Work Text:
The first time Four notices anything, it's actually the second or third time it's happened—that's how inconsequential it is.
At first, the Thing (as Four had taken to calling it) was nothing more than an afterthought brushed away, like one might rub out a slight blurriness in the eyes or flick away a stray piece of hair. Small enough that he's sure if he brought it up, the others would eventually ask if he's eaten or slept well enough—and while the others know better than to treat him like a kid, the Chain still sometimes slipped into being juuust on the wrong side of patronizing. Whether that's because of their shared being-a-hero instincts, or a because-of-his-height thing, he doesn't know. A mix of both, maybe?
…Either way, Four doesn't feel like bringing it up.
He can stay calm and make sure to keep an eye on it. That's his role in the Chain after all, even if Legend likes to go off about how none of them can be assigned shit whenever Warriors tries to tell them what positions to take in an upcoming battle. In their group of various egos, Four likes to think of himself as the mediator—someone sturdy. The most balanced, and therefore the one to keep balance.
After all, Four's already gotten all the clumsy team-working exercises out of his system, and he only had himself to witness to the worst of it. So, yes, maybe he blends in with the eclectic cast that is the Chain (and isn't that something, the guy who can split into four is somehow the more "well-adjusted" ones), but at least he has himself sorted out! Which he's learned goes a lot further than one might expect.
The earliest he can recall noticing something was when they were winding down after a long day of battling in Warriors' era. Although it hadn't been their first time on those sprawling battlefields, seeing the usually pompous (and usually disrespected; they all had problems with authority, unfortunately) Captain wrangle together the bewildered army they dropped in on was admittedly impressive. Not that he'd ever admit it out loud, but still.
Case in point, all that fighting had left most of their weapons battered. Seeing that it had been quite a while since he last ran a weapons maintenance check, he figured that night would be as good of a time as any. Camped out at one of the keeps they just demolished, Four called first shift and then settled in by their makeshift campfire with a whetstone in hand.
He can remember the way the air vaguely smelt of burnt flesh and drying blood, the tepid wind of the area doing little to air out the post-battle smell. The way his legs ached, pulsing just so slightly as he hunched over the mess of swords before him. Sky had been snoring away as usual, and a disgruntled Legend was muttering unintelligible sleep-talk from the opposite side of camp in response to every particularly loud snort. All in all, a typical night after a typical battle. Even if the battles in Warriors' era were frankly strange.
Maybe that's what planted the first seed in his head—seeing a mass of Tektites from his own era and then burning them all down to a crisp with just his lantern. It was strange, having his enemies stolen and regurgitated in a foreign land, and seeing his magic take a different shape too. It had put him in a strange, contemplative mood as he worked.
Strange enough, apparently, that he nearly skewered Hyrule with his own sword when the Traveler snuck up behind him to tap his shoulder.
"A little warning before sneaking up on the guy holding a weapon?" Four whisper-yelled as the Traveler put his hands up in easy surrender. It was mostly instinct that stopped Four from stabbing Hyrule with what was in his hands—which wasn't completely sharpened yet, but still. He lowered the sword with a huff.
"Sorry, sorry!" For what it was worth, Hyrule did seem apologetic, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. If he was startled by almost being stabbed he didn't show it, moving to sit next to Four. The unrulier-than-usual-hair told the Smithy that he had just woken up. "I didn't mean to scare you, I just wanted to give you this. Before I forgot."
"I wasn't scared," Four replied instantly. Still, he held out his hand to receive what appeared to be a carving knife. He brought it closer to the light to examine it: its handle was weathered down with use and age, and although the blade was clearly dull and had a few nicks along its edge, Four could tell it was a beloved tool.
"You don't need to work on it if you're busy, but um… since you said you'd be checking on whatever we had? Sky's been trying to teach me carving these days, but this is all I have, so…"
Four rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to yell at you just because it's a little dull, Traveler."
"I don't know, you seemed pretty mad at Vet the other day!" Hyrule said, but the tenseness in his shoulders relaxed.
"That's because he was banging that knife against the walls. Repeatedly!" Four gestured around with the knife in his hands—which, admittedly, wasn't a good look. He lowered his arms. "I'll admit that I used to do that too, but that was when I was like, eight. Just look for a crack in the wall if you want to find something bomb-able!"
"Haha, uh. Right." Hyrule said, looking very nonchalant.
…Hm. Well, Four probably didn't want to know, so he decided to let it go.
"Besides, I can tell when something is worn down from plain use rather than disregard. This has been with you for a while, right? I'll have it ready for tomorrow."
And the way the Traveler's expression lit up at that—into something soft, grateful, eyes crinkling into half crescents—had Four smiling back as well. A flush of red pride swirled in his chest; who said he had to work on teamwork? He knew how to look out for the fellow heroes, had been doing so for far longer than the rest of them.
"Thanks, Smithy. You're the best."
"Yeah, yeah," Four said, definitely not preening. "Anyways, shouldn't you be sleeping?"
"Well," Hyrule sighed, "I was right by Sky, but then his snoring sorta woke me up. Which, my fault for sleeping next to him, but that also reminded me of the whole carving thing! I knew I'd forget if I put it off, so..."
"Mission accomplished, then," Four said with a flourish of the blade. He carefully placed it next to the myriad of other swords he would work on next. He had to get to the Sailor's soon. "Now, go back to sleep. I still have like, half my shift left, and Sweet Farore knows how early the Captain's going to wake us up to get to his Castle Town."
"Ugh, don't remind me..."
With conversation flowing easily, Four was only half focused on rifling through his bag for some more tools. He hardly had the mind to be on the lookout for anything suspicious, but still, in that moment—it caught in the corner of his eyes.
There was no reason to panic—no sign of a snarling monster, no poor soldier from the nearby camp trying to come by in the middle of the night. The flickering sound of the crackling fire slowly rose in the air, but otherwise it was quiet. It could have been a trick of the light. Back then, that's what he ultimately chalked it up to.
A flickering shadow wasn't so uncommon, after all.
Still, something in him froze, just for a second. He held his breath, even if the thought that flashed through his mind in that moment was, well, impossible. And by the time he released his breath, his view had returned to exactly as it had been for the past few hours. There was nothing to point out.
"Four? All good there?"
He looked over to see Hyrule's inquisitive gaze. "…I'm just looking for something in my bag. It's nothing."
If he was slightly on edge for the rest of the night, it wasn't because of whatever he didn't see. Again, That was a sheer impossibility, and Four had already gone through his grief, had accepted there would be no what-ifs for years.
