can apparently apologise to medicine and clean the shack. But Legend? Legend gets left out with Time and Twilight. The old man and the honourable rancher. Authority-shaped men. Boring men. Legend’s fingers twitch. Across camp, Twilight looks up abruptly, as if sensing insult in the air. Legend glares at him on principle. Twilight blinks, Legend looks away. Not the point, the point is Warriors. Warriors is sitting on his bedroll with one leg stretched out, polishing his gauntlet in the dying light. His hair is perfect, which Legend resents. His posture is relaxed, which Legend resents more. His expression is mild and faintly pleased, which Legend resents most of all, because Warriors only looks like that when he knows something. Or thinks he does.
Legend pushes off the tree, Warriors glances up. Their eyes meet, Warriors’ smile begins. Legend points at him. The smile stops halfway.
Smart.
Legend walks over, Warriors looks around. “Can I help you?”
“Yes.”
“With what?”
Legend grabs him by the sleeve and hauls him upright. Warriors makes a deeply offended noise. “Excuse you—”
“Walk.”
“I was sitting.”
“You’re walking now.”
“Legend!”
Legend turns his head slowly, Warriors shuts up.
Good.
Legend drags him away from the fire, past the supply pile, past Sky’s concerned look, past Wind’s immediate and obvious attempt to follow. Legend snaps his fingers at Wind without looking. “No.”
Wind stops dead. “I didn’t even—”
“No.”
Wind deflates. “You never let me witness anything good.”
“Correct.”
Legend keeps walking until they are behind a thick stand of trees, far enough that the fire is only a warm flicker between trunks and the voices of camp blur into low background noise. Secluded. Private. Excellent for interrogation. Warriors gently extracts his sleeve from Legend’s grip and smooths it with wounded dignity. “Was the manhandling necessary?”
Legend looks at him, Warriors reconsiders. “…Perhaps.”
Legend steps closer, Warriors steps back, his shoulder bumps a tree. Legend smiles, not happily. Warriors’ eyes flick down to the smile and immediately back up.
“Ah.” Warriors says. “This is that kind of conversation.”
Legend says nothing.
Warriors attempts charm. “If I’ve offended you somehow—” Legend says nothing louder, Warriors attempts innocence. “Though I can’t imagine—” Legend’s eyes narrow, Warriors attempts humour. “Unless this is about the frog thing again, which I maintain was largely Hyrule’s—” Legend reaches up and pinches Warriors’ ear, Warriors makes a noise that is not dignified. “OW—Legend—!” Legend twists and Warriors folds instantly. “Okay! Okay, fine!”Legend stills, Warriors, eyes wide and watering slightly, blurts, “It was me who scuffed your mirror shield!”
Silence. The forest pauses.Legend’s grip loosens by a fraction. He blinks. Slowly, dangerously, his expression shifts. “Wait.”
Warriors goes very still, Legend’s voice drops. “What?”
Warriors’ face drains of colour, Legend lets go of his ear, Warriors rubs it, staring at him with the dawning horror of a man who has just confessed to the wrong crime. Legend takes one step back. “You scuffed my mirror shield?”
Warriors swallows, Legend smiles again. This one has teeth. “Warriors.”
“In my defence—”
“You told me it was Wild.”
Warriors opens his mouth, Legend steps closer, Warriors shuts it. “You looked me in the eye,” Legend says softly, “and told me Wild had scuffed my mirror shield.”
Warriors’ voice is very small. “Yes.”
Legend’s eyes are wide now. Bright. Terrible. “I put slugs in his boots every day for two weeks.” Warriors winces, Legend’s voice rises by one deadly note. “Every day.”
Warriors lifts both hands. “I know.”
“Two weeks.”
“I know.”
“Warriors, he thought he was cursed.”
Legend stares, Warriors whimpers, actually whimpers.
“Explain.”
Warriors presses his back harder into the tree, as if hoping it will accept him. “You were furious.”
“I had cause.”
“It was a very small scuff.”
“It was my mirror shield.”
“It reflected perfectly still.”
“It reflected betrayal.”
Warriors makes a strangled noise. “You were polishing it with that look.”
“What look?”
“The quiet one.”
Legend’s face goes blank.
Warriors points at him with shaking dignity. “That one.”
Legend says nothing, Warriors continues, words spilling faster now because his survival instincts have mistaken honesty for a strategy. “And Wild had just dropped three pots, set a rag on fire, and admitted he once used a shield as a cooking surface, so he was plausible.”
“He was innocent.”
“He is rarely innocent in spirit.”
Legend pauses, that is, unfortunately, difficult to argue. Warriors sees the opening and grabs it like a drowning man. “And you didn’t actually harm him.”
“I filled his boots with slugs.”
“They were alive.”
“That is not a defence.”
“They were soft.”
Legend’s stare becomes lethal, Warriors wilts. “I panicked.”
“You? Panicked?”
“Yes.”
“Captain of armies. Charmer of courts. Man who once talked an angry mayor into apologising to us.”
“That mayor was not holding a mirror shield and radiating murder.”
Legend inhales slowly, Warriors holds very still. For a moment, the only sound is the distant crackle of the fire and Wind’s voice somewhere in camp saying, “I still think we should follow them,” followed by Sky’s immediate, “No.”
Legend points at Warriors. “We will discuss this later.”
Warriors nods quickly. “Of course.”
“At length.”
“Mm-hm.”
“With the shield present.”
Warriors’ eyes go glassy. “Naturally.”
“And Wild.”
Warriors winces. “Must Wild—”
“Yes.”
“Yes. Of course. Yes.”
Legend lowers his hand, the original fury, temporarily derailed by mirror-shield betrayal, finds its way back into place.
“Now.” he says. Warriors straightens automatically, then seems to remember he is in danger and relaxes too fast. Legend folds his arms, carefully. Warriors’ mouth opens, Legend raises one finger, Warriors closes his mouth. “Why,” Legend says, “didn’t you refer me to Hyrule’s illegal medicine shack?”
Warriors blinks. Whatever question he expected, it was clearly not that. Legend’s scowl deepens, Warriors tilts his head. “That’s what this is about?”
Legend’s eye twitches. “No.”
“No?”
“It is about several things.”
“The mirror shield?”
“That is now one of them.”
“The slugs?”
“Those were justice misdirected.”
Warriors looks pained. “I’m sure Wild will be comforted.”
Legend steps closer. “Answer the question.”
Warriors hesitates, that is a mistake. Legend’s voice goes low. “Warriors.”
Warriors swallows. “I didn’t think you’d want to go.”
