Shura entered the clearing like a swordsman testing unfamiliar ground. His boots found every root, every hollow, mapping escape routes with each step. The ceremonial peace-bonds on his sword rattled loose–not undone, not quite secure. His gaze swept the assembly once, twice, lingering on the children just long enough to make their games stutter into silence.
"Brother-in-arms." The old knight's greeting carried the weight of steel. His fingers drummed against his sword pommel–tap–tap-tap-rest, tap-tap-rest–the same rhythm as the old war-marches.
Link recognized that pattern from Ganfar's rare battle-songs. His grandfather's hands stilled completely.
Desperately seeking reassurance, Link's eyes found Ganfar's familiar form–the sole bulwark against the unknown Link traced the skyknights' emblems with hungry eyes, each thread of gold and crimson promising tales of valor his grandfather hadn't yet shared. His hand flew to his heart in salute, mirroring Ganfar's movement a beat later. The old warrior's weathered fingers and the boy's small ones traced the same path their ancestors had followed.
The skyknights pencil-thin mustache twitched as he caught Link mimicking the salute. His lip curled, slicing through Link's childhood dreams like a blade through morning mist. His small hand fell from his heart, but he stood taller, stretching toward the knights' heights.
'Shura.' Ganfar's whisper carried the weight of old promises. His grandfather's hand tightened on Link's shoulder, but Link observed how his grandfather's other hand drifted to the medallion he always wore - the one he claimed was split between brothers-in-arms. Across the clearing, Shura's hand moved to his own throat, finding empty air where something once hung.
Ganfar and Shura moved in the ancient forms of greeting, each step placing sword-hand away from the sword-hilt. But their boots scraped circles in the dirt like duelists marking their ground. The clearing's breeze-dials stuttered, sensing the storm-pressure building between old brothers-in-arms.
Link counted their steps as they circled–seven paces, like the ritual duels in grandfather's tales. But where those stories' circles ended in clasped hands, these steps carved deeper divisions with each turn. Their shadows touched while their bodies remained apart, like puppets dancing on opposite sides of the same light.
A leaf spiraled down between them. Both warriors tracked its fall with battle-trained eyes, hands twitching toward weapons at the sudden movement. Link's wooden sword bumped against his leg in an unconscious echo.
Shura stepped into Ganfar's space, close as brothers, distant as strangers. Link caught fragments of their whispered exchange:
'Remember the night raid signals?' Shura's fingers twitched in what looked like an old code.
'We swore to protect, not destroy," Ganfar answered, his hand completing the pattern.
"And look what that oath cost us." Shura's eyes darted to the Skypien children. "Some prices are too high for peace.'"
"Trust me, Shura. We've got to give peace a chance. It's the only way forward." Ganfar sighed in resignation. Shura forced a tight smile and averted his gaze in acknowledgment of the won argument.
As the tension between Shura and Ganfar simmered, Link's attention drifted to the clearing. Zelda's bright giggle and Groose's gap-toothed guffaw skipped across the glade, untroubled by the strained silences stretching between the adults. Link watched as a little girl, barely old enough to walk, tottered into the space between the Skyloftians and Shandorians. Her chubby legs carried her from one group to the other, like she was playing a game only she knew the rules to. She didn't seem to notice the way the adults tensed up as she crossed the invisible line separating them.
Link saw Zelda's father, Wyper, standing nearby. The big man's face looked like a thunderstorm, his eyebrows scrunched together, and his mouth set in a hard line. Link couldn't tell if Wyper was angry or scared as he watched his youngest daughter stumble into the empty space between the groups.
Everyone's eyes were glued to the little girl, and Link could feel the air growing thicker with each wobbling step she took. Some grown-ups looked like they wanted to smile, while others had the same faraway look Link sometimes saw in Ganfar's eyes when he talked about the war.