Because that's how long it had been—years. Plenty of time to process everything, and then some. At this point, Four was busy playing therapist to eight heroes who didn't have the luxury of some literal-self reflection.
…It was the Tektites that had thrown him off. Not to mention they were in an Era where time had bent and twisted so out of shape that everyone else, apparently, had a bit of a cameo (frankly, he would have been more offended that he seemed to be the only one that the Captain hadn't somewhat heard of before, if the utter bewilderment at Four's existence wasn't so funny). It made sense that he was a bit jumpy. Hyrule sneaking up on him and nearly getting stabbed wasn't much help either!
When his shift ended the thought was almost gone from his mind entirely. He bid Twilight, who had second shift, an easy goodnight before settling in his bedroll. It meant that little, at first.
But for some reason, sleep didn't come easily, and when he closed his eyes all he saw was that bit of faint darkness.
The story goes like this: there once was a Hero who was full of himself. The Hero needed to be taught a lesson. With that pride, that ego, that self, a Shadow was born, reflecting all the things the Hero didn't want to see. All the things the Hero threw away grew into a monster.
But that Monster couldn't change that he was born from a Hero. And in the end, the Princess saw the truth and believed in him. That faith would eventually save the monster. Then, lead to his demise. For it was her kindness, her charm, her faith that gave him the power to reach for his own path—to cut himself away. A noble sacrifice that saved the Kingdom.
It was happily ever after.
But did the Hero really save the day?
At some point, Four begins to dream.
This, he's unable to trace back as easily. He's not sure when it began, if it was before or after he started keeping track of the stray shadows. The smart thing would be to chalk it up to after; the logical conclusion is that this is surely just a byproduct of some lingering paranoia. He thinks he's seeing things because, well, being reminded of a once defeated enemy (ally?) in an adventure with time travel and an unrelated shape-shifting shadow is apparently stressful! Who would've thought? It makes sense that his subconscious is playing tricks on him.
He knows the answer already anyways. It's impossible for him to be back, that mirror long gone and shattered. And even if his inherited hero's spirit has some of Sky's oversleeping habits (at least he could keep the cowlick down… most of the time) he's never been one to have prophetic dreams like the others. There's no reason for him to believe anything he sees in his sleep is real.
But no matter how hard he tries to apply logic, there's something deep within his soul that seems to have latched onto something. It runs deeper than rationale, sinks into his sleep, then into his waking thoughts. You never know, the Hero inside of him whispers, and what does going across time mean for things already dead anyways?
The thought nestles deeply within him like an active parasite. What's possible, what isn't: the real truth is that Four simply doesn't know anymore, and the ambiguity of it all eats away at him.
What would it mean if he… if Shadow (and just admitting that name makes his chest ring hollow) were here again? The thought fills him with a strange unease. Would it be a miracle? Or a tragedy?
For some reason, he isn't sure.
(Zelda said that she believed in him—and Four, too, understood that at his core, Shadow was never truly evil.
But that scares him even more, that something born from a Hero—something born from himself—was capable of such violence. The Four Sword is powerful, yes, and he's proud to be its sole wielder in the Chain, but if what fractures out of him were to cause pain and suffering once more, would he be able to hold his head up high as a fellow holder of the Hero's spirit?
If the others knew, would his vanity in accepting Shadow be forgiven?)
No matter how hard Four muses over this, running over hypotheticals, theories, and simulations, the adventure continues. They get caught up fighting a horde of Lizalfos in Time's era, and then they have a few days helping out at the ranch. They get to Wild's and spend a week at Zora's Domain, where they clear out an infected Lynel with far too many shock-arrow related close calls for comfort. They share meals, they get bruised, they heal up, ambling towards this seemingly never-ending sequence of portals.
He keeps dreaming, here and there. Visions of flickering darkness keep growing.
One day, he dreams of Shadow. Then the dreams don't stop.
Four doesn't think there's anyone more familiar with his own face than himself, an unfortunate side effect of his adventure. Still, seeing that face reflected back at him every time he closes his eyes feels off-putting—although calling it a reflection might be giving it more credit than it deserves. It's more like a distortion, with how pale his skin is, how dark his hair gets, the ends curling up into wisps while Four's own stay choppy and flat.
It's strange, if he thinks about it. The Shadow he knows shouldn't have a headband or straight bangs, shouldn't wear a dulled-multicolor tunic. The Shadow he remembers has more baby-fat on his cheeks, although he supposes their heights are still the same. In the years since Shadow's disappearance, Four can easily trace over every change he's made to himself: his posture, his gait, how he styles his clothes and hair. All things Shadow shouldn't know.
So really, he's never seen this Stranger that wears his face.
Still, it isn't long until the afterimages of that smarmy grin imprint onto his mind. His first few dreams offer nothing more than that visual: a smile stretched wide, already disappearing as he blinks away the restless feeling in his veins. He breathes out a heavy sigh one night, the air puffing up into a white cloud. Nestled in the mountains of the colder regions of Twilight's era, Four shivers even with double-layers and wrapped tightly in his bedding.
"You good, Smith?"
It's Warriors, who sits a little away and by the embers of their little camp. Four runs his tongue over his teeth, contemplating.
"Yeah, just… weird dream."
"…Would you, uhm. Like to talk about it?" Warriors says.
Captain, you could not have offered more awkwardly, Four winces, although the encouraging smile Warriors tries to give does chase away some of his post-dream bleariness. He sighs, then tries to put as much levity into his voice as possible. "Nah, I hardly even remember it."
"I'm not the Old Man, but if you need some lullabies to get you through the night I can play—"
"Captain, if you take out that goddess-damned ocarina to play the singular song you know, I am not above strangling," comes Legend's cutting reply, buried underneath his own bedroll. "It wasn't comforting for the Sailor yesterday, it won't be comforting for our Smith today either."
A slight pause. Then, "…It was comforting!" Wind tries.
Needless to say, not a single one of them is good at pretending to eavesdrop—breaches of privacy are blatant and forward.
Warriors frowns.
"It's okay," Four tries to offer. "I only know one song too."
In the next dream he tries to speak, but that doesn't go well either.
"Who… what are you? Why are you following me?"
The stranger-Shadow doesn't say anything, staying blurry in the distance before Four opens his eyes to the bird songs of Sky's forests.
In the next he says: "You're not supposed to be here. I— you died. You're dead."
