Chapters 1-6 of OPAF. Cross-posted on AO3. Warnings; violence, discussion of death.
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If you had told him that over fifty years later, he’d be accepted with loving arms into the afterlife, he would’ve laughed at you.
Twilight is going to hell. He knows this very well. But he made peace with it. He had to. Nothing he did was ever holy or saintly. He worked in the shadows, in the mud and in the dirt, rain or shine. And he didn’t mind getting his hands dirty. He was not her hero, he was Twilight, son of Ordon, who breathed in the darkness and embraced the day. He was a father, a son, perhaps one day a grandfather. He had dedicated his life to this Hyrule; this blackened and bruised but beautiful Hyrule, who has no home but this one.
It’s not perfect, but he es with his siblings by his side. He wanted to do more. See more. Help more. Colin and Liza hold both his hands tight, as if he will shatter if they let go. But the triumphant wheeze that is his final breath is not broken. Battered, bathed in shadow, but never broken. Liza holds onto him and weeps, but Colin can only stand by, for if the tears fall from his eyes, he will be acknowledging that he is gone.
As it all goes dark, there is this perfect, angelic smile on his face, as if to spite his hardships. To look evil in the eye and say, “You have tried well, but it was not enough.” To tell it, “Despite all your cruel, sick games, I’m as sane as I ever was. Ordinary people don’t crack. Maybe it’s just you.”
The first face he sees is Shade. Or Time, as he’s come to know him now. That old soul offers him a hand, and without hesitation, he takes it. He’s not nervous to face Hylia. In fact, he’d like to give her a piece of his mind. But there is no time for that. First he must be judged.
The process of the afterlife had been made very clear to him once he started dealing in the business of death, and he knew it would be cold on his shoulders. Everything is now. Bad news, again and again. But things are going to start looking up. He just knows it.
He was guided into the skies, which was the first thing he noticed. He landed on a floor of water, and felt the warm ripples flow over his feet. He wondered if, perhaps, this is the source of all the water in Hyrule. But it was a silly thought. Twilight had always been a man grounded in reality. He didn’t believe it until he saw it. Why should this be any different?
Though…when the Goddess he denied so long stands before him, he cannot help the cold sweat that hides behind his neck.
“Hello, my child.”
He feels like he could throw up.
“I understand this is difficult for you to handle.” Hylia nodded solemnly, “But I know you have prepared for this moment for a long time.”
He has. He still isn’t ready. But he went without regrets, and that’s the most important part.
“You are apprehensive, I see. But there is no worry. You have a place with us here, among heroes.” She explains, but Twilight just shakes his head. “Hm?”
“I’m no hero.” He says, denying it all the way. “Perhaps my actions aligned with yours, but I didn't do it for you. I did it for my family, for the people I loved.” Twilight sighed. “And I’ve done many horrible things. Surely you see that.”
“You have a heavy burden weighing on your heart…after all these years, I thought you might want to soothe it.” Hylia looked at him with pity. It made him sick. He is not to be pitied.
“No, I have no burdens. Not anymore. I am free. And I would do it all again, if I must.”
“I see…” Hylia seemed a little surprised. “You are steadfast even now. And your spirit remains. I…” For a moment, her voice breaks. “I must owe you an apology. I fear in trying to mend your heart and fill your soul, I have only broken them.”
“You have broken nothing. Do I not stand in front of you, at peace?” Twilight smiles.
“Perhaps at peace for the moment. You are restless, Twilight, I know that,” She almost chuckles. “I must insist that you stay here for a few days before you try to haunt the living, at least.”
“No can do.” Even faced with the Goddess, he’s as stubborn as ever. “Need to train.”
“You will not partake in the rewards for your hard work?” Hylia tilted her head like an owl.
“My work’s not done. As simple as that.” Twilight nods.
“I understand…Then you must at least let me help you.” Twilight made a face. “I will not intervene with your work, I assure you. I approve of it. I approve of everything you have done. It is your right to anger - to revenge - to feel your emotions freely. I will not take that away.” That sounded better to him. Though he’s not sure if he trusts that yet. He’s not sure if he can trust anything Hylia says. After their track record, he doesn’t know if he’s ready to forgive her. But he will, in time. He knows that. Perhaps Hylia was an unjust goddess, but now he understands the truth.