Legend stares, Warriors gestures vaguely, searching for words and failing to find ones that are not flammable. “You’re… particular.”
Legend’s expression shutters. “Particular.”
Warriors hears himself. Winces. “No, wait.”
Legend takes another step forward, Warriors stays pinned to the tree, because apparently even he knows better than to flee prey-style.
“You all thought I wouldn’t want in.”
“I didn’t say all.”
“You referred Wild.”
“He had a burn.”
“You referred Wind.”
“He had a splinter and was loud.”
“You referred Four.”
“He referred himself”
“You referred Sky?”
“Sky found out because Wind cannot whisper.”
“And me?”
Warriors hesitates again, Legend’s face hardens, Warriors sighs. “I thought you’d tell Time.”
Legend reels back. His mouth opens, no sound comes out. Then, in a voice of profound betrayal, he says, “You thought I would tell Time.”
Warriors lifts both hands again. “Not in a bad way.”
“There is no good way.”
“I mean… because you’re sensible.”
Legend looks like he has been stabbed, Warriors immediately knows he has worsened his own situation. “No. Not sensible. Strategic. You’re experienced!”
“Stop.”
“You ask questions.”
“So does Time.”
“You care about safety.”
Legend makes a choked noise of outrage. “Everyone should care about safety around Hyrule’s jars!”
“Yes, exactly!”
Legend points at him. “Do not exactly me.”
Warriors drags both hands down his face, Legend paces once, then turns back, eyes blazing. “Do you all think I’m not cool?”
Warriors blinks. “What?”
Legend spreads his hands, incredulous and furious and, worst of all, genuinely offended. “Is that what this is? Some secret crime club and you thought, no, don’t invite Legend, he’ll make a face and ask where the clean water is?”
Warriors says nothing, Legend’s eyes narrow. “You did.”
“I didn’t phrase it that way.”
“But you thought it that way.”
Warriors’ silence is extremely loud, Legend claps a hand to his chest. “I love breaking rules.”
Warriors opens his mouth, Legend barrels on. “I have broken so many rules.”
“I know—”
“I have ignored royal decrees.”
“Yes—”
“I have stolen from dungeons.”
“That’s not quite—”
“I have carried cursed objects in public.”
“Often.”
“I have used magical items in ways no divine power intended.”
Warriors nods helplessly. “Certainly.”
“I have lied to kings.”
“Yes.”
“I once impersonated a basket weaver.”
Warriors pauses.
Legend points sharply. “Not relevant, but probably illegal somewhere.”
“I wasn’t going to question it.”
“I am fun.”
Warriors makes a face, Legend sees it. The forest temperature drops.
Warriors whispers, “Oh no.”
“You made a face.”
“No.”
“You made the same face Hyrule made.”
“I have no idea what face Hyrule made.”
“The boring face.”
Warriors, who values his life only inconsistently, says, “I think perhaps you are confusing dependable with boring.”
Legend goes still, Warriors closes his eyes. “Why did I say that?”
Legend’s voice is soft. “Dependable.”
“Good quality.”
“Boring quality.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Time is dependable.” Warriors says nothing. “Twilight is dependable.” Warriors continues saying nothing, Legend smiles thinly. “You lumped me with Time and Twilight.”
Warriors’ hand creeps toward his ear protectively. “Not entirely.”
“Not entirely?”
“You are… sharper.”
Legend waits.
“More criminal.”
Legend waits harder.
“More fun than Twilight?”
Legend considers, Warriors adds, disastrously, “Most days.”
Legend lunges, Warriors yelps and dodges sideways, almost tripping over a root. “I meant because Twilight is very earnest!”
“That does not help!”
“I know!”
Legend grabs the front of his tunic and hauls him back. Warriors, to his credit, does not scream. He makes a captainly strangled sound and clutches Legend’s wrist.
“You,” Legend says, “are going to refer me.”
Warriors blinks. “You already found it!”
“You are going to refer me properly.”
“To the shack?”
“To the illegal medicine shack.”
Warriors’ brows knit. “Why?”
“Because apparently there is a system.”
“It’s not much of a system.”
“There is a sign.”
Warriors huffs, agreeing. “There is a sign.”
“There is a ledger.”
Warriors grimaces. “There is a ledger.”
“I want my name in it correctly.”
“I dread to ask what correctly means.”
Legend releases him with a small shove, Warriors straightens immediately, smoothing his tunic with trembling dignity.
Legend points at him. “You will tell Hyrule that I am not a liability.”
“I don’t think—”
“You will tell Hyrule that I am not boring.”
Warriors inhales, Legend’s eyes flash.
Warriors says, quickly, “Yes.”
“You will tell him I am excellent at crimes.”
Warriors’ mouth twitches.
Legend’s voice drops.
Warriors sobers. “Yes.”
“And you will tell him that if he ever lumps me in with Time and Twilight again, I will reorganise his jars.”
Warriors pales. “That would kill someone.”
“Then he should respect me.”
Warriors nods. “I’ll tell him.”
Legend steps closer again. “And one more thing.”
Warriors looks like a man praying for a swift death. “Yes?”
Legend’s smile returns. “You’re going to tell Wild about the shield.”
Warriors goes white. “Legend.”
“And the slugs.”
“Legend.”
“And you are going to apologise.”
Warriors’ voice cracks. “To Wild?”
“To Wild.”
“For the shield?”
“For the slugs.”
Warriors stares. “But you did the slugs.”
“And you caused them.”
Warriors opens his mouth, closes it, looks toward camp. Somewhere beyond the trees, Wild laughs at something Wind says. Cheerful. Unaware. Innocent, in this one very specific case. Warriors looks back at Legend with pleading eyes, Legend’s expression does not move. Warriors whispers, “He’ll put something in my food.”
Legend pats his cheek once, not gently. “Probably.”
Then Legend turns and starts back toward camp, Warriors follows after a moment, subdued, one hand still protectively near his ear, after three steps, Legend pauses without turning around. “And Wars?”
Warriors stops. “Yes?”
Legend looks back over his shoulder, his smile is gone. “I am cool.”
Warriors nods immediately. “Terrifyingly.”
Legend holds his gaze.
Warriors adds, with the solemnity of a man signing a treaty, “Criminally.”
Legend studies him, then nods once. “Good.”
He walks on. Behind him, Warriors exhales like a man spared execution but sentenced to paperwork. From camp, Hyrule glances up, spots them returning, and immediately stands as if considering fleeing into the woods. Legend smiles, Hyrule sits back down very slowly. Wild reaches again toward the fire with his bandaged hand. Hyrule, without looking away from Legend, shakes his head at him.
