Although he had worked against the Dark Lord, he had been drawn to the monster. He had been drawn to the man who'd had such a furious will to exist, to accomplish a purpose that he had created for himself that he'd literally stopped at nothing, even the physical limitations of flesh. And…he'd been envious.
Because the Fake King had had a reason to live, a purpose, something to drive him on, something to fight for.
He had none of that.
Even then, when he had been rising in the Fake King's ranks, even when he had been telling Zelda of each troop movement, each Temple defiled, each gain and loss of the Great War, his purpose had been temporary. He'd thrown everything into serving the Hero and defeating Ganondorf-and now, afterwards, he had nothing.
No purpose, no will, no reason. Nothing to hope for, nothing to keep him alive.
That was why he hated the dream that came to him each night with a livid passion.
Thin arms cradling him, head resting on someone's shoulder, a soft voice speaking to him. He was absolutely safe, comfortable, peaceful…content. He was protected, there was no danger, nothing but him and the lilting voice of the other person.
He drowned himself in the dream each time it came, and when he woke he wanted nothing more than to destroy it, tear it apart by the seams and burn the remainders.
It was why he lay on the stone floor of his small room, tears streaming down his cheeks as he cursed the Goddesses, cursed the Sages, cursed the Hero. Ice had long ago seeped into his flesh, the worn breeches he wore doing nothing to protect him. Shaking, his hand pushed through the tangled mess of his hair, and he made himself sit up. Empty nausea burned at the back of his throat as he pulled on his armor and weapons, and combed and braided his hair. He rested his forehead against his door for a long moment before pulling his cowl up and slipping into the crowded, dark alleys of Castle Town.
The place he stayed in was a run-down single-room building crammed between a bar and an inn. The only reason he hadn't slaughtered everyone in both buildings was because of the silencing spells he had tied into the very foundations of his home. Ganondorf could return and tear Hyrule apart piece by piece and he wouldn't notice.
But…it wasn't home. It was just a place to rest.
"Sheik!" He felt the Hero's presence before the green-clad man caught up to him. Stopping, he studied Link.
"Can you do something for me? Zelda needs me and I don't have time to do it otherwise I wouldn't ask you." The Hero spat the words out in a hurry it took him a moment to process them, and ignoring the anger that sparked to life within him, he nodded curtly. A bag was pressed into his hand, the tinkling of glass against glass echoing up from it.
"There's a warehouse by the City Gates-a guy there buys these. Just give him my name and you'll be fine." Link offered a grin and vanished so quickly that Sheik couldn't help but wonder if Impa had trained him as well. Then, studying the brown bag, he sighed and turned around. Since the Great War had ended, he'd been reduced to running errands. The only important thing he had done since the War was to retrieve the Zora Sapphire from a would-be thief. And, as Hylians had absolutely no creativity whatsoever when it came to crimes, it had only taken a day to track him down and kill him. It infuriated him because these tasks were nothing worth living over-nothing worth breathing for. They made mockery of something he desperately wished for, and he would rather have nothing than a fake.
He felt the vague stirrings of joy in the very back of his being and knew the Hero had found Zelda.
They were connected, he and the Queen. If he was cold, no matter how many blankets Zelda wrapped herself in, she would feel the chill of ice in her bones. If she was furious, he would feel the bite of anger tempering his own words, even if they were miles apart.
He'd know if she was in danger, as she would he.
Perhaps he hated the connection more than his dream. The dream was his and his alone-he felt things he had no interest or desire to feel through the connection, the desires that should have been left solely to the Queen and Hero.
As he'd learned the hard way, alcohol didn't mute it either.
The warehouse loomed ahead of him-he assumed it was the correct warehouse, as it was the only building that was even somewhat whole-and he slowed his pace as he approached the door. He hesitated before opening it, already searching for hidden dangers.
He froze in absolute shock at what he saw.
The warehouse was alight with thousands of flickering balls, each a different color. Vaguely, he made out faces in each of them, and with a start realized that they were Poe Souls. Mute, he closed the door behind him. A make-shift bed with a threadbare blanket dominated one wall, shrouded by shadows cast from shelves that circled the entire room. Cages rested upon them, although the Poe Souls phased in and out of the wooden bars easily. Pots collected dust in corners, and a few crates rested beside each wall. The Poe Souls drifted everywhere. On a whim, he opened up the bag and glanced inside. A handful of bottles rested in it, each containing a glowing Poe Soul.
"Can I help you?" His head snapped up, blood running cold at the voice. He took a half-step back before freezing at the sight of the speaker, a dim silhouette against a tapestry of Poe Souls.
He'd recognize that voice anywhere.
The figure hesitantly took a step forward, head tilted to the side as they came into view. A hood concealed their face, but he could see a garnet eye glittering from its depths. Light illuminated the ink-black hair coiled around the figures waist, and the pale white shift marked with the Royal Family's own crest. It had seen better days, and long, slender fingers pulled a dark magenta blanket closer around thin shoulders, as the shift ended a ways before her knees.
"You…I'm glad you're alive." There was a trembling to the obviously female voice that spoke the truth, as she slowly came forward.
The thousand conflicting emotions running rampant through his entire being kept him immobile as she reached him. A pale hand reached out and gently, fingers brushed against his cheek. With that simple contact, he felt everything inside of him shattering.
"Did you ever find a reason? A freedom, like I asked you to?" Numbly, he could only stare at her.
She wasn't supposed to exist.
"Y-you…" He took a step back, although he stumbled violently at the movement, and his back slammed into the rickety doorframe. She withdrew her hand, taking a step back.
"Are you alright?" There was nothing but concern to her voice, and that infuriated him all the more.
"You aren't real!" He hissed, not even noticing the bag had slipped from his fingers and shattered its contents upon the stone floor of the warehouse, ignorant to the fact the Poe Souls had been released and were flitting around above his head. A silence fell over them.
"Real…? Do you know what I am?" When she finally spoke, her voice was faint, an empty tone to it that ignited more fury within him-she was never supposed to sound like that, not while he could help, not while he could comfort her, not while he was alive. The sudden feeling only enraged him more, as he knew nothing of what was going on.
"I'm not going to hurt you." The words were spoken so quietly he barely heard them, but with only a long look she turned and slowly walked back into the depths of the warehouse.
Absolute terror seized him.
"Wait!" She paused, back to him.
"Who are you?" The silence thickened, tightening around his throat and stealing the air from his lungs.
"I….I'd hoped you would've remembered that." His jaw clenched and he stepped forward, to demand more answers from her, to beg her to tell him why she knew him, why she haunted him, dared to mock with what he so desperately wanted. A hand clamped over his shoulder, and he suddenly found himself facing Impa. Her ruby eyes locked on his, cold and emotionless.
The wild confusion, the panic, the fear overwhelming him , threatening to lodge in his throat, tripled in size.
"Go to Zelda, Sheik."
"Impa, let go of me-" She cut him off and hissed something in a language that made his bones ache, and his eyes widened, seconds before his legs gave out and he fell into darkness.