Shura's hands balled into fists as the toddler wandered closer to the Skyloftians. His face reminded Link of the way Ganfar looked when Link climbed too high in the trees - like he wanted to yell at Link to be careful but was too scared to even speak. But there was something else in Shura's eyes, something darker that made Link's stomach twist uncomfortably.
Link's wooden sword carved victory arcs through the air until whispers pricked his ears. "The wingless one plays at being a knight." Snickers rained down like fall leaves, each one burning against his shoulder blades.
"I'm going to be a Sky-knight too. One day you'll see." Link stuck his tongue out in defiance. As he looked around at the other children, a pang of longing tugged at his heart. Each one of them bore a set of pristine white wings, a symbol of belonging and acceptance in Skyloft. His own back, devoid of wings, felt heavy with the weight of exclusion. Link's wooden sword slashed at whispered taunts, each strike marking the empty air where his wings should have spread.
Groose shouldered past Link, sending the smaller boy stumbling. But when Link's wooden sword caught on a root, Groose's hand shot out to catch it before it could snap. He turned the movement into a shove, gruffly muttering, 'Better keep hold of your toys, wingless wonder.'
Link noticed how Groose's own sword bore careful repairs - someone who knew the value of a wooden dream, despite his harsh words. Groose swung his wooden sword in wild arcs, his red hair bouncing with each exaggerated movement. Though he tried to exude a self-assured swagger, his green eyes, normally brimming with bravado, darted around the clearing like those of a cornered animal. Groose's sword swings grew wider with each uncertain glance at the elders, his red hair flashing like a distress signal above his forced grin.
Link watched as Zelda raised her bow high, her voice ringing out, "I want to be a sky ninja! I'm Zelda, the best Shandorian ninja ever!" She spun around, her gaze darting to her father, but Link couldn't see Wyper's reaction from where he stood. Zelda's shoulders slumped a little, and she turned back to her bow. He watched as her youthful face grimaced in concentration as she shifted her stance to match the other Shandorians.
Link watched as Zelda danced between the Shandorians and the Skyloftians, her feet tracing patterns in the grass. When a Skyloftian woman dropped her handkerchief, Zelda scooped it up and handed it back with a smile and a strange set of words Link didn't recognize. The woman's stern face softened, and she nodded at Zelda.
Groose stomped over, his wooden sword swinging. "What are you doing?" he hissed at Zelda. "You're supposed to be on our side!"
Zelda just shrugged and skipped away, leaving Groose scowling and Link wondering what "sides" meant.
The red-haired boy thrust his wooden sword skyward. He shouted, "Then I'm Groose! I'm going to be the greatest sky pirate Shandora's ever seen!" Link watched as the boy puffed out his chest, but his sword wobbled in his grip. Groose's eyes flicked to the Shandorian elders, and he yelled even louder, his face turning as red as his hair.
Groose's spirited declaration drew the attention of both the Shandorian and Skypiean groups, carving out a space where childhood imagination prevailed over conflict. His voice cracked on 'pirate,' but he lifted his chin higher, repeating the word louder as snickers rose around him. His wooden sword never wavered.
Something cracked in Shura's eyes when the Shandorian boy raised his wooden sword in play. Link recognized that look - he'd seen it in his own reflection after nightmares. But where Link's dreams faded with morning light, Shura's haunted gaze never wavered. His hands shook as they gripped his sword hilt, knuckles white as clouds, yet Link noticed how those same trembling fingers had gently steadied a stumbling Skyloftian child moments before.
As Shura stepped forward, Link noticed how the man's eyes darted around the clearing, like he was looking for something that wasn't there. It reminded Link of the faraway look Ganfar sometimes got when telling stories about the war, like he was seeing things from long ago. Shura's hand shook as it gripped his sword, and Link couldn't help but think of the scary parts in Ganfar's tales, the ones with fires and crying children and flapping black flags emblazoned with white skulls grinning in warning. Even from a distance, Link could sense the fury radiating from Shura's tense frame. The clearing fell silent, every breath held in anticipation of Shura's next move.