Warriors returns to camp like a man walking toward his own funeral, if the funeral had been scheduled by the person he wronged and also involved a mirror shield. Hyrule’s gaze flicks toward Warriors. He knows, immediately, that something awful has been agreed upon without his consent. His shoulders tense, Legend smiles, Hyrule looks away.
Coward.
Warriors clears his throat as they approach. It is a small sound, a diplomatic sound. A sound that says please remember I am valuable to the group and do not let the veteran with the item hoard murder me in front of the cook-fire.
“Hyrule.” Warriors says.
Hyrule does not turn around. “No.”
Warriors pauses. “You don’t know what I’m going to say.”
“You came back with Legend.” Legend folds his arms. “You were threatened.” Hyrule adds.
Warriors looks offended. “I was not threatened.”
Legend turns his head, Warriors amends, “I was constructively pressured.”
Wind, from somewhere near the supply pile, perks up visibly. “Ooh.”
Legend points at him without looking. “No.”
Wind slowly lowers himself back down. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You breathed curiously.”
“That’s not illegal.”
“Yet.”
Hyrule finally turns, he looks first at Warriors, then at Legend, then at the shoulder beneath Legend’s tunic, then at Warriors’ ear, then back at Legend. His expression says, I see many problems and all of them are standing too close to me. “What,” Hyrule asks, “do you want?”
Legend gestures to Warriors, Warriors straightens. This is his alarming. A straightened Warriors is a speech-ready Warriors. His spine aligns, his chin lifts, his shoulders square, the dying light catches his hair in a way Legend finds deeply irritating, because even under threat the man has the visual instincts of a commissioned portrait. “Hyrule,” Warriors begins, solemn as a treaty, “I would like to formally refer Legend to your practice.”
Wild’s spoon stops moving, Sky looks up, Wind makes a tiny choking noise of delight. Hyrule stares at Warriors. Then he stares at Legend.
“He already broke in.” Hyrule says.
Legend’s eyes narrow. “Investigated.”
“He came without referral.”
“I was uncovering a conspiracy.”
“He threatened blackmail.”
“I negotiated.”
“He read the ledger.”
“You shouldn’t leave evidence where people can read it.”
Warriors lifts a hand, attempting to regain control of the moment. “Yes, well, while the initial intake process was perhaps unconventional—”
“Criminal.” Hyrule says.
“Oh so now there’s laws in the forest?” Legend mutters.
“—I believe,” Warriors continues, voice tightening, “that a retroactive referral may resolve the administrative irregularity.”
Hyrule’s face goes blank. “You sound like Four.”
Four’s voice comes from behind the woodpile. “That was an unnecessary jab.”
Everyone startles except Legend, who refuses to give anyone the satisfaction, Wind twists around. “How long have you been there?” Four emerges from behind the woodpile holding a length of twine and a comically small hammer. “Long enough to hear ‘retroactive referral’ and become concerned.” Legend points at Warriors. “His fault.” Warriors presses on with heroic desperation. “Legend is, contrary to previous assumptions, an excellent candidate for discreet medical crime.”
Legend’s head turns slowly, Warriors freezes.
“Candidate?” Legend repeats.
Warriors swallows. “Participant.”
“Better.”
“Client?” Legend’s stare sharpens. “Co-conspirator!” Warriors blurts.
Legend considers, Hyrule looks between them. “That is not what the shack is.”
“It has ‘No Time’ on the sign.” Legend says. “It is absolutely a conspiracy.”
“It means no Time.”
“Yes.”
“As in Time.”
“Yes.”
“That’s just privacy.”
Legend stares, Hyrule stares back, stubborn as a root. Warriors attempts to salvage his mission. “What I mean is, Legend possesses many qualities well-suited to the unique operating environment of your… establishment.”
“Don’t call it that.” Hyrule says.
“Crime shed.” Legend offers.
“Don’t call it that either.”
“He is experienced,” Warriors continues, counting on his fingers, “resourceful, calm under pressure, familiar with unconventional magical objects, comfortable with morally flexible solutions—” Legend nods once. “Correct.” Warriors plows on.“—and significantly less boring than previously assumed.”
The camp stills, Warriors closes his eyes, Hyrule inhales silently, Wind’s face lights up like Wild in an explosives store.
Legend turns to Warriors with terrible calm. “Previously assumed.”
Warriors keeps his eyes closed. “I heard it as I said it.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“And yet you said it.”
“It was a momentary lapse in judgement.”
Legend steps closer, Warriors opens his eyes and looks at Hyrule with the expression of a man begging for rescue from the consequences of his own mouth. Hyrule, who has been avoiding Legend for several hours and would very much like to continue living, does something worse than not rescuing him. He makes the face. Small, almost invisible, barely a twitch around the mouth and eyes. But Legend sees it. Legend always sees it.
Legend turns on him. “Do not.”
Hyrule immediately looks at the fire. “I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“I have a face.”
“You made the face.”
“What face?” Wind asks, delighted.
Legend does not look away from Hyrule. “The boring face.”
Wind gasps. “There’s a boring face?”
“There is now.” Legend says.
Warriors whispers, “I’m so sorry.”
“You will be.” Legend says.
Sky, cursed forever by the need to heal social wounds with his bare hands, sets down his tea. “I don’t think anyone thinks you’re boring, Legend.”
Legend’s attention snaps to him, Sky’s eyes widen. Legend’s voice is flat. “You don’t.”
“No!” Sky says quickly. “No! You’re very… steady.” Warriors makes a quiet, dying sound, Legend stares at Sky. Sky’s ears redden. “I mean dependable.” Four winces, Wild ducks behind the cook-pot, Wind covers his mouth with both hands, eyes shining. Legend’s expression empties. “Dependable.”
Sky looks increasingly aware that he has stepped onto a trap. “In a good way.”
“There is no good way.”
“There is!” Twilight says from the edge of camp.
Everyone turns, Twilight has been pretending not to listen. Badly. He is leaning against a tree with his arms crossed, expression neutral in the way that means he has opinions and has decided, unwisely, to share them. “It means people trust you.” Twilight says.
Hyrule’s face is haunted. “How long have you been there?”
Twilight makes a small noise. “Long enough to see Legend’s identity crisis.”
Hyrule visibly exhales, shooting a look to the Crime Shack Secret Club.
Legend looks at Twilight, then at Hyrule, then at Warriors, then back at Twilight. “I am going to give you one chance.” Legend says. “To stop helping.”