I killed you, Four almost said. Which is a strange slip-up because Four didn't kill Shadow. He wasn't even there to see the mirror shatter. Shadow killed himself, an act of ultimate self-sacrifice.
Or maybe Four can claim that heroic deed as his own. Whether any of his colors could or couldn't shatter that mirror doesn't matter, because Shadow did, and Shadow is from him, and so he's already done it; he is the Hero and the Sacrifice, always the Protagonist of the story.
(So why does Shadow's death ring so hollow? Why does a mirror shattering feel so foreign? Like an imaginary bruise, he presses upon it and only feels pressure.)
By the fifth time Four wakes to haunting laughter in his ears, he begins to consider the possibility of being cursed. It's the only answer that makes sense, really. Because there's no reason for all this— this angst to come from anywhere within him. Again, he's one of the well-adjusted Links, thank you very much! The one who has his shit together. The one who understands himself best.
He looks into the mirror and knows there should be no cracks. Not anymore.
In his dreams, he is the Hero.
In his dreams, there is a sword. Its weight is perfect and familiar in his hands, his beloved ally, his one and only mirror.
In this dream, he stands in an empty white expanse that seems to stretch for forever, and there is the Stranger. The Stranger sits at the peak of a black structure, a rough imitation of a rocky cliff side except for its inky makeup. As usual, the Stranger shares the same face and body as him—but his eyes are red and his hair is dark and his fingers are sharpened into claws. So it doesn't matter what parts overlap; Four is different from the Stranger.
Right?
(The truth: he doesn't know. Maybe he never did. It's not just this approximation of Shadow before him, but also the Shadow in his memories that reads as unknown.
If he were split, maybe this person before him would feel less foreign. That's how Shadow exists to him in reality, after all. In fragments colored red, blue, violet and green. An existence he once pitied, loved, tried to understand. If that Shadow had grown up alongside him after all these years, how, exactly, would he hold himself? With that same old hunch? Or maybe he would straighten up a bit, use his shapeshifting abilities to stand over Four. Maybe he'd fashion his hair after Four, a shadow stuck to its habits. Maybe he'd change his style, find something unique to himself.
It's all make believe, in the end. He's never met Shadow before, after all. Not as Link, the whole. One fourth of an eyewitness report is hardly enough evidence to build a real existence in remembrance.)
So he has no idea why he keeps finding himself back here. Why he keeps having these thoughts. When he closes his eyes every night behind the darkness of his eyelids the Stranger forms, familiar yet unknown, the worst, the most toxic, the kindest darkness, and for the lack of having any other title to ascribe the foreign matter that's contaminated his mind, its—
"Shadow." A name that has no home, yet, the only name he has. An existence awkwardly shoved into this landscape and held up through make-believe. "You're here. Again."
The now-named Stranger tilts his head, then smiles.
And it doesn't matter if the Shadow before him is real or not, Four realizes. Proof of his existence is already there: it's etched onto the bags of Four's eyes, the frayed edges of his nerves, the snappy comments to the others that keep bubbling up in his exhausted haze. Even if it's just a figment of his imagination, it's not like he's unfamiliar with the concept of talking to himself either.
The stranger from before already took his face all those years ago—what is he to do if another one makes a home in his skin?
"Again? Rainbow, I've been here the whole time!" The Shadow jumps down, landing gracefully only a few feet away from him. Four's grip on his sword tightens, but he makes no further movements as Shadow begins to walk closer. "Although I guess meeting like this is a bit rarer. Finally want to chat?"
"What do you want?"
Shadow tilts his head at that, appearing shocked before his expression crumples into a hearty laugh. Four distantly notes that he himself doesn't laugh like this—with his head thrown back and mouth wide open, clutching his stomach while displaying an impressive array of sharp teeth.
"I should be asking you that, Link. Or Should I say Hero of the Four Sword now? Smithy? Seriously, you haven't gotten any better at nicknames over the years. I thought Hero of Light had a nice ring to it, you know?"
And Four—Four understands this is bait, knows this Shadow is purposefully trying to get a rise out of him. It must be his own mind playing tricks; that title isn't something he's dared uttered to the others, a cursed reminder that was given to him only after that mirror shattered.
But something hot and angry rises up anyways. Before he knows it the Four Sword is in between them, its gleaming blade pointed directly at Shadow's throat.
Shadow puts his hands up in surrender, pouting.
"Seriously?"
"Either tell me or leave me alone."
"Fine, fine! I guess I can spell it out for you since you're getting all twisted up. The story goes like this: The Hero of Light vanquished the evil mage Vaati—"
"Look, I don't have time for—"
"—And with the shattering of the dark mirror, Shadow Link also faded away."
Shadow steps forward, then, and Four implusively steps back. The gap between the tip of his blade and Shadow's skin seems infinitesimal, narrowing, a magnet calling to a magnet. One thrust, a morbid part of him thinks. One simple motion is all it would take to slit Shadow's throat.
Shadow's voice continues, tone light and lilting despite his words. "But what does it mean for a shadow to disappear? To be dead, like you claim I must be? It turns out… it can't! As long as you're here, I'm here too."
"Stop."
"I just went back to where I came from," Shadow continues, relentless. "By your side. But you already knew that, right? How else would I be telling you this? I'm you: I know what you know."
"Stop it," he tries again. Step back, step forward, he's being cornered, and no matter how much his steps waver his sword stays true, keeping the same distance between them.
"Ahaha! Am I overworking the Vio inside of you? Funny, really. You call me a stranger, but I could say the same thing to you, Link. Frankly, even that conniving purple bastard would have been a bit easier to understand."
"Stop it, stop it, just stop—" Step step step and this time, Four falters. Or maybe it's that Shadow pulls him in on purpose. He thinks he sees it, from the corner of his eye: a tendril by his feet, the smallest tug that trips him. Does this count as another sacrifice? His body falls forward.
No, no, its not sabotage, its an accident, he swears. He didn't mean to. He didn't mean to hurt anyone. He didn't mean to do anything at all, the sword was only meant to be a threat, the sword was only trying to protect him, the sword moved before he could, and—
The Four Sword goes through Shadow's chest.
"You forgive me. I know you do," Shadow says, unbothered by the bright red that spurts around the blade, the trickle of it that comes up from the corner of his mouth. Four can only stare as Shadow continues. "You want to love me. It's your vanity. You hate that I'm a part of you. It's ugly. You feel guilty and relieved at the same time that I'm gone. I get it, it's confusing!"