Shura's face contorted like a storm-bent tree. When Link sought refuge in Ganfar's familiar gaze, his grandfather's jaw had turned to stone. Link's wooden sword clattered against his leg as he stepped back. Link felt a chill run down his spine. He'd never seen an adult look so... scared. And angry. It was like watching a storm brewing in human form, and Link couldn't help but wonder what terrible things Shura must have seen to make him look that way.
Shura panted raggedly, eyes glistening with unshed anguish. A vein pulsed at his temple, a visible metronome of his mounting fury.
"'Shura...' Ganfar's gruff voice cut through the tense silence. Ganfar edged nearer to Shura, fingers twitching toward his own hilt in wordless warning," Remember why we're here," Ganfar continued, his tone a mixture of warning and plea.
Leather creaked. Steel whispered. Shura's sword rose like vengeance given form. The blade quivered, an extension of his barely contained rage. Shura coiled like a snake poised to strike, fingers blanched against his hilt. 'You expect me to forgive?' He spat, syllables acid on his tongue. "After what they did..."
Sensing the explosive danger, Ganfar stepped forward, his calloused palm pressing firmly against Shura's heaving chest. His steely eyes burned with an intensity that could melt iron. "Stand down, brother," he growled through gritted teeth. "This path...it leads only to more suffering."
Shura's fingers danced along the edge of his blade, a lethal caress. His eyes locked with Ganfar's, a silent challenge crackling in the air between them. But then, Shura's knuckles slowly unclenched as Ganfar's words pierced the fog of his berserker trance. With a weary sigh, the fire in his eyes smoldered, and he gave a curt nod.
Link stood paralyzed at the sight of Shura straining against Ganfar's restraining grip. His earlier excitement at seeing the knights withered under the heat of Shura's fury. Link's skin prickled as he watched the color drain from the adults' faces, their eyes wild and jaws clenched. Link backed away, finding Zelda and Groose's familiar warmth in this storm of adult anger.
As Shura and Ganfar's whispered argument grew more heated, Link found himself drawn to Zelda and Groose, their presence a beacon of normalcy amid the adults' turmoil. Zelda scrunched her face in concentration, scanning the tree line as if trying to piece together a puzzle only she could see.
A heartbeat later, Zelda's expression morphed into one of pure terror. "Guardian!" she screamed, her voice shattering the uneasy peace of the clearing.
Link followed her gaze, his heart leaping into his throat as he saw the branches overhead begin to sway and buckle. A shadow vaster than any he'd ever seen engulfed the clearing, plunging them into an unnatural twilight. Link's hand found his wooden sword, gripping it tightly as if it could protect him from the horror that was about to unfold.
The canopy parted.
Ancient trees that had seen a hundred summers splintered like kindling. Coils wider than war tents blotted out the sun, casting the clearing in shadow. Link's wooden sword bumped against his leg, its familiar weight suddenly foreign.
He saw it in fragments - too vast to comprehend the whole. A head larger than their gathering tent. Eyes like wells of ancient night. Scales that sang with each movement, their song older than the oldest knight's tales.
Shura's unfinished threat died in his throat. Ganfar's hand found his sword hilt, but didn't draw. Around the clearing, warriors who had spent lifetimes honing their craft stood frozen, their battles forgotten in the face of something that made a mockery of human strength.
The afternoon dimmed, as if the sun itself was retreating. In that strange twilight, the barriers between Skyloft and Shandora seemed to blur and fade, leaving only people - small, fragile people - staring up at power beyond their measure.
Link's feet moved before his mind caught up, pulling him toward the forest's edge. Not retreat - his body remembered too many of Ganfar's drills for that. But a recognition, bone-deep and instinctive, that some forces reshape the world by their mere presence.
The thunder of cannon fire split the air, launching Link into a panicked flight through grasping roots and whipping branches. Only Zelda's iron grasp on his fingers tethered him in the maelstrom of his terror.