Twilight’s brows lift. “Wasn’t trying to.”
“Good. Keep doing that.”
Twilight snorts, Wild, perhaps thinking the danger has passed, speaks. “Honestly,” he says, “I think it’s kind of cool. You’re like the person I’d ask before doing a crime.”
Legend turns, Wild stops. The fire pops. Legend’s voice is very quiet. “Before?”
Wild’s spoon lowers by a fraction. “Uh.”
“Before doing a crime.”
Wild glances at Warriors, Warriors gives him the haunted look of a man who cannot save anyone, least of all himself. Wild looks back at Legend. “To check if it’s an advisable crime?”
Wind loses the battle with laughter and collapses sideways onto a bedroll. Legend closes his eyes, he breathes in, out. When he opens them, they are bright with something far worse than anger. Purpose.
“Oh.” Warriors whispers.
Hyrule’s head turns toward him. “What?”
Warriors does not look away from Legend. “I know that face.”
Legend smiles. It is not a pleasant smile. It is the smile of a man who has been called dependable by one too many people and has decided the world must pay. “You think,” Legend says slowly, “that I am the person people ask before breaking rules.” Nobody answers, this is wise. “You think I am a consultant.”
Four, unfortunately, says, “Technically—” Legend points at him. “No.” Four shuts his mouth. “You think I am sensible.” Sky looks down. “Responsible.” Twilight looks away. “Steady.” Sky winces. “Dependable.” Warriors stares into the middle distance, possibly seeing his life pass before his eyes. Legend looks at Hyrule. “And you.” Hyrule stiffens. “You put me in a category with Time and Twilight.”
“I didn’t say category.”
“You thought category.”
“I think many things.”
“You thought boring category.”
Hyrule says nothing.
“Fine.”
Warriors’ shoulders sink. “No.”
“I can break rules!” Legend defends.
Wind lifts his head. “We know.”
“No.” Legend says. “Clearly you don’t.”
Warriors pinches the bridge of his nose. “Legend.”
“I have ignored kings.”
“Yes.” Warriors says weakly.
“I have robbed dungeons blind.”
“Technically treasure in dungeons is often—”
Legend turns, Four stops talking.
“I have carried cursed items.”
Wild nods. “That’s true.”
“I have lied to royalty, merchants, monsters, and at least one god-adjacent fish.”
Sky blinks. “A fish?”
“Not important.”
Wind sits up fully now, face alive with joy. “I want that story.”
“You will not get it.”
“I might.”
“You won’t survive it.”
Wind beams, Legend continues, warming now, not because he cares, but because apparently his reputation requires maintenance. “I have used magical artefacts without reading instructions.”
Hyrule tilts his head. “That seems unsafe.”
Legend points at him. “You run a shack full of jars labelled ‘Maybe Teeth.’ You do not get to say unsafe.”
Hyrule closes his mouth. Warriors, who has lost every possible battle tonight and seems to have accepted death, says cautiously, “No one doubts your… criminal range.”
Legend’s head turns, Warriors holds up both hands. “Compliment.”
“Barely.”
“Improving.”
Legend considers him. Then looks back at Hyrule. “I want my referral privileges.”
Hyrule blinks. “You don’t need them. You’re already in the ledger.”
Legend’s eyes narrow. “Correctly?”
Hyrule’s gaze flicks toward the woods, Legend’s smile returns.
Hyrule mutters, “I hate when you smile like that.”
“Good.”
Wind crawls closer across the ground like an overexcited crab. “Wait. Ledger?”
“No!” Hyrule says immediately.
“There’s a ledger?” Wild asks.
“You know there’s a ledger.” Hyrule says.
“I know my page. I don’t know other pages.”
“You are not supposed to know your page.”
Wild looks offended. “It’s about me.”
Four’s brows knit. “I advised privacy dividers.”
“You advised medical forms.” Hyrule says. “I rejected them.”
“They would help.”
“They would incriminate.”
Time’s voice cuts across camp. “Would they?”
The entire clearing freezes, Legend’s soul leaves his body, looks back at the scene, and decides to stay nearby for entertainment. Time is standing just beyond the firelight, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, expression mild enough to be dangerous. He must have come back from checking the perimeter. No one heard him. No one ever hears him when it matters. His eye moves slowly from Four to Hyrule. Then to Warriors. Then to Legend. Then to Wild’s bandaged hand. Then, very slowly, back to Hyrule.
“What,” Time says, “would incriminate?”
Warriors’ face becomes a tragedy in three acts, Hyrule goes perfectly still, Wild hides his bandaged hand behind his back. Sky looks guilty, because Sky looks guilty when other people breathe suspiciously. Wind opens his mouth. Legend moves before the boy can kill them all.
“Warriors.” he says loudly. Everyone turns to him, Warriors looks startled. “What?”
Legend’s smile is sharp enough to cut rope. “Was just about to tell Wild something.” Warriors’ eyes widen. “Oh.” Warriors says faintly. “Was I?”
Legend’s expression says yes, or I will make your life decorative. Warriors looks at Wild, Wild looks back, confused. Time’s eye narrows. Legend folds his arms with immense satisfaction, Warriors swallows. “Wild.” Warriors says, voice thin.
Wild tilts his head. “Yeah?”
Warriors looks as though he is being marched toward a cliff. “Do you remember when Legend’s mirror shield got scuffed?”
Wild’s entire face changes, Legend watches with interest. Wild’s eyes widen first. Then his brows pull together. Then his mouth drops open, wounded realisation unfolding across him like a sunrise of betrayal. “Wait.” Wild says slowly. “The slugs?”
Wind bolts upright. “The what?”
Sky turns sharply. “Slugs?”
Twilight’s face twists. “In the boots?”
Wild points at Legend. “You said that was a natural consequence!”
Legend gestures at Warriors. “Misdirected justice.”
Wild turns to Warriors, Warriors takes a step back. Wild’s voice rises. “You told him it was me?”
Warriors’ smile trembles. “In my defence—”
Legend says, “He vouched on his honour that it was you.”
Warriors closes his mouth. Wind is laughing again. Sky looks horrified. Twilight looks like he does not want to know and unfortunately already does. Four murmurs, “That explains the boot-washing schedule.”
Time stares at the unfolding disaster, the original question hangs in the air, temporarily displaced by slug-based betrayal. Legend feels a flicker of satisfaction, not because he has saved Hyrule. Obviously not. Because this is a better distraction than Hyrule deserved.
Wild rises. Slowly. The bandaged hand remains behind his back, forgotten in the face of older injustice. “Warriors.”