Shadow laughs, then, and some distant part of Four thinks that this one is much more accurate than before. A bit silent, a glimmer in those eyes, shoulders shaking as he tries to hold it back, and as he stares directly into those red eyes he feels on display: it's staring back at him, all his pride, his worst parts, his best kept secret—
"But beyond all that… you're ashamed, now that you're with the others. Or no. You're—"
Shadow never finishes his sentence, as Four pulls the sword from Shadow's chest and aims for his neck instead.
"—Afraid, Traveler?"
Hyrule only blinks once before he takes the rock from Wind's hand and licks it.
"That's not a salt rock," he says cheerily, over the cries of "EWW GROSS YOU ACTUALLY DID IT!" from the Sailor.
They're walking. Where they are, exactly, and what they're walking towards, Four isn't sure. The eras start to blend together after a while, and all he can recall from this morning was the grimy texture of the porridge that was handed to him for breakfast. At least this time they're not in a forest—although the arid rays of the desert sun aren't much better either.
"Just one," Twilight mutters under his breath. "If we could have just one week without Traveler or Cook putting things from the ground directly into their mouth I'd thank Hylia."
"I mean, if you put it that way, isn't that what farming is?" Sky asks.
Twilight blinks. "No, actually. That's different. I mean, farming is—"
"I think it's sort of the same," Hyrule interrupts.
Wild gives him a high-five, to Twilight's absolute chagrin.
"I cannot believe I'm losing an argument about putting things from the floor…"
"…Sounds like…"
"…don't…"
"—Are you okay?"
It takes a moment to realize the inquiry is directed to him—by Legend, apparently. His mouth is pinched into a strange grimace, and belatedly, Four realizes everyone else is waiting for them a few feet up ahead.
Huh. When did that happen?
"You just sorta stopped walking," Legend answers, reading the confusion on Four's face.
"Oh. Sorry," Four says, willing his body to start again. He has to blink a few times against the harsh heat of the buffeting wind. His limbs feel heavy as he drags his feet against sand. "I'm—"
(He dreams.)
"—just a little tired, no need to mother-hen over me, Captain," Time scowls, not doing a very good job of hiding his limp. It's wet and cold and miserable, especially after their extended battle against black-blooded Keese of all things. Those little fuckers were annoying on a good day, but when they manage to conglomerate into a massive swarm, well. Even with the nine of them, they were relatively beat up.
"You're hurt," The Captain intones. "Stop being so difficult and just get over here, so I can—"
(He dreams.)
"—Don't need any help," Sky huffs, despite holding about ten pumpkins in the air. Everyone else politely stands back at this impressive display of balance.
Legend leans in close to Hyrule. "And this is important to building their settlement because…?"
(He dreams.)
"—I love her, and you will too! C'mon, she won't bite, I promise," Wild says as placatingly as he can, patting the horse's back. He holds out an apple like a peace offering. "Try feeding her!"
Wind takes a step back, pointing an accusing finger. "Feed? She could crush my head!"
"Her name is Vanilla," Wild pouts. "And now she's very sad."
(He dreams.)
"And him too, isn't that right?"
"I am not going to be a part of this. Good night," Legend sneers, pulling his blanket over his head.
(He dreams.)
"That's the problem, isn't it?" Shadow says. Four is standing over him again. The grip on his sword never slips, even as the blade plunges into his heart.
(He dreams.)
Four trips, and its Hyrule who catches him. With only the soft moonlight filtered through the tree branches above them it's hard to make out the Traveler's expression. He's sure, though, that there must be worry.
"Sorry," Four manages. "It's just a bit dark around here."
(Why do all his dreams end in red?)
"Once we figure out what curse it is, I'll be fine."
After what might be the fifth time he stumbles in battle, resulting in not only a horribly bruised chest from a Hinox slamming directly into him, but also a twisted ankle for Twilight who rushed in to save him, Four decides that he could—should—ask for help. Thank the Goddess they were well stocked on potions. It's one thing to get hurt from his own bad habits. It's another to let someone else take his damage.
If things continue at this rate, he won't be any better than Shadow.
How to go about it comes to him suddenly, when he's watching Time by the campfire during one of the Old Man's shifts. Four is supposed to be sleeping, but this time it's guilt rather than exhausted insomnia that has him up. Although the Rancher insisted it was fine, Four isn't stupid enough to miss the slight wince in his gait, or the sharp, thoughtful look of the Captain grazing over him. If he doesn't do something soon, there's going to be an intervention anyways.
Time is tending to his masks, in the way he does when he thinks everyone is asleep. There's nothing reverent in it, like how Sky sometimes shines the Master Sword, or Twilight clutches onto his dark crystal through fabric. Maybe a little amused, a little nostalgic, but overall just going through what must be routine.
Four watches as Time brings out one that's mostly white, circular with three triangular bumps at the top and a golden eye at its center. A facsimile of a smile is outlined in red, the stark color outlining the eye and coloring its pupil.
The Mask of Truth, he recalls Time saying, once. It can reveal what exists in people's hearts and minds, and expose what is hidden.
Before he knows it, he's already out of his bedroll and rambling, nearly giving the Old Man a heart attack. In the moment, he doesn't care if he comes off as desperate or if he's woken anyone else up, mind racing with the potential solution.
"So… you believe you're cursed," Time sounds out, face purposefully neutral.
"It'd make sense, oh Holy Sages why didn't I think of this sooner, the answer was right there all along!" Classic, classic, all he needed was the right item to get through this obstacle—he should've considered that another Link might be the owner of said item instead!
"Smith—"
Four continues, pacing around the campfire and mouth moving faster than he can think "It has to be a curse, I know it is—I mean, I haven't been able to sleep, you know this, we know this, but if we can just figure out what it is then I can finally think—"
"Smith."
"—I haven't been able to, I just close my eyes and he's already there and I don't understand why or how but—"
"Link. There's nothing."
That's enough to snap him out of his rambling. He blinks up at the Hero of Time—and up, and up, and Four likes to think he's gotten over having a weird complex about his height. He tries, at the very least, and knows he's capable of much more than what people always assume
Suddenly though, he feels very small, and in that moment he thinks he can understand what Shadow must have found so terrifying about the light.
More instinctively than anything else, he straightens his posture, tries to stand tall in the face of something much greater than him. Then the words process.
"Huh?" Nothing? Nothing… what?
"I don't see anything, Smith." Time continues, as if hearing his thoughts. Maybe he can with the mask. He takes it off, mouth in a tight line underneath. "Are you… are you sure you're okay? I'm not quite sure what sorts of things you're seeing, but—"
"There's nothing there?" Four asks, just to be sure.