She wasn’t born that way. And she was simply trying to help, and failed. He knows that feeling. He knows it well. How could a god possibly understand everyone of her subjects completely? Even the deities are imperfect. They’re people, just like him. And people deserve comion. Perhaps a second chance, one that he was now willing to give.
“I cannot say you should approve of everything, ma’am. But I am glad, at least, that we have an understanding. You must then know that I must meet with someone.” Twilight raised his head.
“Go, then. She is waiting for you.” Hylia smiles.
Thank the Goddesses that the Twili and the Hylians share an afterlife.
There she was. The love of his life.
Midna.
“Hey, you big dork.” Midna smiled, and everything fell away. The world, the fact that he was dead - he knew none of it mattered now. Because she was here. Her, who he thought he got over. Her, who he had waited all his life to see again. Her, who was lovely beyond all meaning of the word, who he could lie with until the end of time.
Words were unnecessary. They always have been with these two. The way Twilight bounded into her arms said it all.
“I missed you.” That much was made abundantly clear, Twilight, but thanks for clearing that up. “I hope I haven’t made you wait long?”
“Not at all. It flew by when I thought of you.” Midna drew him in closer, and like a line with a hook, he stayed there in her embrace for so long that it seemed like hours.
“It’s good to see you —“ Twilight was going to say “alive and well”, but quickly realized that wouldn’t apply here, “It’s good to see you again.” Yes, that might work. He was still fumbling for words after all this time.
“How have you been? I should apologize, I…” Midna looked at him with sadness for that unknown grief that he had held in his heart for so long.
“No apologies. I knew what you had to do. I just had to accept it,” Twilight pulled away, just a bit, so he could hold her hands up to his.
“Then you’ve been well?” Midna seemed hopeful. Heh. Well as he’s ever been.
“More or less.” Twilight chuckled.
“You’ll have to tell me sometime.”
“I will, Mids…I will.”
…
Settling in had been the easy part - Midna already had a place for them to call home back in the Rift, which he learned was where the Twili went when they died. It wasn't much, but it's not like Twilight ever needed anything more than the essentials. It was their little cottage, and that's all he needed.
It was a bit of both their worlds - The Twili's jet black, geometrical designs, with the overgrowth of Ordon's megafauna. Though…it could use some redecorating, if it was going to fit the both of them. Midna doesn't even have a desk! He's not entirely sure how she's survived for this long without it. Not that she needs to anymore, but you understand his point - Twilight kept his journals until the very day he died, filling thousands upon thousands of pages with documents of his adventures codified so that, Goddesses forbid, another hero should be forced to walk his same path, that they might live.
Though it saddened them both greatly, they had to throw out Midna's Light Fruit plants in favor of a Tears of Light vine - a much smaller but more efficient desk lamp. Twilight found that the translucent ink produced in their sacs was a favorite of his, though it could only really write on black paper. That was no issue for him, since he often used it to document the creatures of the Twilight Realm without having to waste too much black ink. Of course, this was the Spirit World, and ink was in no short supply - he's sure Midna could just conjure some if he ran out, but Twilight liked doing things in the way of the living, and finding special plants that produced different kinds of ink and paint was a brand new and fascinating science to him.
Twilight spent many days at his newfound wooden desk just testing out all the new materials that were available to him, and documenting the farthest reaches of the Spirit World, of course. He found that there were several layers to it, beyond just the Rift that he and Midna called home and the Goddess's chamber.
The first of which was the Tenebras, which he had the most amount of information on, as he had visited it several times. There resided the arbiters of death, the psychopomps, and all the newly deceased souls. He had only ever seen it as a waiting room. A place to rest between battles where he had perished. Sometimes he found the complete darkness and silence all too comforting, and was tempted to slip away into the nothingness. But he resisted, and every time, he was revived by a fairy, and shoved back into the fray of his adventure. Now, though, as he had no earthly ties other than his family (which he was certain were taken care of), he found it a nice place to think. Many of the poor souls there reached out to him for advice, which he was glad to offer, although the ferrymen gave him scrying looks.