Warriors lifts both hands. “Captain to Champion, I believe we can resolve this through dialogue.”
“You let me think my boots were cursed.”
“I never said cursed.”
“You didn’t deny it!”
“You were very persuasive when upset.”
“I had slugs between my toes!”
Sky makes a distressed noise. “Oh, Wild.”
Wind whispers, “Every day for two weeks.”
Legend says, “Alive slugs.”
“That doesn’t help!” Wild snaps.
Legend shrugs. “They were soft.”
Warriors points weakly at Legend. “That’s what I said.”
Wind grins, bashing a spoon against a wooden cup. “Slug court is now in session!’
Wild takes a step toward him, Warriors retreats, Time watches them both, suspicion momentarily forgotten.
Legend does not sulk, this is important. Sulking is for children, poets, and Warriors when a village girl compliments Twilight first. Legend does not sulk. Legend reflects. Strategises. Reassesses his public image under hostile social conditions. If that reflection happens while he sits in the shadow of a tree, arms folded, glaring at a perfectly innocent cook-pot for twenty-three uninterrupted minutes, that is no one’s business. Across camp, Wind is still talking about Slug Court. This is because Wind has never allowed justice, injustice, comedy, or the suffering of others to pass quietly into history. He has made a docket, there are witnesses. Wild is demanding compensation. Warriors has objected to the phrase “emotional boot damages” four times and lost each time because Wind keeps banging a spoon against a bowl and shouting “overruled.”
Time has stopped interfering.
This is how Legend knows the old man has given up for the evening. Hyrule sits near the fire, carefully rewrapping Wild’s hand while glancing at Legend every few seconds like Legend might lunge across camp and alphabetise his organs. Sensible fear, Legend respects it.
Twilight is pretending not to enjoy the trial, Sky is trying to make the trial kinder, Four is correcting Wind’s procedure, which has somehow made it worse, Warriors is pleading his case with tragic dignity, Wild is eating roasted mushrooms and occasionally saying, “Slugs, Captain. Slugs.”
Legend watches all of this and feels, with perfect clarity, that the evening has gone badly. Not because of the illegal medical shack. Not because of the mirror shield confession. Not because of the slugs. Because somewhere between Hyrule’s face, Sky’s doomed attempt at reassurance, Wild’s catastrophic phrasing, and Warriors’ inability to describe him without making him sound like a filing cabinet with weapons, the truth has become obvious.
They think Legend is responsible. Worse. They think Legend is responsible in a useful way.
Reliable. Dependable. Practical.
The words sit in his skull like damp laundry. Legend’s fingers curl around the edge of his cloak.
No. This will not stand.
He is the Hero of Legend. He has travelled worlds. He has survived curses, nightmares, gods, monsters, dream islands, collapsing dungeons, and enough magical nonsense to make a lesser man take up accounting. He is not boring because he knows better than to lick unknown substances. He is not dull because he asks whether a jar labelled MAYBE TEETH should be allowed. He is not Time. He is not Twilight. He is not a responsible authority figure. He is a menace. A careful menace, a prepared menace, a menace with contingencies, but a menace all the same.
Legend rises slowly. He will show them.
The first crime is Warriors’ only remaining belt. This one is petty. Beautifully petty. Almost artistic. Warriors has folded the belt beside his pack before bed, because of course he has. It is clean, smooth, expensive leather. Kept away from dirt, sparks, damp, and the general moral decay of the camp. Legend replaces it with twine. Not filthy twine, he’s not a monster. Decent twine, serviceable twine, twine with integrity. He takes the belt, folds it neatly, and hides it beneath Warriors’ own spare tunic. The hiding place is insulting because it is obvious if one is competent and impossible if one is Warriors before breakfast. The next morning, Warriors finds the twine, for one long moment, he simply stares. The camp goes quiet in anticipation. Wind leans forward. Wild pauses mid-bite. Sky looks worried. Twilight glances over with the wary exhaustion of a man who knows grooming-related distress can become everyone’s problem very quickly. Warriors lifts the twine between two fingers, his face is pale.
“Who,” he says softly, “has declared war.”
Legend sips water. Warriors ties the twine around his waist because there is no other option and he refuses to appear disordered. It should look bad. It does not, it looks rugged, it looks effortless, it looks like the sort of thing a handsome captain might do on campaign while pretending not to know he looks handsome.
Sky smiles. “That actually suits you.” Warriors freezes. Wind whistles. “Yeah, you look like you chop wood now.” Twilight snorts, Warriors slowly touches the twine. “I do?”
Legend lowers the water skin in disbelief. Warriors catches his reflection in a polished pan and tilts his head. “Hm.”
Legend stands up and walks into the woods for seven minutes.
The second crime is Hyrule’s sign. This one is personal. The shack sign is far too serious for something that should not exist. Legend waits until Hyrule is distracted by Wild attempting to use his bandaged hand to crack nuts against a rock. Then he slips into the woods, finds the shack, and stands before the sign.
HURTS? MAYBE FIX.
REFERRALS ONLY.
NO TIME. NO QUESTIONS.
PAYMENT OPTIONAL. COMPLAINING TAXED.
Legend takes out charcoal. He draws a moustache under the word HURTS. Then, because the moustache looks lonely, he draws spectacles, then eyebrows, then a small hat. The sign now looks like a suspicious professor offering unlicensed surgery in a hedge. Legend steps back. Better. Childish, pointless and undeniably criminal.
He returns to camp.
Ten minutes later, Hyrule goes to the shack. Legend waits. A bird calls. The wind moves through the trees. Then Hyrule’s voice floats faintly from the woods.
“…Huh.”
Legend smiles, Hyrule returns carrying the sign. Legend’s smile fades. Hyrule has not erased the moustache, he has improved it. The moustache is darker now. The spectacles have been refined. The tiny hat has shading. Someone, probably Hyrule, has added beneath it:
DR. SIGN DOES NOT ANSWER QUESTIONS EITHER.
Wind sees it and immediately loses his mind. “That’s amazing!”
Sky covers a smile, Wild asks if Dr. Sign needs a referral. Four says the line work is crude but effective, Warriors says branding has improved.
Time sees the sign and pauses, his eye narrows. “Why,” Time asks, “does that sign say referrals only?”
Hyrule freezes. Legend, realising too late that his crime has walked directly into camp holding evidence, says, “Wind did it.”
Wind gasps. “I wish.”
Time looks at Legend, Legend looks back. Time looks at Hyrule, Hyrule slowly lowers the sign behind his back, as if this will help. It does not. Sky, desperate, says, “The sign has a hat.”
