PART 1: A PUPPET'S FREEDOM

CHAPTER 10: THE RICH SON

18th of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age
Hyrule, the City in the Sky Celestia
Main tower, wing A

Shad could tell the City in the Sky had changed and evolved in the time he had been gone. It was extensive and buildings that had been in construction years ago were now complete and fed power to new scaffoldings. The City was forever growing. From above the city floor, the hovercrafts were invisible, but he could feel them humming below in a way he found disconcertingly comforting.

Shrugging the flood of memories off, he took a deep breath and stepped into the massive hall. Sliding doors hissed shut behind him.

As he had expected, the hall was mostly empty. His father had never liked commotion. Shad's eyes rose to the vaulted ceilings, remembered thinking the City in the Sky was a floating cathedral that pretentiously wished to be closer to the gods. As beautiful and advanced as it could be, the city was still only man-made.

Light spilled into the hall and cast bright spots of blooming white in the corner of his eyes. He liked the light, but here it was almost trying to weigh the city down, push it back to the ground; punish it for defying nature's way. He started envying the quiet sombreness of his study.

"… Shad?"

The scholar turned suddenly, meeting the gaze of a small bird-like creature. Shad had never been very comfortable with the Oocca. As fascinating as they were, he found their diminutive size, the thin, sparse feathers and the freakishly large heads disturbing to look at. If they weren't so intelligent, he'd actively seek to avoid their company.

"Ooccoo?" He asked.

Ooccoo was possibly the only member of her species that Shad felt somewhat at ease with. She had taught him almost everything he knew after his mother had passed, including her grasp of Old Hylian, and had, along with Malon, argued that he stay and try to make amends rather than storm off.

But he hadn't listened to her, and did not regret it much.

"Shad," the Oocca female clucked. "Luon tym nonn veto… I didn't think I'd see you again."

"Long time no see indeed, Ooccoo. I didn't even think I'd return," he admitted. "Is my… is my father in his workshop again?"

If the Oocca had the facial muscles necessary to express emotions, he had no doubt that Ooccoo would have expressed hope. "Yes. Have you come to your sinyat then?"

"My senses?" Shad echoed callously. "I'm not crawling back to him with apologies, if that's what you're asking."

Here, she would probably have shown disappointment. "Lode Thaddeus missed you in the time you were gone," she softly declared.

"I'm sure," Shad snorted. "Missed having company, I suppose. It was his fault that he lost Mother and I in the first place, though, Ooccoo."

"Eyn yulo," Ooccoo said, hobbling on her little chicken legs to keep up with his long, angry strides, "he felt guilt for driving you away. He cares."

"I'm not 'your boy'. And that's easy to say when I'm not there," Shad angrily growled. "But all he ever really cared about were his stupid projects and visions of grandeur and godliness."

They reached the doors to the private laboratory. It was shockingly nondescript, but Shad knew that behind it, his father was putting the family intelligence to use. He paused and hesitated.

"He didn't care that Mother needed help," he softly said.

"He loved ja e jan mater dearly," Ooccoo gently argued, the cool voice of reason characteristic of her species. It was another part of what Shad found disturbing about them; they always seemed so controlled, so aloof and capable in spite of their freakish forms, so superior to Hylian kind. It bothered Shad that they were so developed mentally and so weak physically.

"Obviously, he didn't care enough," he said, and pressed an access code next to the door. Ooccoo didn't reply as the door hissed open and he stepped through, shutting her out.

Instantly, he was assaulted by the strong smell of chemical products, and they called forth a set of memories that he had no interest in focusing on. He wasn't here to indulge his long-time anger; he needed to help Zelda.

His father wasn't busy mixing products or calculating large numbers. As he reached the place where he knew the desk would be, Shad felt apprehension fill him.

And then, gathering his courage, he stepped out from between the shelves of potted plants and slime jars.

His father was reading. Even when focusing, his father looked overactive, preoccupied and nervous. He always seemed animated with excitement or tension. Shad hadn't inherited that trait; his mother had thankfully given him the ability to settle comfortably and study without fidgeting.

Still, seeing the familiar mess of papers and open books, the large gathering of unusual and mysterious objects, coupled with gilded pendulums, clocks, compasses, anemometers, barometers, sextants, disks and spheres, brought memories rushing back to him. Images of warmth, curiosity and awe drifted through his mind too quickly to be grasped.

His father's study had not changed in the years Shad had been gone.

Even Thaddeus Knowing, the man, had not changed drastically. He'd grown a little thinner, his hair a little greyer, but overall, the man still looked remarkably like Shad's memory had immortalized him, down to the ink marks on his fingers, the rumpled overcoat and the wide rectangular glasses that Shad had played with as a child. Thaddeus Knowing was like an old photograph; sight familiar but full of long-gone times.

And, Shad noticed, he seemed a little distant, a little confused, as if he was working very hard to get to a place he couldn't find.

That, at least, was different.

"Ooccoo," the man suddenly said, his voice rising and so familiar to Shad ―he became aware of how alike he and his father sounded, "Where did I put my notes on perpetual engines?"

When Ooccoo ―who wasn't there― did not reply, Thaddeus Knowing looked up.

His facial expression didn't change. For a moment, Shad feared his father didn't recognize him, but finally, the man breathed, "Shad."

Unable to meet his father's gaze for too long, Shad averted his eyes and focused one of the navigational instruments that littered the desk, heart pounding in his chest with leftover anger and a defined streak of melancholy. "Father."