The second he noted was the shifting planes of the Everwilds, which adapted to every person who walked on them. These plains stretched for miles and miles, and when he had been with the Hero's Shade, they had seemed like nothing but clouds and a floor of shallow water; but now he saw the planes beckon and curl around him, changing colors, moving shapes, transforming. In a way he felt a kindred spirit in that - the ever changing planes and him were just that, always becoming new. Wisps of ages past threatened to pull him back to the world of the living, but he was incapable of manifesting yet, so it was useless. There, in fragments of shattered glass, he saw all of his memories, even those he'd tried to forget. He tended not to stay in these houses of mirrors, but when Midna went with him, the walls changed into stone slabs with ancient Twilit runes. From there he deduced that the Everwilds changes depending on the person traversing it, and tried to reach out to other spirits to see what their results in it might be.
Of course, being somewhat new to the Spirit World, he had no idea who to ask. And, comically enough, he had no friends except the ones he had in his life (which he argued didn't count; Twilight decided he needed to make as many new friends as possible). His mother and father were very encouraging, though, which gave him newfound morale.
The third was the Underworld, which he found utterly and completely locked. Twilight figured this might be the case, and had many attempts to try and sneak in. He was never caught in the middle of one of these, as he had memorized all the guards' schedules (really, the gaps in them were quite tremendous, he'd have to report that back to Hylia later), and sooner rather than later, he found himself over the magical barrier. To his surprise, he found none of the monsters he had fought on his journey here. They must have had a separate world to them, Twilight still had yet to research it. No, the true horror of the Underworld was its emptiness. There were no torturous flames like he had heard in rumors, no violent hellscape of angels, no nothing. Just a bleak, empty, dark field that always seemed to rain.
Twilight did not need to spend much time inside to understand the nature of this plane of existence. A hell, as he'd imagined, would have been too great for these souls. Instead there is nothing that may simulate life, not its pleasures nor its tragedies. And as expected, the simple part was getting in. The hard part was getting out. Twilight found the walls much thicker on the inside than the outside. And he also found that none of his spells that Midna had taught him worked here, even the Interlopers’ ones. He did wonder how so often people like Ganondorf and Zant escaped from this place, because he found it quite difficult. Maybe it was the rage. He couldn't imagine how much they must hate being cooped up in this place. Eventually he gave up on trying to escape by conventional means, and walked directly to the edge of the world, and knocked.
“What do you want?” The ever-suffering voice of the guard bellowed through.
“Out, please.”
“You're hilarious.” This was probably the funniest thing he'd heard all day.
“I'm also serious. I'm a journalist.” Twilight quickly explained, nodding.
“A journalist, huh? What'd you do, sell the secrets of the Spirit World?” He clearly didn't take this profession seriously.
“Nothing, actually. You can check my record.” Any sane person would have considerable fear about their record being checked, but Twilight was both insane and had nothing to hide.
“Sure, kid. Name and date of death?”
“Lincoln Tyler Winchester, September 21st, IY 1925.” Twilight made a special note of it in his journal in case it came up later.
“Let's see….a jarring amount of counts of murder, property damage, tresing on holy ground, lying, manipulation, truly staggering counts of blasphemy, usage of Interloper magic, a couple —”
“Maybe we should skip to the bottom.” Twilight's voice, for once, was very tiny. He knew he'd done all that. It'd never just been listed for him. Well, when you put it like that, he sounds….terrible.
“Ah, ‘all crimes pardoned, for done in service of saving the world’. Lucky ass. I bet that idiot Gregory miscalculated again.” Twilight waited anxiously for the barrier to dissipate so that he could walk through. “Don't get in here again, okay?” Instead, he was very forcibly grabbed by the chest and yanked out of the Underworld.
“Thanks.” Twilight sighed in relief, stepping a decent distance away from the gate, staring at the guard, and then quietly booking it back home.
“What a fuckin’ weirdo. Hylia's chosen hero.”
Twilight made a mental note to not visit the Underworld again.
The next segment of his life in the Spirit World after documentation was training. He knew the world would need him again someday. And maybe that was a vain thought, but it was true. Hyrule needs its heroes. And if there's anything he can do to ease the burden of those new heroes, he will do it. No matter the cost. Shade risked everything to guide him. The least he could do would be to do the same.