Time closes his eye, the matter is not resolved. But everyone is laughing at Dr. Sign, and somehow the shack survives another hour.
Legend is furious.
The third and last crime is Wild’s spice labels. This is dangerous territory. Wild’s spices are not organised by any system known to ordinary life. Some are labelled. Some are not. Some are labelled with symbols only Wild understands. One says BLORF? Another says RINGLE? Another has a skull drawn on it with a smile. Legend waits until Wild is distracted by Wind asking whether stew can be legally considered soup if it has bones.
Then he swaps the labels.
Not all of them, that would be reckless. Just three. Enough to cause confusion, enough to create trouble, enough to be a crime. Unfortunately, Legend knows ingredients. He knows smells. He knows colour. He knows danger. He knows the difference between heat, smoke, bitterness, and “this will make Sky see the Goddess.” He cannot bring himself to swap anything lethal, hallucinogenic, explosive, or likely to trigger Wild into defending Zelda’s honour against a pot. So he swaps mild heat with warm smoke. Earthy herb with savoury root. Sweet pepper with the one that makes meat taste richer. A crime, a tasteful crime.
Dinner is incredible.
Wild takes one bite and goes still, Legend waits for outrage. Wild looks at the pot, then at his spice pouches, then back at the pot. His eyes widen.
“Oh.”
Legend’s stomach sinks. Wild takes another bite. Then another. Then he starts muttering, fast and intense, reaching for a scrap of paper.
“No, wait, the smoke before the root, that shouldn’t work unless… unless the pepper was balancing the fat, but then if I add the herb after—”
Four leans over. “Did you change something?”
Wild looks radiant. “I think I discovered something.”
Legend grips his bowl so hard it almost cracks.
Warriors eats another spoonful. “This is excellent.”
Sky smiles. “It really is.”
Twilight nods. “Best one this week.”
Time hums approvingly. Hyrule, suspicious, looks at Legend. Legend stares into his food with hatred. Wild spends the rest of dinner excitedly reorganising his spice system. He labels the new combination MYSTERY GOOD.
Legend contemplates walking into the river.
By sunset, camp is better. This is the worst part. Warriors has received three compliments on the twine and is considering “rustic campaign elegance” as an aesthetic. Hyrule’s sign has brand identity. Wild’s dinner has improved and Sky thinks Legend is processing healthily. Twilight, traitor that he is, says, “You know, this was a productive day.”
Legend turns very slowly, Twilight, apparently sensing danger but not enough of it, adds, “In a weird way.”
Legend’s voice is soft. “Productive.”
Twilight’s ears twitch. Warriors, who has learned nothing, smiles. “You have a gift for constructive disruption.”
Legend looks at him, Warriors’ smile fades.
“Take that back!” Legend says.
“It was a compliment.”
“Take it back.”
Time sighs wearily from the other side of the camp. “Can someone please tell me why Legend has been acting so strangely today?”
“He did ‘crimes’ all day, to prove he isn’t boring.” Wind says immediately.
Time looks at Legend, Legend’s expression is perfectly blank.
“And why,” Time asks carefully, “does Legend feel the need to prove he is not boring?”
Wind opens his mouth, Warriors makes a strangled sound, Sky sets his cup down in warning.
Twilight mutters, “Don’t.”
Wild says, brightly and disastrously, “I think Legend is having a coolness crisis.”
Time blinks once. “A what.”
Four, who should know better, adjusts his notes and says, “A reputational correction attempt.”
Twilight, apparently deciding the damage is already done and therefore honesty may as well join the wreckage, says, “He’s upset we think he’s sensible.”
Legend stands. “I will bury all of you.”
Time’s gaze moves from face to face, he settles on Wild. Wild sees the look, Wild’s face drains of colour.
Ah. There. The weakest link.
Time turns fully toward him. “Wild.”
Wild’s shoulders go up. “Yes?”
“What happened to your hand?” He asks abruptly.
Wild looks down at the bandage like it has just appeared there without his consent. “My hand?”
“Yes.”
“This hand? Cooking.”
“I know that part.”
“It was a cooking injury.”
“What did you do after?”
Wild looks back at Time. “I… treated it.”
Time’s eye narrows. “With what?”
“A bandage.”
“And?”
Wild swallows. “Medicine.”
“What medicine?”
“Normal medicine.”
Legend mutters, “He’s dead.”
Time’s voice remains calm. “Where did you get normal medicine?”
Wild blinks. “From the normal medicine place.”
The silence is astonishing, even the fire seems embarrassed. Time repeats, very softly, “The normal medicine place.”
Wild nods, gaining confidence for all the wrong reasons. “Yes.”
“In the woods?”
Wild freezes, Time takes one step closer. Wild takes one step back and almost steps into the cook-fire.
Hyrule, from somewhere in the trees, hisses, “Don’t let him know.”
Everyone turns, a bush rustles violently. Time’s head turns slowly toward the sound. Wild panics. “That was a bird.”
Time looks back at him. “A bird.”
“A Hyrule bird?”
Legend puts a hand over his eyes.
Wind whispers, awed, “Worst liar imaginable.”
Four whispers back, “Objectively, yes.”
Warriors mutters, “I have competition.”
Time folds his arms. “Wild.”
Wild holds up his uninjured hand. “Okay, okay, listen.”
“I am listening.”
“There is no reason to be upset.”
“That has never once preceded something reassuring.”
“It’s just a small thing.”
“A small normal medicine place.”
“Yes.”
“In the woods.”
“Sometimes.”
“Sometimes?”
Wild nods too fast. “It moves.”
Legend’s hand drops from his face. Hyrule makes a strangled noise from the bush. Time goes very still. “The medicine place moves.”
Wild visibly realises that he has described either a wagon, a monster, or a crime. “No.”
“No?”
“It doesn’t move.”
“You just said it moves.”
“I meant spiritually.”
Time stares, Wild’s eyes dart around like a trapped animal. “It moves with us!” he blurts.
The camp inhales as one, Hyrule emerges halfway from the bush, face horrified. “Wild.”
Wild claps his mouth shut. Too late. Time turns, slowly. Hyrule freezes with leaves in his hair, one hand still gripping a branch, caught between flight and doom. Time looks at him.
“Hyrule.”
Hyrule says nothing. Time looks back at Wild. “Explain.”
Wild shakes his head immediately. “No.”
Time’s eyebrow lifts. Wild points at Hyrule. “He’ll be mad.”
Hyrule says, “I am already mad.”