The Old Man shakes his head.
In the quiet of the night, Four starkly feels the quiet that follows after, the stares of every Link who is now very badly feigning sleep. To his absolute horror, he feels something hot and wet pressing up from behind his eyes.
He's supposed to be the stable one. The one who has his shit together.
…What can he offer, if he loses that?
"Smith?"
And he knows the others care about him beyond any blade or role. They've all got their own demons too: with the number of times he's woken up in the middle of the night to some sort of sob or panicked yell he hardly thinks anything of it anymore. They're all him, after all, in the same way the colors inside of him are—a soul reiterated. He gets it. They all love each other and understand one another in this strange, abstract way that can only come from having the same namesake and destiny.
But maybe that's why Four barely has it in him to meet anyone's gaze, much less Time's as he mumbles out a poor excuse to crawl back to his bedroll.
What a terrifying thing it is—to be seen, to have his most ugly parts reflected back at him. He gets enough of that when he dreams. No, he doesn't want kindness. Not right now, with his hands stained red and his sword heavy on his back.
It won't work, it's not working, why isn't killing Shadow over and over again enough to get over himself?
Do you think we should say something? He hears someone whisper. He clearly hasn't been sleeping well…
…I tried bringing it up the other day, but he seemed stressed and pushed me away.
Well, if something like today happens again—
Shh, he's going to hear you—
—I'm just worried… I don't think there's been anything particular about the past few weeks. What could be wrong?
Surrounded by darkness, Four stays awake the entire night.
Legend is watching him.
It's an observation he makes passively, something he isn't sure what to make of. They're all watching him he supposes, especially since that night, but there's something about the Veteran's gaze that has Four on edge. It's a darkness. It's a knowing.
He recalls, at some point, the Vet mentioning having some past experience with dreams.
It would be logical to ask Legend for help next, because if anyone were to have an item, song, or trick for mysterious and inexplicable hauntings there's no one better to go to than their Vet. But the weight of that violet gaze feels too grating, and sometimes he even wonders if that dream experience means the Vet can see the gory carnage Four experiences every night.
He goes to Wind instead.
"Really, you're going to the fourteen year old for help?" Shadow says from the corner of his eyes. When, exactly Shadow started haunting him in broad daylight too, he isn't sure. Four ignores him.
They're walking through rocky terrain this time. Wind is flagging a bit, face red and uncomfortable in the heat—Four's noticed that the Sailor is particularly weak to the dry and sunny combo—so it isn't hard to slow down to keep pace with him.
Wind winces once Four asks. "You think it's a ghost?"
"At this point, what else could it be?" Four says, tone flat and defeated.
"Well… it's not a special item or anything like the Old Man. I just see 'em. I haven't… seen anything around you, Smithy."
The sailor's eyes shift ever so slightly to their resident Cook, but offers nothing else.
Alright. So they're haunted, but it's not his ghosts. Still, Four pushes.
"Not even anything that looks like me? But in a different color, or maybe monochrome is the right word—"
"Are you seeing someone specific? Right now?" Wind asks, eyebrows furrowing, and oh. Four has made a mistake, and despite being the youngest, there's a gleam in the Sailor's eyes that feels all too piercing.
Thankfully, Four doesn't have to answer anything, because somewhere up front Legend trips over himself. He would have flopped to the ground if not for the Captain grabbing onto the back of his tunic out of pure reflex.
The hat goes down, though. Legend scrambles to put it back on.
"You good?"
"Don't," Legend snarls, but his shoulders loosen when he sees the Captain's face. "Whatever. I'm fine. Just had some shitty sleep."
Wild groans at that. "We can't have two people with sleep depri— I mean, uhhh, damn that sucks…?"
"Nice save, Cook!" Shadow laughs.
The Vet's gaze pauses on Four—just for a second—before it moves on, expression perfectly nonchalant.
"What? Let's get moving, everyone. If we don't camp under some shade soon I'm gonna lose it…"
Oh, Four thinks. So that's what it is.
Most others probably wouldn't have noticed. There's hardly anything to read in the minute twitch of his ears—Legend's in particular are long and react to distant and harmless sounds all the time. And for him, being sleep-deprived is a relatively normal state to be in.
But Four knows how to read faces better than almost anyone here. Especially a Link's face. The sinking feeling in his stomach only grows deeper.
The Vet isn't only watching him—he's afraid of him.
"What do you think he knows?"
"Do you ever shut up?" Four mutters under his breath, doing his absolute best to walk away from Shadow.
Shadow, of course, doesn't seem to care for this and follows right behind him. Once again Four finds himself in an expansive room with nothing but Shadow for company. Sometimes, he wishes the dreams could be a little different—the endless sight of emptiness surely isn't helping his mental state, and blood always looks particularly stark against the whiteness around them. Other times he's grateful, the room's sterile nature separating it from reality.
Lost in his thoughts, Four blinks, and suddenly Shadow is in front of him rather than behind. Before he can turn on his heels and go the other way, Shadow steps into his space and grabs at his right hand, puts his left on his waist. Four falls into position more out of shock and muscle memory than anything else.
This close, he can't escape Shadow's charming smile. "If you don't wanna talk, then how about a dance?"
For what it's worth, Four tries to wrench away, taking one step back—but Shadow's grip is strong and he easily goes along with his pulls, their brief struggling turning into a strange box step. He really is the perfect mirror, some bitter part of him thinks. If it were any other situation he might even laugh.
"This is— this is stupid," Four says with emphasis. He isn't sure what to focus on like this—the heat in his cheeks, the cold contact of Shadow's skin, the pressing questions about the Veteran now scrambled away.
"C'mon, you're usually better at this," Shadow chastises. His eyes curl into crescents. "How many times have you practiced with Dottie?"
And that's enough to make Four freeze completely.
(They are seven years old, lying around the courtyards after having run themselves exhausted at the fountains.
"Papa says that when I'm older, I have to go to the ball rooms," Zelda—or Dottie, as Link accidentally blurted out the first time he saw her, entranced by her freckles—says, pronouncing each word separately.
"What's that?" Link asks, wondering which of the rooms at the Castle could possibly be a ball room. They all look too big, and it scares him a little to step inside, although he'd never admit that to Dottie. For one, she'd make fun of him for FOREVER. And two, Link is supposed to be the brave one—that's why he's already started training with a wooden sword! Which was NOT a stick, no matter what Dottie said!
