Wild found himself standing in the center of a rectangular chamber of dual colors. Half was painted like a room of mahogany doors and checkered beige and royal blue tiles, while the other half was polished obsidian - the darkness crept like liquid tar that consumes everything on its path. Framed photographs of him were hung on the walls - a chilling reminder of the Dark Sorceress's obsession for the one that bears the Hero's Spirit. The carved double doors were shut close at either side of the room, and he could hear the sounds of battle outside.

The twisted version of himself that he just pierced with his sword - what was its name again? - writhed and melted into suffocating black smoke. He had won. He had emerged victorious as expected. The divine sword on his hand - why cannot he remember its name? - is truly powerful, as the ancient legends praised. With it, nothing could touch him. He is invincible. After all, is it not what makes the hero chosen by the Goddess?

Wild stood at the center of it all and relished the addicting taste of unbidden victory - something that he rightfully deserves. His friends' worries are unfounded. He had won and will continue to do so by himself. Alone.

Or that was what he thought.

The animated shadow had not returned to its owner. The dark version of him that Cia summoned did not stop at five. Before he knew it, he was surrounded by eight more, and instead of just his face, they had taken the form of the heroes of legends - his brothers-in-arms and his reincarnations. They are him. Their shadow versions reflected the darkness he had sowed within himself and now had grown into a tool to orchestrate his downfall.

Wild had not won. No, he is far from it. He is alone, and it is his fault. He had cut himself off from his friends, and now he is going to reap the consequences of his arrogance. The red-eyed doppelganger of the Hero of Legend surged forward and leaped toward him with his sword raised for the kill. He could do nothing but watch as the shadowy blade descends towards him…

...And he woke up. Wild sat upright with his heart hammering and lungs running a hundred miles in his chest. Sweat trickled down the sides of his face and washed away some paste that smelled vaguely like mint on his skin. His hand clenched the front of his shirt as he tried to steady his breathing and get his bearings on track.

Where is he?

In an inn.

What was the last thing he remembered?

Warriors found him and carried him back to town.

Who is he?

He is -

"You want the truth? You want the goddess-damned truth?"

Wild's chest stuttered to a momentary stop. Was that...Twilight? His eyes flicked to the wall that separated the room from the next. What is he doing there? Are they not supposed to stay in the same room as Sky and Four? He slipped out of the blanket and shivered as the cold floor bit the soles of his feet. His free hand found the wooden footboard of the bed, and he hauled himself with a bit of difficulty. He nearly stumbled towards the wall and pressed an ear to listen to whatever was going on the other side. If he were being honest, he did not need to do that - he has a keener sense of hearing than most of them - but Wild felt like he was about to eavesdrop on something he should not be allowed to hear.

"And you think that it's worth the risk putting both of you in danger? Are you fucking stupid, Rancher?"

Wild frowned. He recognized that voice belonging to Legend. Are they fighting? What happened while he was out cold?

"Vet," There was barely restrained anger in Twilight's voice as he spoke - something that Wild had never characterized from the usually composed and calm Rancher. "He's an almost-two-year-old soul inside one hundred and seventeen-year-old body. He was forced to accept a life and an identity in a world that was destroyed because the hero and the princess in his era didn't have the support they really needed to stop a version of Ganondorf that none of us had ever faced. He thinks he's a failure of a hero that Hylia wanted from him, that he had done shame to the Hero's Spirit and paid the price for it. He thinks his existence was a disgrace to us when all he did was finish what the hero of his era failed to accomplish, and the Master Sword only reinforced that when it fucking burned him!"

The silence that followed was so sudden that it made the room difficult to breathe in. Wild stared blankly at the creeping lines on the wooden wall as Twilight's words drove themselves painfully in his mind. What...? Did Twilight just…?

Legend's voice sharply cut through the silence. "What…what did you just say?" The floor thumped heavily as two pairs of boots intercepted each other. There was a furious rustle of fabric as someone tried to stop the Veteran. "Answer me, Rancher! What do you mean that the Master Sword burned him?"

Wild's knees gave out beneath him. No...Twilight could not have...he could not have remembered, right? Something wet dripped on his cheeks and the back of his hands. Right? Time's question sounded distant to his ears. He did not hear Twilight's small voice nor Legend's shout for the Rancher to answer him. The Champion was deaf to everything but the ringing in his ears and the treacherous voice in his head.