Unexpectedly, Thaddeus Knowing stood. It occurred to Shad that he looked weak, tired, and much closer to old age than Shad had anticipated. This made him uneasy, but before he could tell his father to stay seated, the man spoke.

"Twelve years," he said, breathing audible through his nose. "Twelve years you've been gone and now you've come back, in the thick of war." Through his square glasses, Thaddeus Knowing's eyes pierced his only son with a calculated, evaluating stare. Then, with acidity Shad had thought only he could still muster, the older man said, "So the world had no use for you, and spat you out?"

All hopes for a pacifistic reunion flew out the window and into the clouds, crumbling to the ground miles below.

"The world didn't spit me out," Shad said with asperity. "I'm here because I―"

"Need help, huh?" Thaddeus Knowing interrupted. He slowly walked over to one of his dusty shelves and started pulling out books, uninterested. "You couldn't figure things out for yourself. I always knew you'd come crawling back. This is where the money is."

Feeling himself flush in anger, Shad cruelly replied, "I earned enough money to get away from here and from you, if I remember properly!"

"Fat lot of good it did you," Thaddeus Knowing snorted, dropping two large volumes on his desk.

"It probably saved my life," Shad ground out. "Or were you planning to let me go? I doubt it. You didn't let her leave."

That hit home. Thaddeus Knowing turned a sharp glare towards his son. "That has nothing to do with―"

"It has everything to do with it," Shad suddenly bellowed. "Everything!"

There was a long, tense silence. Father and son glared at one another, hearing the last echoes of Shad's scream vanish in the high ceiling vaults.

"You idiotic fool," Thaddeus Knowing mumbled, then snarled, "you could never understand."

"Understand what?" the young aristocrat stonily asked. "There's nothing to understand. The facts are obvious enough."

"There must always be one of us here," Thaddeus Knowing said, his tone weary. His hand reached up to the watch on his wrist absently. His expression soured. "So, are you here to kill the one who gave you everything?"

Shad snorted derisively, feeling contempt blacken his thoughts. "And took it all back, might I add. … But vengeance?" He sniffed with disgust. "The only killer here is you."

"I didn't kill her!" Thaddeus howled suddenly, and Shad almost recoiled at the anguish he heard in his father's voice. The old man stumbled backwards a little, eyes wild, a hand flying out to grab the edge of the desk and steady him. Shaking like a brittle leaf, lowering himself into a chair and facing away from his only son, he whispered, "I didn't."

Something softened Shad's desire to accuse again. Stepping forward hesitantly, he said, "Father, I―"

"You think I let her die, boy," Thaddeus said, and though Shad could not see his face properly, as the old man had turned, he knew bitter disdain when he heard it, "but she was weak long before any of this started." He was still shaking, his hands still clawing at the wood of his desk. "You think I didn't love her." Thaddeus Knowing's gaze turned, and Shad saw himself reflected in the dark blue eyes, piercing from under thick, greying brows. "But what do you know about love?"

"More than you, obviously," Shad ground out, insulted. "I would have stopped building. I would have sent her away. She needed doctors."

Thaddeus Knowing's gaze filled with contempt and intense pain. "She wanted to stay, you fool," he growled, his voice wavering almost imperceptibly. "Who was I to deny her? She died because I wanted to make her happy; she didn't want to be parted from you, from me. I didn't send her away… but I didn't kill her."

Deep hatred and frustration welled up inside, clawing at Shad's insides, and he felt the urge to childishly scream that he just didn't understand.

"Why, then," he asked, gritting his teeth, "didn't you just abandon the project and leave with us? Why? Mother would have followed us anywhere! Why didn't you take her to a place where she'd be safe and treated, away from this godforsaken city?"

"Celestia wanted to stay!" Thaddeus Knowing screamed, standing again, turning enraged eyes on his son. "Are you simple, son? I couldn't abandon this place, it's―" He stopped himself. Shad knew what he had been about to say though. 'It's too precious'. 'It's perpetual motion itself'. The City's Core made no mechanical sense, and Shad knew his father kept its secrets securely. Still, Thaddeus continued, "I couldn't send my wife away!" He snarled, and when he spoke next, spittle flew from his mouth. "Don't dare pretend you'd have done better, you ungrateful fool!"

Shad's anger was pouring over him like boiling oil. "This city always was more important than Mother and I, wasn't it? In your guilt, you named the city Celestia to make foolhardy amends. But it was too late. She was already dead." His voice cracked there, and he averted his eyes.

A heavy, pained silence fell over the two men.

After a long moment, Thaddeus Knowing stood again and walked to one of the small windows on the far side of his study. His voice, when he spoke, was tired and resigned.

"And so, we are forever doomed to hate one another. You will not forgive something that was inevitable, and we bear a grudge we cannot resolve. What should I expect? Why are you here?"

The last question brought Shad to his senses. Something inside him snapped back into place, and a vivid burst of memory reminded him of Zelda's predicament. Zelda, whose pallor had worried him for days before the accident. Zelda, who may not get help because of his very temper.

Someone else was at agony in the Sky City, and this time Shad would not stand by powerless.

Shad took a deep breath and willed himself to speak.

"Father," he said, "As you said, I can not forgive you. I left this place because it was yours and I could not stand the very smell of the air." He saw his father turn, stare, glare, even. Courageously, he went on, "But I am still your son; you are still my father. Whatever you ask of me in exchange for the favour I ask, I will do."

Thaddeus Knowing looked up, an intelligent gaze fixed upon his only son, mentally calculating odd possibilities, swiftly evaluating risks. His hand reached up to his watch.

Cautiously, he asked, "What kind of favour?"