"It's when I get to wear a pretty dress and dance. And there's snacks! You have to be there too, okay? Papa says the ball-room dance is supposed to be with someone else, so after I dance with him, you're going next. Obviously. Here—"
And Zelda gets up, holding out a grass-stained hand. Her smile halos bright against the sun.
"—I think it goes like this. Let me show you!")
"What, am I not as good as Dottie?"
"Don't." It's all he can get out, quiet and vibrating with something tense. "Don't call her that."
To his surprise, Shadow stays quiet.
He looks around, furtive—as usual, the only thing that surrounds them is the same, white emptiness that's greeted him in every dream. There's no smells, no wind, just Shadow and his own body; yet the reminder of her makes everything feel like it's closing in, suddenly. As if the air is slowly being drained out. As if the mere mention of her name might summon her to this hellscape. He holds his breath.
Nobody shows up.
It's just the two of them, alone, and Shadow tugs at his arms to get his attention.
(What were you expecting? He berates himself. You don't actually want her to see you like this, do you?
And he doesn't, because even if they're dancing right now, even if Shadow has that stupid half-smirk that means he's actually having fun, he can already feel the sticky weight of phantom blood all over his skin. He blinks, and he's not holding Shadow, but a corpse. He blinks, and he sees the gaping wound of his head, his eyes gouged, his lips split, begging, crawling, laughing—
But I miss her, he thinks, and so the ache to see her presses up from under his skin like a familiar bruise.)
"Okay, okay! Jeez, no need to get so possessive," Shadow says, maybe a bit too easily. The real Shadow would say something wittier, something in him sighs—but it's a thought with no real basis, and so they carry on. They fall back into an easy rhythm, swaying aimlessly throughout the room. "So. The Vet?"
"The Vet," Four echoes because that— that is easier, that goes down a little smoother than mentions of Zelda. "What about him?"
"He reacted rather poorly to your description of me. Do you think he has his own Shadow?"
"But he seemed afraid of me specifically…"
"Like when Pita screamed as you entered the bakery?"
Four huffs at the reminder, purposefully stepping on Shadow's foot.
Or, at least, tries to. Shadow's foot chooses that moment to dematerialize into smoke, reforming only after he's taken a step back. Cheater! He thinks, sulking as his next attempt also fails. "And whose fault is that?" He snarks out, staring more at Shadow's feet now. "Besides, I haven't done anything to the Vet. I don't understand why…"
I don't understand why he looks at me like that.
Right, left, right. Four holds out his hand on an impulse, and Shadow giggles as he twirls.
Shadow is right—he's practiced these steps so many times that they come naturally to him, even if he's only the blacksmith's son. He supposes he's picked up a lot from being the Princess' childhood friend. Four, of course, isn't nearly as knowledgeable as Zelda is, no matter how much she whines about it—but maybe that's why she brings it up so often. She likes to see Four struggle to remember what fork to use at dinner.
…It should be the princess who stands across from him.
He looks up to Shadow's red eyes, and has to look away.
"If you haven't done something, maybe it means that you will do something."
Left, right, left— left, left, right, couldn't Shadow hold a proper position? "That doesn't make any sense," Four says. He's starting to hear his heartbeat in his ears. It's not in tune to their steps.
"It's possible. Your future is his past after all, right? Wow, this time travel stuff gets confusing!"
"But he's thousands of years ahead of me."
"So what? Whose to say it won't happen tomorrow?" Shadow's grip tightens, spinning them faster and faster. "You've already gotten so good at hurting me. What's another Link?"
Ba-dum. Ba-dum. His heart is so loud it's confusing his rhythm. Back, forward, then Four steps in.
"Oh, but I get it. This special thing is just for you and me, isn't that right? Don't worry. I know you won't cheat on me," Shadow says with a wink.
And when Shadow steps back, he takes another step. And then another. Four stumbles. Then falls.
Shadow falls too, and the sword is already there. Stuck in his chest—it's no wonder he fell. It was in him all along! A pool of blood quickly builds from under him, crimson against white and black.
Four meets Shadow's gaze and is greeted with a smile. "It was nice seeing you after all this time, Vio."
Startled, Four looks down, but his tunic is now covered in blood, Shadow must have gotten it on him when Four killed him, or no, he fell on his own, it wasn't him, it wasn't him—and already his vision is flickering in that way that means he's waking up. You got the wrong color, he thinks, perhaps a bit hysterical. Now I'm Red. Or red mixed with violet? Hahaha. I wonder what part of me that's supposed to be?
He opens his eyes, and the only thing he smells is Wild's breakfast.
Wind waves his hands empathetically over the campfire. "No no, it's like this, I'm telling you. You're the captain Link, you're the goat but also a wolf Link, you're the… elderly Link—"
"You know, I'm starting to think Old Man wasn't a bad nickname—"
"—Wait, just because I take care of goats doesn't mean I am one—"
"—And you're the, um—"
"I'm the teamwork Link," Four says, because he still thinks he's very funny.
"Ooh, a good one," Shadow agrees. "But… you've only actually worked with yourself, you know. Conceited much?"
"In what world are you the teamwork Link?" Legend says, aghast. "If anything, I have totem time—"
"Oh shut up," Four sighs.
"Huh?"
"I get it," Shadow sighs. "Arguing with yourself is easier than arguing with the others. I'd stop trying too."
"Um… so yeah, Vet, you can be the Pink Link!"
"Absolutely not." Legend says.
"You don't know how to ask for help anyways," Shadow says.
"Absolutely," Four agrees.
"Are you happy?" Four decides to ask one day. Shadow looks bored with his lower half crushed under Four's hammer.
"You'd know better than me, Rainbow. I'm just here to occupy space."
"Haha, very funny. Should I aim for your face next time?"
"Don't get so mad, I really mean it this time!" He points by Four's feet. "Look. There's a hole in you. Why not make a home of it? I mean, there's nothing else to do around here."
—And there goes the face. Five points, Shadow might have said, if his mouth weren't a flattened, pulpy mess against metal. You're getting messy, Rainbow!
Four likes to think he has a rather respectable opinion of Hylia. He isn't the most familiar with her, admittedly, so rarely does he join the muttered cussing he sometimes catches from the Vet or Old Man. He's sure it can't be easy, guiding a group of heroes to fight an enemy with enough power to wreak havoc across time and space. Maybe there's a little bit of bias there too; for Her power runs through Dot, and Dot is his childhood friend.
Now, though, he has to admit—whatever divine entity is shepherding them around has an awful sense of humor.