So the first person he knew to was Shade - or as he was better known, the Hero of Time, or the Clockmaster. His job was to prevent the timeline from fracturing further. What resulted from these Fractures was beyond Twilight's pay grade, but he's sure that if it was important, Time would tell him. Again he was his prodigy - he studied day and night, even though time was unclear in this plane of the Everwilds, and never rested. In truth, Midna felt quite lonely during these times. She often came to visit and found him entirely drowned in his work. One night at dinner she brought this up, and it was quickly remedied. Twilight reminded himself of his wisdom in relationships - that talking it out was always worth the risk. He even offered her to him in learning how to manifest, but as Midna took the work much slower and at her own pace, she did not learn as quickly as he did.
The first time that Twilight learned to manifest, he visited Colin and Liza. He was naught but a whisper on the wind, and yet, he knew his siblings could feel his presence. Liza leaned in to him when she noticed he was there, and Colin was asleep, so he chose to cuddle with him.
The second time Twilight chose to manifest, he visited Luda. He had quite the time haunting Hyrule Castle. The place always seemed like a dungeon to him, no matter how much he visited. He could not see the place without all its spike traps and prisons. Now that nothing could touch him, though, he found that there was nothing to fear. They had rebuilt the place, after all, and opened it back up to the people. He stayed close by Luda's side, making sure she was well taken care of. And of course, spooking the guards was a fun time as well. Gotta keep those cowards on their toes.
He had made quite a name for himself as the Ghost of Hyrule Castle, and loved the fact that he had rumors about him, a little selfishly, perhaps. It was one of the first times he'd truly learned to live a little, even though it was well past his living era. Twilight found that they had learned little rituals for keeping him away, which he had found very annoying. Of course, he consulted Time for a way to remedy this, and he gave him one. It cost him a lot of magic, but it was well worth it. He learned to take a physical form as a one “Count Winchester”, who the nobles in Castle Town had never heard of. Luda knew, as always, that it was him in disguise, and was glad to have a noble on her side during council meetings.
As Luda neared the end of her life, he stayed with her all the way. Her wives, Beth and Agitha, had already ed on, and Twilight was glad to welcome them into their little corner of the afterlife. Now her daughters were clamoring for the throne, and he knew only one way to settle this, as they were all around the same age, and none had the birthright.
A duel. A duel of magic.
It was written in Hylian law, that whoever seeks to take the throne must possess the blood and power of the Goddess. Now that blood was out of the question, for Luda had none of Zelda's lineage, the only way was to prove that one of her daughters had a wellspring of Hylia's magic.
How he wished he could give them all Hylia's favor, but only one could take the throne. It was tradition. And Twilight knew better than to mess with it.
In the end, though, none of her daughters presented the ability to use sealing magic. And that was when the throne fell to one Zelda Adalet Gagliardi, a very distant cousin of the previous Zelda. She was a popular candidate, as her sealing magic was unlike any they had seen before, but Twilight was anxious. He trusted Luda's line to lead. And though they'd made amends, Twilight and Zelda's relationship had been rocky in the past.
Over the years, as Twilight's friends died out, he amassed quite the following in the afterlife, and decided that just their little cottage was not enough to have all their friends over. So, with Colin and Liza's help, he built onto their home, and made Winchester Manor - a place where anyone was welcome. Soon he found himself ed by Liza's daughters, and Luda's, and thought his family line had perished.
One daughter of Liza remained, though, and went on to have children under a different name. That daughter went on to have children, Evelyn and Genevieve, who married and had several children of their own.
One of those boys of the Winchester bloodline, Percival Bertrand Winchester, was set to be the arbiter of Twilight's destiny.
But that is a story for another day, and there is still more to tell about Twilight's time in the Spirit World…..
…
Life, Twilight had discovered, was a funny thing. There one moment and gone the next, like a leaf in the wind. It was so beautiful and so pointless and so precious and so nonsensical. He could never quite put his finger on why he valued it so much, especially after he had none of his own, but he hated to see it taken.
Soon enough, the most important thing in the world to him would be the life of a boy he had never met.
For now, though, he had no such tethers, as his line was thought to die out with the third generation. And as such, having no one to look after, he became quite lonely, even though he had his wife and his family for company. It was almost as if Twilight had a need to care for the children of this era, as he had in the past. It was in his blood; hospitality, that is; or perhaps it was greater than blood, for he now knew the deeds of his birth parents. That was a story for another day, though.
Presently he found himself with a new dilemma; Time. Both that he had too much of it on his hands, and the person himself.