Legend, who has regained enough composure to be entertained, says, “Keep going.”
Wild looks betrayed. “You’re on our side.”
“I’m on my side.”
Warriors whispers, “He is.”
Time’s voice cuts through them. “Wild.”
Wild’s face crumples under the weight of authority, guilt, and not being built for this kind of interrogation. “It’s Hyrule’s shack.”
Hyrule closes his eyes, Sky makes a tiny noise, Warriors looks at the sky. Wind whispers, “Oh, now it’s happening.”
Time says nothing. Wild continues, because the dam has broken and he has never learned how to stop a flood halfway. “It’s a medical shack. Sort of. It’s not bad. It looks bad, but it works. He fixed my hand. And Wind’s splinter. And Warriors’ shoulder. And Sky’s rash. Not a rash-rash, like worry rash. And Four fixed the shelves. And Legend broke in. And there’s a ledger but I’m not supposed to know my page. And Wind lost referral privileges but I don’t know why. And there’s a jar you’re not supposed to ask about, and one labelled ‘Maybe Teeth,’ but Hyrule said that’s not for people usually—”
“Wild…” Hyrule says weakly.
Wild stops. Time is very still, Legend hears, distantly, the sound of his own future becoming inconvenient. Time turns to Hyrule. “Medical shack.”
Hyrule says nothing.
“In the woods.”
Hyrule shifts.
“With referrals.”
Wind raises a hand. “I had privileges.”
“No one asked you.” Legend says.
Time’s eye moves to Legend. “And you broke in.”
Legend lifts his chin. “Investigated.”
“You knew.”
“Recently.”
“You did not tell me.”
Legend smiles thinly. “There are no laws in the forest.”
Hyrule whispers, “Don’t use my defence.”
Time’s gaze sharpens. “Whose defence?”
Legend points at Hyrule. “His.”
Hyrule looks like he may simply sink into the earth and begin a new life as a root, Time turns toward the trees. “Show me.”
Hyrule does not move. Time’s voice lowers. “Now.”
Everyone moves. Not because Time shouts. Time does not need to shout. The word lands with the finality of a locked dungeon door. Wild goes first, because he is still panicking and apparently thinks compliance may reduce consequences. Hyrule follows like a man walking to his execution. Warriors trails behind, trying to appear helpful and instead looking guilty in seventeen different ways. Wind practically skips. Sky wrings his hands. Four shuffles along with a sigh. Twilight walks beside Time, expression unreadable but filled with interest. Legend brings up the rear. He is not worried, concerned, perhaps. For the shack. Not because he cares, because if Time shuts it down now, Legend has only been inside once, has not yet corrected the ledger, and has not learned why Wind lost referral privileges. That would be unacceptable.
They reach the clearing. The shack crouches between the trees in all its cursed glory. Time stops. Everyone else stops behind him. No one speaks. The shack leans. The sign swings slightly.
HURTS? MAYBE FIX.
REFERRALS ONLY.
NO TIME. NO QUESTIONS.
PAYMENT OPTIONAL. COMPLAINING TAXED.
Below it, Dr. Sign’s moustached face stares out at them with academic menace. Time reads the sign. Once. Twice. His eye closes. Legend watches his shoulders rise and fall with a very slow breath. Then Time opens his eye and turns to Hyrule.
“No Time?”
Hyrule’s mouth opens. Legend can tell, immediately, that he is about to say something stupid. Possibly “no time limits.” Possibly “you were busy.” Possibly “it means the concept.” Legend steps on his foot, Hyrule’s mouth shuts. Time notices. His gaze shifts to Legend, Legend stares back. Time looks at the shack again. “Inside.”
They go inside, this is a mistake. The shack is bad from outside. Inside, under Time’s attention, it becomes a crime scene. The jars seem more numerous. The labels seem worse. The stool seems more accusatory. The bucket labelled BAD WATER sits beside WORSE WATER like evidence submitted by an enemy. The patient chart hangs cheerfully on the wall.
Time reads it. His eye pauses on:
2. Says don’t tell Time = normal
No one breathes. Then his gaze moves down. “What is in these jars?”
Hyrule says, “Medicine.”
Time picks up one labelled NO.
Hyrule says quickly, “Not that one.”
Time sets it down. He picks up MAYBE TEETH.
Hyrule winces. “Not that one either.”
Time looks at him. Hyrule says, “That one is not for people.”
“Usually?” Legend supplies.
Hyrule glares at him, Time sets the jar down with enormous care. He turns to the ledger, Hyrule takes one step forward. Time looks at him, Hyrule stops, Time opens it. Silence stretches. Time reads, his expression does not change. That makes it worse.
“Warriors?” he says.
Warriors straightens. “Yes?”
“Shoulder pride.”
Warriors closes his eyes. “Ah.”
“Paid: compliments.”
Warriors whispers, “They were sincere.”
Time turns the page. “Wind. Splinter, dramatic. Paid: beetle, button, future favour. Referral privileges suspended.”
Wind raises a finger. “There was context.”
“No.” Hyrule says.
Time continues. “Sky. Worry rash.”
Sky goes red. “It wasn’t really—”
“Wild. Burn, cooking. Paid: mushroom.”
Wild nods.
“Four. Shelf.”
Four looks at Hyrule.
“It was accurate.” Hyrule mutters.
Time turns another page.
“Legend. Shoulder, jealousy question mark—”
Legend lunges for the ledger, Time lifts it out of reach without looking. Legend stops. The entire camp goes very quiet. Time’s mouth twitches once, then it is gone. He closes the ledger. “This ends now.”
The words land like a sword through wood, Hyrule’s face goes blank, Wild’s bandaged hand curls against his chest, Sky looks stricken, Wind’s mouth opens, Four’s brows draw together, Warriors inhales. Legend speaks first.
“No.”
Time turns to him, everyone else turns faster. Legend stands in the middle of the shack, arms folded, shoulder wrapped beneath his tunic, the smell of Hyrule’s disgusting paste still clinging faintly to him. His pride is bruised. His name is in the ledger with a question mark. He has been called dependable by people who apparently value him in all the wrong ways. He is also, unfortunately, not stupid.
Time’s eye narrows. “No?”
“No.” Legend says. “You’re not shutting it down.”
Hyrule stares at him, Legend does not look at him.
Time’s voice is calm. “This is clearly unsafe.”
“Yes.”
That throws him. Only slightly. Legend continues. “It is unsafe. It is disgusting. It is badly labelled. The stool is an attempted murder. At least two jars are morally indefensible. The sign is self-incriminating. The payment system is absurd. Hyrule’s understanding of medical legality appears to begin and end with the presence of trees.”
