-Author Notes- First and foremost, I don't own The Legend of Zelda, nor any concept or character unique to that series. These things are the property of Nintendo, and are not being used to earn a profit in any way. If for some reason I made money off this story, I'd be more than happy to see the creators of this series use it to bring us more and better entries. Don't sue me... please.?
Maybe there are some of you who are getting a strange sense of deja vu upon seeing this story. Perhaps vaguely remembering a similar story with a similar title you read years ago. Well, you aren't wrong: Skyward Sword: Not as Planned, like the game it was based on, was original published nearly six years ago, as my first submission to the Fanfiction community. It came from the mind of my 18 year old self; still in High School with more passion than writing experience, and looking back I'm both jealous of the ease I could find the time and motivation to write, and frustrated at how blunt I was and how often I see my personal desires at the time force elements into the story that don't nessicerily 'fit'. Yet... after reading some inspiring fics here, falling into a very rough patch in my life, and then finally picking up Breath of the Wild and seeing Fi rusting, neglected by Link and waiting silently for her true master to pick her up once again... well, it was too much.
So, here I am: restarting this with a full rewrite of my earlier chapters under a fresh publishing. This time, I'm starting the story with a full knowledge of Skyward Sword, a fresh perspective, and an aknowledgement that while I'll do my best to make Cana his own character rather than a self-insert, I'm only human and my own deep crush on Fi means I might falter at times. In fact, its because of my desire to refine her and Cana's story that I welcome any and all critiques and suggestions on how I can fix my writing: either grammatically or in terms of story. Of course, that dosen't mean I don't also appreciate compliments. This story will be rated T for depictions of violence and the damages it causes, as well as elements of romanace and allusions to darker themes. I won't make any unrealistic promises about updates, but I hope you'll trust me to put in my best efforts.
This story is dedicated to old friends lost over the years, or parts of your younger self you want back. It takes work to get them back, but there is no richer reward.
The island of Skyloft; a lonely baston of stone and dirt floating high above the storm-wracked and lifeless layer of clouds. How high, nobody alive could say or even cared to learn. Those who tried had long ago concluded that history here was a next to pointless field of study; what few dusty books they could find unable to tell them how long their people have been in the air, or even that that there was any other place for them to be. What little lore one could find have was too obscured by the mists of myth to be useful; telling tales which suggested ancient rulers who lived for centuries, slaying sky-beasts that never existed or if they did had been driven off long before. Far better, the average Skyloftian rightly concluded, to leave those questions for the great whale Leviathis to ponder, and deal with the everyday issues so the sleepy city plod along in peace.
In many of those same people's opinion, the sleepiest place of all was The Lumpy Pumpkin; a quaint, lived-in sort bar of sorts clinging to one of the larger sky-islands just off Skyloft proper. For most of the day its owner, Pumm, and his daughter Kina tended to the place in the same way it had been tended to for decades: cooking up the restraunt's signature pumpkin soup and dusting the paint-chipped wood, serving the small number of knights and leisure fliers who stopped for a rest. However, if you visited the place before dusk, just as the first hints of orange and pink tinted the sky, there would sometimes be a little spark of something slightly out of the ordinary, as the peak hours rolled in.
Tonight was not one of those times, and understandably so. The trainees at the Knight Acadamy where ordinarily a major part of that evening energy but with the Wing Ceremony planned for tomorrow they were all out flying, making use of every extra minute of practice possible rather than weighing themselves down with a hearty bowl of heavy soup. So, under the light of the glimmering chandler there were only the die-hard regulars; the boy Keet and Rusta, the town coot, along the less frequent patrons: Orielle, Knight Commander Eagus, and a slightly depressed-looking young man, thin of frame and dressed in knee-high breeches and a midnight blue longshirt, starring thoughtfully into his soup bowl.
"Master Eagus," Keet tilted his bottle a bit as he made a respectful gesture towards the knight. "What's the line up looking like for the Ceremony tomorrow?" It was an honest question, well meant and innocent, but the strange boy's grip on his spoon tightened slightly, his eyes focusing on a particularly interesting bit of herb.
"Can't say for certain," Eagus shrugged, talking half to himself. "I've been pushing that boy Pipit to at least give it a go, but he just doesn't seem to have the stuff," A slightly remorseful look crossed his face, before he regained his composure and continued. "Other then that, we've got Groose, Cawlin, Strich, and Link. Not the best I've seen, but good boys."
"I've seen Groose flying about a lot lately," Orielle chimed in softly, a bit of black under her eyes, hands loose on the bowl. "He's got to be in the best shape by now. Link on the other hand…" sounding not quite sure with herself, she paused there, taking in a mouthful of soup as an excuse.
"The boy does have talent," Eagus pointed out, sliding his empty bottle away with one hand while beckoning for another round with the other. "Admittedly, he hasn't been training as much as I would have liked, but I wouldn't count him out just yet. That Loftwing of his is truly amazing."
"A Loftwing aen't nothing with a bad rider," Rusta forced his way into the conversation, voice crackling a bit, before letting out a deep, rancid belch. "Seen it more times than any of you youngsters. Some green kid jumps off a diving platform and gives a little whistle, thinking he can just land on his bird, before"
"Your soup, Commander," Kina conveniently stepped in, setting down another bottle of soup on the table. "We'll just put it on your tab, alright?"
" Ah yes," Eagus's hand rummaged into his wallet for a moment, taking a general feel, Keet taking the chance to speak up. "Link isn't that kind of boy though," He started to lead the conversation back. "When he flies, it's for real. The material knights are made out of. You were a bit of bit of a slacker in your own day, weren't you Eagus?" Laugher soon filled the table, a fist coming down and rattling about the bowls and bottles. Yet, the boy remained silent, giving only a slight cough as the noise started to die down, the conversation stopping enough for him to speak.
"I'm not sure," the words came out solemnly, his voice smooth and quick. "Link knows his stuff, though. If somebody has to win, I'd rather it be him." With that, the boy stood up, turned away, and headed for the exit, letting in a short, pleasant breeze as he opened the doors.
For everybody else, the disruption was quickly forgotten, and the place fell back into and evening lull. Yet, for the boy, it was not over, and as he tossed himself into the air, grabbing onto a slightly scrawny, burgundy Loftwing, the fact that his name was not spoken that night kept haunting his flight.
That name was Cana, Cana Reis.