After what was perhaps one of their most relentless gauntlet of monsters, their next portal has now dropped them into what he immediately recognizes as his own Hyrule. Which would be great! If he weren't right at the end of Royal Valley; as chill as Dampe could be, the royal graveyard was not his first choice in places to end up. Not only that, it seems the portal has split the Chain. Four hears, rather than sees, a body moving a few feet at his side, and realizes—
"Ugh, what's with all the fog?" The Vet grouses from somewhere to his left.
—that he's with Legend. Alone.
Shadow is keeled over with laughter in the corner. "Well that's the goddess for you, isn't it?"
The portal had dropped them rather unceremoniously too, and that's what Four will blame if anyone asks about the dark spots in his vision as he gets up. There's a lingering chill in the air that tells Four that it's just rained. The black, dilapidated branches that hang over them drip with cold, and the sun's rays are too weak through the thicket of trees to light up much. He fishes out a lantern, shivering against the mist. The Vet pulls one out as well.
"My— my Hyrule," Four stutters out, wincing at the roughness of his own voice.
There is silence as he feels Legend's gaze scan over him. He wonders what he looks like with only the glowing light of the lantern beneath him: if the shadows pull at the dark bags under his eyes, if the feeble light exposes the tremble that's already started in his arms. What exactly Legend is looking for, Four isn't sure, but the Veteran's face betrays nothing as he blinks, then turns to gesture around them.
"I feel ya. You're exhausted, aren't you?" Shadow says.
"Know the way out?" Legend asks.
Four glances around. "It's a bit like the Lost Woods here, but yeah. I should be able to get us out of here… I think."
"What confidence you inspire," Legend says dryly. When Four doesn't move, the Vet raises an eyebrow. "What? Lead the way."
"—Right. Um." Four startles out of his stupor, taking a few steps deeper into the woods. Legend falls in behind him, and Four pretends that this doesn't bother him. "Careful, there might be Takkuri and Ghini. Hopefully we can run into the others soon…"
For a while, it's quiet between them. If it were anyone else, Four might recommend only one of them carry a lantern and the other be put on monster killing duty. But it's Legend who's behind him, and Legend doesn't offer the obvious answer either, so the two of them walk with a lantern in one hand and their sword in the other, awkwardly and silently cutting through any monster that tries to attack them.
At least none of them are black-blooded; Hylia’s one mercy in this already no-good, awful day.
Surprisingly, after the third Ghini dispatched and one loop restart (It’s been a while since I’ve had to navigate here, Four had muttered under his breath), it's Legend who breaks.
“Excited to be home?” Legend asks, flicking away some blood and condensation from his blade into the darkness around them.
It’s such an innocent, normal question that Four actually pauses and takes a solid few seconds to process it.
“Huh?” He manages to get out which, Great response, totally passing as normal here, Shadow laughs. “You’re asking me because…?”
Four turns, just in time to catch the faintest flash of hurt on the Veteran’s expression. “What, I can’t ask how you’re doing?” He gestures to the forest around them. “It’s cold. And wet. And my side still hurts from that goddess-forsaken Stalfos—I’m fine, it’s not too bad—but fuck me for trying to find something to do in this depressing place, I guess. Sorry I asked.”
Something red twitches in Four’s chest, hot and uncomfortable. They’ve all come to know that their Veteran wields words as sharply as his blades—and they’ve all learned that their Veteran, deep down, truly cares for all of them too. A mix of guilt and hurt swirls in his gut: for immediately doubting Legend, for the way his words sting against his skin.
“No you're right, sorry.” Four manages a laugh, and it sounds pathetic and defeated even to him, “You’re… you’re a good person, Vet. I’m just tired. Sorry.”
“I’ve noticed,” Legend mutters under his breath, maybe more for himself. Then a bit louder, “Do you need a break?”
“I just want to get out of here,” Four says, honest.
Legend’s staring again, and this time Four stares right back: he is a Hero, after all. And Heroes aren’t afraid of their friends or the dark or whatever else might be lurking in creepy graveyard forests. He takes a moment to observe Legend properly. Sure enough, he's leaning more to his right, and Four recalls the club he had taken to his side just a portal prior. There are dark circles under his eyes too, lips curled into a thin, neutral line, eyes calculating as they meet, just for a second.
He seems worried, one part of him thinks.
He seems wary, another whispers.
Maybe this is punishment from Hylia, Shadow offers. You’ve killed me so many times, after all. Isn’t it time for a taste of your own medicine soon?
They keep walking.
“So… once we leave here, we’ll be meeting up with your Zelda?” Legend tries again. He’s not sure if this is a peace offering or a distraction or whatever, but no matter what it is, Four doesn’t want to fail again.
“That’s the hope,” he tries. He is so normal, Four tells himself. He is so normal and able to hold a regular, normal conversation. He does not doubt the Veteran and the Veteran does not doubt him. “We shouldn’t be too far from Hyrule Town when we exit, so hopefully we can restock on potions soon.”
A takkuri descends upon them, then—Four twitches, but Legend slashes at it before Four can.
“You miss her, don’t you?” Legend continues, voice soft.
What’s it to you? Is his first thought. I’m scared to meet her, is the next. Do you think she’ll forgive me? Then, I miss her so, so much. I can’t wait to meet.
“Yeah,” is all he can get out before his throat closes up.
“Maybe she’ll be able to help you,” Legend says. “Since it’s clear none of us are able to.”
(And he's being kind, he's being lovely, but Four can recognize it for what else it is: a rock thrown down a chasm to test its depth, probing, searching. Legend is making conversation to try to gauge him.)
“Sorry,” Four eventually offers, because he isn’t sure what else to say to that. He doesn't even have it in him to be offended—what Legend said is the plain truth.
“I get it,” the Vet says easily.
Do you really? Four thinks. Do you also see shadows in your dreams? Do you also have a monster that wears your face that won’t leave you alone?
Killing it or loving it, how do you make it human? Do you know, Veteran?
Four is tired. He’s been tired for goddess knows how long, but walking through this dark forest with only the Veteran by his side isn’t much help. He keeps mistaking every loose Ghini or Takkuri to be Shadow; a threat that lives just beyond the corner of his eyes.
Despite his fatigue, Four starts moving faster than Legend, swinging first at anything that dares to move. Swinging at anything. Swinging. Swinging, swinging, swinging, he’s getting dizzy.
It’s his responsibility, after all, to take care of that thing that wears his face. He should be the one to kill it.
No, he has to be the one to kill it—His pride won’t allow anything else.