They know. They already know.

Wild had expected it to be Sky who would expose him to the others. The guy is honest to a fault, and he cannot exactly blame him for siding with the others for the group's benefit. He is not one of his reincarnations nor a successor, and they only met just a month ago - not long enough compared to the time the Chosen Hero had spent with his fellow heroes. Wild is an outcast, and he accepted that truth the moment Hylia forced him into their ranks.

But Twilight? Wild's frame shook. Why does it have to be him? He could not understand. He could not understand it at all. Why does he have to remember now? Why does he have to be the one to tell them? Why? What did he do wrong to be punished like this?

"You and I are the same. We're nothing but throwaways in this goddess-forsaken game."

Dink's words echoed clearly in his head as if the manifestation of the heroes' darkness was right behind him and whispering by his ear.

"Naivety can only get you so far. Blind trust will get you stabbed in the back. You don't want that to happen, don't you?"

Wild's back arched as he lurched forward. He could not breathe nor cry out - he felt like he was suffocating in his tears. His hands fumbled for purchase on the wall, but all he got were painful splinters on the flesh beneath his nails.

"How do you think your beloved Hero of Twilight will react?"

The Champion's body was wracked with silent sobs. He wanted it to stop. He wanted the pain that coiled and twisted in his chest to disappear. The searing heat when the Master Sword burned him was nothing compared to this. It is too much! He wanted it gone! Please please take him away from here he does not want to hear them reject him it is too painful -

"Remember, the shadows are everywhere."

Wild's tear-filled eyes stared at his shadow imprinted on the wall. The moonlight cast against his back made it seem larger than he remembered it to be. The darkness untouched by the light seemed to gravitate towards it, melding and carving it into a more defined form. He could almost see the outline of a manic smile and a pair of open arms as if waiting to embrace him. It seemed alive and real - his shadow is - and he wondered if the pain and fear would disappear if he reached out and accepted its invitation. It is close; all he needs to do is to lift a hand and let it take him away into the void -

"...Master!"

There was the sound of a sword being drawn and sliced against something, and Wild gasped sharply. The glass prison that caged his mind shattered into million fragments, and everything came into a frightening clarity. His shadow had shrunk to normal, and the darkness receded to its hiding place. The heroes who were fighting amongst themselves had grown silent. He was alone with nothing but the moonlight and the night breeze brushing the thin fabric of his shirt. A faint hum replaced the ringing in his ears, forming garbled words that he could not understand.

Something glowed at the corner of his eye. Wild tried to locate it when the door flung open, and Hero of Winds barged into the room. The Sailor scanned the place with frantic eyes, searching for anything out of the ordinary. All he found was the receding glow of the Master Sword and the Hero of the Wild kneeling on the cold wooden floor. A gentle breeze blew Wind's fringes as a ghost that only he could see and hear materialized beside him. The little girl hovered just above the hero's shoulder, her eyes flicking nervously around the room.

"W-Wind…?" Wild's voice cracked as his body trembled into something that the Sailor could recognize as fear. "Why...why are you here? Y-You shouldn't be -"

Whatever words that hung on the tip of the Champion's tongue were cut off when Wind ran toward him and engulfed him into a tight hug. The Sailor wrapped his arms around the man's torso with every ounce of strength he could muster. He felt Wild went rigid against him, and he only tightened his grip around the older man. Wind feared that if he loosened his hold even a centimeter, Wild would run away to a faraway place, and he would never get to see him again.

"You're amazing, you know?" Wind murmured. "I don't really believe what Twilight and Sky said, but I think you're amazing. Even if it's true you don't have the Hero's Spirit like us, you still fought Ganondorf and won. You're really strong and kind. You cook us tasty food and have really cool abilities like that slowing time thing that none of us have. Twilight smiles more with you around than before we met you."

Wind buried his head on the fabric of the older man's shirt. "I don't understand why they said you don't have the Hero's Spirit, but you are still a hero! Sun gave you a title, so that makes you a hero like us, right? You're like a big brother to me. I want you to be with us until we finish this quest. That's why... that's why you should..." He gripped the Champion's shirt. "Please stay with us, Wild. We need you. Please don't leave us."

