Chapter Text
It had started with thunder in the distance—low and brooding, like a warning the world hoped they’d ignore.
They didn’t.
The Chain had walked straight into the ambush. Not because they were careless, not because they were weak—but because they were tired. Too many days on the road, too many nights without sleep. Their boots were caked in mud. Their eyes ringed with exhaustion. And now? Now they were fighting for their lives.
The clearing exploded into chaos. Bokoblins poured from the trees, snarling and swinging weapons made of rust and bone. Moblins followed, heavy and stupid but deadly, their clubs cracking trees like twigs.
Wind was in the thick of it before he could think, while everyone else was distracted by the ambush.
He moved fast, ducking and weaving between taller enemies, his blade singing through the air.
Nothing about this was easy.
He spotted Four getting knocked back into a tree, blood flying from a cut above his brow. Warriors was shouting orders, trying to rally them, but no one could hear over the screams. Hyrule’s magic lit up the forest in bursts, and Wild had already disappeared into the underbrush—laying bombs and setting traps, no doubt.
“Wind! Behind you!”
Twilight’s voice rang out—but too late. Wind turned and barely got his shield up as a Lizalfos lunged, claws raking across metal. He fell back, winded, and hit the dirt hard. The Lizalfos hissed and raised its blade.
He kicked it in the stomach.
It staggered.
He stabbed it in the throat.
It didn’t scream. Just gurgled and collapsed. Dead.
Wind pushed himself up, breathing hard. His arms were shaking, legs numb. Every inch of him ached, and the cut on his temple dripped into his eye. He blinked it away and staggered forward.
They were winning—but just barely.
And no one was watching him.
They forget.
They forget he had bled for his kingdom. That he had nearly drowned—had drowned more times than he could count. That he'd stared down monsters larger than ships and gods who spoke in riddles and silence. That he carried just as much weight as any of them.
But they still looked at him like he was breakable.
Maybe today they’d be right.
Wind sprinted up the ridge, hoping for higher ground. The enemy was retreating, and someone had to make sure they didn’t regroup. He paused to catch his breath near a cluster of jagged boulders. The rocks loomed overhead, carved into the slope of the hill by centuries of erosion and time.
He didn’t hear the cracking until it was too late.
Something shifted.
The world held its breath.
A sound like the sky tearing apart—rock grinding against rock.
Then the whole ridge gave way.
Wind turned, eyes wide, just in time to see the largest of the boulders—massive, black-veined, cruel in shape—break loose and thunder toward him.
He dove.
Too slow.
It caught him.
CRUNCH.
The impact shattered the silence—and something else.
His scream tore from his throat, raw and agonized. Though, noone could hear him due to the fighting and rainfall.
The boulder pinned him down, crushing his left arm from the elbow down. Bone splintered. Skin tore. Pain like wildfire shot through his body.
He thrashed. Tried to pull away. Couldn’t.
He was stuck.
Pinned like an insect.
His breath came in panicked gasps, fast and shallow. “No. No no no—Goddesses—!”
He couldn’t feel his fingers.
He couldn’t even see his arm under the rock.
Just blood pooling, dark and thick and endless.
Above him, the sky cracked open with thunder, rain pooling on top of him—Cold. Soaking. Unforgiving.
Wind lay there, body shaking, staring up into the dark clouds as they wept.
The battle still raged in the valley below. No one had seen him fall. No one had heard him scream.
He was alone.
And for the first time in a long time… he was afraid.
Truly afraid.
He clenched his teeth and bit back a sob, pain biting into him like teeth.
All he could do is lay there, hoping someone would find him.