He should have realized, by the third time they reset, that he might be in over his head. Legend seems to be on the verge of saying something too—offering a break, maybe, or even more of a listening ear, a true testament to how awful he must appear for even one of their most emotionally constipated members to try to offer a more in-depth conversation—when Four trips. Why is he always tripping?
It’s embarrassing enough that Four can’t even laugh. It might have been over a tree branch. It might have been over nothing at all. Four remembers his dreams and blames Shadow, in that second, as he’s suddenly on the ground instead of his feet. The ground squelches under him, mud from the earlier rain immediately seeping through his tunic. His hands scrape against rock, and his face lands near a shallow puddle.
“Shit, Smith, you okay?”
He blinks. This close to the ground, he observes the way his shadow stretches out from underneath him, like a ghost that won’t stop haunting him, and really, shadow or ghost, what difference does it make? They’re both just tricks of light, amalgamations that nip at his heels. He can’t run away. He can’t escape. He sees it against the rippling water, that shifting, that smarmy grin. It’s here, it’s inside of him, it’s inside him and he doesn’t know how to get it out, he needs it out, his heart goes thump thump thump thump along with Shadow’s taunting laughter—
And someone is grabbing at him, fingers going across his arm, and—
The Four Sword is in his hands, pointed at Shadow—
“Woah, Smith, It’s just me—!”
—No, at Legend.
“Sorry,” He breathes out, and the fight leaves him as quickly as it had come. Shame curls within the trembling of his hands, the heavy breaths of his lungs, and he tries to scrape off some of the mud that’s clung to him. The water by his feet ripples from the drops that fall from above. “Sorry, just—had to get it out, and— he was right there I swear—”
“Okay, it’s okay Smith. You’re here, you’re still with me. You’re fine.”
He decides not to comment that it sounds like Legend is talking to himself rather than at Four.
Four’s not sure what makes him say it then. Maybe he’s lost it. Shadow was right—he’s nothing but a vain hero that doesn’t know how to ask for help. His past is full of stories that feature nothing more than me, myself and I, so he doesn't know how to properly face Legend, he can't understand what sort of role he's supposed to fill here.
He thought he was supposed to be a brother, so why does Legend look at him like—
“I’ve tried to kill you before, haven’t I?”
The Veteran freezes.
Ah, he thinks. So it’s true.
And maybe it’s not Four. He’s not sure how it works, with Legend being a thousand years in the future. There’s probably a hundred different ways his likeness could be abused by the enemy somewhere, somehow. Maybe it’s just a cruel trick. Maybe Legend just has face blindness. Either way, Zelda would argue, it’s not really you!
(But it is him, all the same. Four has seen his own face five different ways now, his own existence a prism that refracts light. Every smaller iteration of him is still his to claim, something he has to claim, for that is his duty. His burden as the Hero of the Four Sword.)
Legend doesn't need to say anything; the look on his face is more than enough. He's seen that same look echoed throughout his beloved Hyrule Town so many times before: between Carlov and Bremor and the Postman and everyone in between. They're just afraid of Shadow, Zelda always said, which has come to mean the same thing as they're afraid of you. He sees violet eyes flashing up in fear, the slight tense of his shoulders before the Veteran forcibly relaxes himself.
"No," the Vet says. Pauses, then with a stronger tone, "No, that wasn't you. That was a monster."
"But it looked just like me."
"…I know now it's not you," Legend mutters.
"Or you just know how to love that monster now."
"You're—" Legend bites his lips, tilting his head, "you're not a monster, Four."
"He's right, you know," says Shadow. "I thought you loved me?"
"I'm…" Four pauses. Looks at the dirt caked under his nails now, and a shiver travels up his spine from the cold. The air smells of distant thunder; if they don't get out of here soon, it'll start raining again, some part of him notes. "I'm… really tired, Vet."
"I know," The Veteran says, and this time Four believes him. "I"m sorry."
He's supposed to be a Hero, the kind he grew up reading about and looked up to. But like a dark smear of ink on the page, his legacy now has this inerasable blot over the ending. Just how badly does his story go for its pages to reach even the Veteran?
He recalls Shadow from his quartered memories. The way his words trembled as he said, A shadow usually only ever follows its body. It never gets to lead the way.
Maybe that first taste of freedom gave Shadow too many ideas; once more, it appears that Shadow will take the lead, has taken the lead. Four's future is already spelled out, a doomed narrative where he becomes a repeating nightmare for a Hero. Its proof is written in the way the Veteran flinches as Four holds his sword up against the sky, the soft sunlight just barely lighting up the mud that's gotten onto it, the way he bites his lips with unease as Four hobbles to his feet.
"…You good?"
"Yeah, just… give me a moment."
Four just hopes that in whatever ways he ends up haunting Legend, that his ghost will give kinder dreams.
He turns, and stares at the bags under the Veteran's eyes, lit up against the soft glow of lantern.
Somehow, he doubts it.
They get out of the forest, of course. That wasn't the important part.
Near the exit they run into Time and Wind, and as always, the rest of the Chain slowly trickles together. They're a bit battered, maybe, but nothing too life threatening. Hyrule seems to be curious about Four's dirtied clothes, but the Vet offers a "it's slippery as fuck in there," and that's that.
He isn't sure what to do with that sort of kindness even now, so Four scurries ahead with the excuse that they need to make it to Hyrule Town.
It's all very simple after that. They split for supplies. Then get the supplies. For as much as Four loves how homely this place is, it's admittedly not very big. And Links could be efficient if hungry enough; they raid Pita's bakery as if they haven't had a proper meal in weeks. Wild seems mildly offended, but can't resist the promise of fresh, warm bread either. Kinstones snuck in be damned.
And Shadow is there, too. Watching, admiring the view from inside him, beside him. Dreaming of Four, maybe.
"Alright," Four finally says, brushing off breadcrumbs from his hands. "I guess we see Zelda now."
He doesn't miss the way many of the Links loosen at that. They must think that she'll be able to fix whatever's wrong with him—it's a promise of direction, of home, of hope.
"If only it were that easy," Shadow sighs.
Whether she'll be able to help or not, it doesn't really matter, Four thinks. Because the story goes like this:
There once was a Boy who loved his Princess. He came to accept his own Shadow as well. He was a Hero. Maybe he'll die a Hero. And beyond even that, he'll soon become someone else's nightmare.
That is his happily ever after.
"At least I've made it home," Four says to no one. In the setting sun, his shadow stretches on.