Wild could only remain where he was as the younger hero clung to him desperately. His body shook, and there was a large lump in his throat. Please do not hold on to him like that. He does not want anyone's pity. Not especially Wind's. "You...you don't know me." He whispered in such a quiet voice as if he was afraid to shatter the silence surrounding them. "So, you shouldn't say something like that. I'm not... I'm not like you. I'm not -"

"I DON'T CARE!" Wind yelled and shut his teary eyes. "You're one of us! Aryll said so! Your sister told me, so it must be the truth! I refuse to believe Twilight and Sky!"

A...sister? Does the Hylian Champion have a sister? Wild's eyes dropped to the crown of Wind's head. "I don't...I don't have a sister." There was a foreign taste of bitter regret on his tongue as he spoke. Something cold brushed against his shoulders, but he felt numb to pay attention to it. "And the Master Sword -"

"-Is full of bullshit, I tell you."

Wild flinched, and the two turned to see Four standing by the doorway. The smallest hero had an unreadable expression on his face as his gaze landed on the two. Vibrant blue and violet swirled furiously in his eyes that they nearly glowed against the dim silhouette of the hero. He huffed through his nose and closed the door.

"If a person's worth is measured by one sword alone," The Smith said. "Then, consider me less worthy than you for not trying to touch the Master Sword even once."

The floorboards thumped softly as Four marched towards them, grabbed a blanket from a nearby bed, and tugged the Sailor's arm free from the Champion's arm. Wind voiced a weak complaint when the most diminutive hero made him face him and used the hem of his multi-colored tunic to dab the tears on the corners of the Sailor's eyes. "Stoppppp... I'm not a kid..."

"Kid or not, your eyes will still get swollen." Four retorted. "I'll prepare a cold compress for both of you tomorrow. It will help reduce the swelling so that the Captain will not make fun of you for looking like you got punched in the face by a Moblin." The Smith hauled Wind up and directed him to Wild's bed. "Come on. The floor's cold. We rented the beds for a reason. It would be a waste of rupees not to use them."

The youngest hero had no choice but to follow when the Smith glared at him for protesting and not wanting to let go of the Champion. He climbed the edge of the bed and waited expectantly as he looked where Four had moved on to wiping Wild's face. Wild stared at him with an agonized expression once the hero was done with his self-assigned task.

Four raised an eyebrow at the Champion. "Well? Are you standing up, or do you want me to drag you to bed?"

"Why…" Wild breathed, his voice as hollow as he felt. "Why are you doing this?"

"Ask me that once I've gotten a decent amount of sleep." Four answered as he draped the blanket over Wild's shoulders. He took one scarred hand and pulled the Champion up. "Believe me when I say I'm about to have a migraine, and I want to sleep before it ever had a chance to get me."

Four nearly dragged Wild toward the bed and had Wind help him get the Champion to settle down. Wild resisted little - partly because he was stumped with why they were treating him like that and partly because there was a promise of broken kneecaps if he did not comply with the Smith's demands. Once satisfied with the two heroes' setup, the Hero of the Four Sword grabbed a pillow, climbed the bed, and squeezed his way to the other side of the Champion.

"There are other beds…."

"Yeah. But I don't see Wind taking one either." Four answered matter-of-factly and laid down with his back turned to the Champion. "Go to sleep. Don't be like the morons who are planning to stay up all night in a pub. I promise you'll feel better with some sleep."

Wild frowned at the Hero of the Four Sword. He wanted to argue that he had slept enough for today and that the Smith instructed Wind to take up the same bed. At his right, Wind threw an arm across the Champion's torso. A gentle breeze swept across the trio, and the Sailor mumbled a Good night, Aryll as he snuggled further into the Champion. Wild tried to wriggle himself free, but the youngest hero's grip was like an Octorok, and he was sandwiched between two of the shortest heroes in a bed meant for one.

Wild sighed in defeat. He is exhausted - far too exhausted for a nearly two-year-old soul. He wanted to rest, to stop himself from running away, and to end it all. They already know. It might not be how he wanted them to learn the truth, but he could do nothing now. Fate had already set tomorrow to be his execution day.

Wild could only hope he was prepared enough to face the heroes' swords.