Hyrule mutters, “There are no laws in the forest.”
Legend points at him. “Stop it.”
Time says, “You are making my argument.”
“No.” Legend says. “I am making the correct argument so yours doesn’t have to be stupid.”
Warriors whispers, “Oh.”
Legend steps forward. “The shack is a disaster.” he says. “But it works.”
Time’s expression tightens, Legend presses on before the old man can cut in. “Wind’s splinter didn’t get infected. Wild’s hand is healing clean. Warriors can move his shoulder. Sky stopped scratching at his wrist. Four fixed shelving because he noticed actual clean bandages in here and decided the whole structure deserved a chance. Hyrule treated my shoulder in ten minutes after I spent two weeks pretending it didn’t hurt.”
Sky’s face softens, Twilight’s gaze flicks to Legend’s shoulder. Legend ignores both. “Hyrule knows what he’s doing.” Legend says. “Not in a way any sane person would put on paper. Hylia forbid. But he knows.” Hyrule’s eyes are wide. Legend continues, voice sharpening. “He knows because he had to. Because some of us learned medicine from books, healers, fairies, potion shops, temples. And some of us learned it because nobody was coming and the bleeding had to stop anyway.”
The shack goes still, even Time says nothing. Legend’s expression remains hard, but something in his voice shifts. Not soft. Never soft. But precise. Honest enough to be dangerous. “You can hate the shack.” he says. “I hate the shack. It smells like a swamp with legal problems. But shutting it down because it looks wrong is idiotic. So we fix it.” Four’s eyes sharpen, Legend points at the shelves. “Label the jars. Properly. Make Hyrule write what they do, not how they feel about being alive. Replace the stool. Burn the bad water. Burn the worse water twice. Put Sky in charge of clean cloth because he’ll actually wash it. Put Four in charge of structure because if this roof kills someone I’ll mock him forever.” Four nods slowly, as if already planning. “Make Warriors handle referrals if you need someone official-looking.”
Warriors straightens. “I can do official.”
“Unfortunately.”
Warriors deflates.
“Make Wild stop paying in unidentified mushrooms.”
Wild says, “Some are very identifiable.”
“Not by Hyrule though, which is not enough.”
Wild closes his mouth.
“Make Wind earn referral privileges back slowly and under supervision.”
Wind gasps. “What?”
Legend ignores him.
“And make Hyrule report anything serious to you.” he finishes, looking at Time. “Because if someone is actually in danger, no forest-law nonsense, no secret treatment, no hiding. But bruises, burns, splinters, strains? Let him help.”
Time is silent, long enough that the shack creaks under the weight of it. “No more ‘No Time.’”
Hyrule hesitates, Legend says, “Hyrule.”
Hyrule mutters, “Fine.”
“No unlabelled jars.”
Hyrule looks pained. “Some are hard to explain.”
“Try.” Time says.
“No treatments that you cannot explain.”
Hyrule looks even more pained.
Wind raises a hand. “What about the sign?”
Time looks at the sign, Dr. Sign looks back. Time closes his eye. “The moustache can stay.” Time turns toward the door. “We will discuss proper standards tomorrow.” Everyone groans. “No.” Time says. “You built a secret medical shack. You get standards.”
Hyrule looks at the floor, Time pauses beside him. His voice lowers. “You should have told me.”
Hyrule says nothing, Time waits. Hyrule finally says, very quietly, “I thought you’d stop me.”
Time’s face changes by less than a fraction, Legend sees it anyway. “I nearly did.”
Then he steps out. The others follow slowly, relief breaking over them in uneven waves. Wind immediately begins whispering about referral probation. Four is already muttering about support beams. Sky is asking Hyrule if he wants help washing cloths. Wild is inspecting his bandage like it has survived a war. Warriors looks at Legend with something dangerously close to admiration. Legend points at him before he can speak. “Don’t.”
Warriors shuts his mouth.
Good.
Hyrule comes to him later. The camp has settled into evening again, though not the same evening. Not after that. The shack still stands in the trees, newly condemned to paperwork. Time is by the fire, pretending not to watch everyone. Four has already stolen three scraps of bark for structural plans. Wind has asked twice whether referral probation comes with a badge. Wild has been banned from touching fire with his injured hand for the rest of the night. Legend sits slightly apart, sharpening a blade that does not need sharpening, Hyrule approaches quietly. Not silently, deliberately not silently. Legend appreciates that, though he would rather be eaten alive than say so. Hyrule stops beside him. For a moment, neither speaks. Then Hyrule says, “Thank you.”
Legend keeps sharpening. “Don’t make it weird.”
“I mean it.”
“That is making it weird.”
Hyrule sits down anyway, Legend does not tell him to leave. The fire crackles. Somewhere nearby, Wind is trying to convince Warriors that “slug damages” should include interest. Hyrule looks at the ground. “I didn’t think you’d defend it.”
“I defended the useful part.”
“You defended me.”
Legend’s knife stills for half a second, then resumes. “I defended the useful part.” he repeats.
Hyrule smiles faintly, Legend glares sideways. “Careful.” The smile fades, but not completely.
“I was wrong.” Hyrule says.
Legend looks at him properly now, Hyrule’s fingers pick at a loose thread on his sleeve. “You’re not boring.”
Legend stares. The words are small. Simple. Absurdly serious. He should scoff. He does scoff, a little late. “Obviously.”
Hyrule nods. “You’re terrifying.” Legend’s mouth twitches. “And dramatic.”
“Watch it.”
“And very good at crimes.”
Legend relaxes by one nearly invisible degree. Hyrule adds, “Responsible crimes.”
Legend’s eyes narrow. Hyrule stands very quickly. “Goodnight.”
“Hyrule.”
Hyrule walks faster.
“Traveler.”
Hyrule breaks into a jog, Legend rises halfway. Hyrule disappears behind Sky. Legend sits back down, muttering, but the edge has gone out of him. Across the fire, Time’s eye flicks toward him, Legend glares, Time looks away, mouth faintly curved. Legend points his knife at the fire.
“I’m still committing a real crime.” he says to no one in particular.
Wind pops up instantly. “Can I help?”
Legend looks at him, then smiles. Wind’s grin widens. Time, without looking up, says, “No.”
Legend’s smile becomes sharper. “Oh.” he says softly. “Now there are laws?”
Hyrule, from behind Sky, whispers, “Not in the forest.”
Time closes his eye. The shack, somehow, survives the night.