His not-father had explained to him that the heroes of the past were interested in meeting him (or, truly meeting him, as they’d crossed paths before), and he was glad to oblige them. He found himself only a little nervous about it, and decided to make himself look presentable if he was going to be in such company. He went in his training outfit, which he had been optimizing for the best combat experience. Little did he know, it would become the prototype for his outfit when he descended on the earth.
When he returned to the Goddess’s Chamber, Twilight found himself at odds. Hylia wasn’t present, but he could sense what she left behind. And lo and behold, the same godly aura was beaming around the first person he saw, the Hero of the Sky.
He had dark skin with freckles dotted all over his soft and round face, and a bandana was wrapped around his forehead, his long black bangs falling in front of it. Sky; or Link Skylar Choyang, as was his full name; always had a slender, angelic smile on his face and doe eyes that looked on you with the affection a mother might have for her son. He wore ancient green robes from Skyloft, which he had learned was the birthplace of Hyrule, and a tan shawl that he often used as a parachute or a pillow.
Sky always regarded Twilight kindly, and had welcomed him in. But Twilight noticed the invisible weights of responsibility and anger that hung round his shoulders and past those dark eyes. He knew instantly that this man had been through just as much, if not more than he had, and yet, came out better for it. Sky was miraculous - in ways that Twilight had yet to figure out - but he also was just as much of a man as Twilight was, and he noted the humility in good faith.
“It’s good to see you,” Sky’s voice was like walking on air, drifting serenely between every word. “I heard the old boy gave you a hard time.” Hearing Time referred to as anything less than “sir” was startling, but he supposed that Sky did have superiority to factor into the equation.
“He always does,” Twilight chuckled, taking his hand as he led him into the meeting room. Great white pillars stood all around in a circle, and garlands of roses and lilies hung from the ceiling. There was a fresco depicting the Golden Goddesses on the ceiling as well, which Twilight would find quite interesting, as he didn’t know of any painters in the Spirit World besides himself.
“Well, I hope you won’t be too displeased. Minish is like that as well,” Sky explained, yawning. He always seemed to just barely get enough sleep, even though he didn’t require it anymore.
“This is Minish, then?” Twilight motioned to the short blonde sitting in an armchair on the right.
“Yes, good morning, Minish!” Sky waved, and Minish just squinted at him. Finally, he raised his hand, a touch awkwardly, and waved back.
Minish was the spitting image of him when he was younger - he never had quite hit his growth spurt, though. He had a childlike, round face with one piercing brown eye that peeked out from under his long bangs. His dirty blonde hair was tousled and frizzled, but controlled in the way that Minish seemed to have complete control of it. His tunic was smaller and tight-fitted, built for climbing and traveling rather than fighting. His cloak was pulled into a tight knot around his neck, and he always seemed to sink into it whenever he didn’t care to look at Twilight or Sky.
“Where’s Winchester?” Minish tutted, leaning back in his chair. Even though he seemed irritated, he was apparently very comfortable in the large chair. It seemed to give him power.
“I’m right here,” Twilight piped up, and Minish just glared. “Oh, the other one.”
“I always forget that you two are related. Or, related in ways closer than we are,” Sky did not seem like the type to be forgetful, so maybe he was just acting aloof.
“He’s probably prepping a lecture or something,” Minish curled himself up sideways in the chair, picking at his nails.
“Oh, lectures are his speciality,” Twilight replied, trying to laugh, but finding it stifled under Minish’s cold presence.
“Are they, now?” And curse him for his hubris, Time is right behind him.
“Good morning to you too,” Twilight nodded, making sure not to flinch. Time just laughed and patted him on the back. Heh, he’s getting better and not getting snuck up on.
“Why are we here, Winchester?” Again, both the boys looked up. “We really need to get you two different last names.”
“Or, you could just call us by our actual names,” Twilight suggested, but Minish was clearly unamused. It appears that referring to people by last name was his quirk.
“What about Patch? You have an eyepatch,” Minish pointed that out, then realized he sounded very childish, and shook his head. “No, never mind, that won’t work.”
“Perhaps we should worry about the names later?” Sky smiled, although he didn’t really have a reason to hurry the meeting up. He was the one with all the time in the world on his hands.
“Yes, that’s well,” Time nodded, taking a seat. Twilight and Sky followed suit. “I brought you all-“ (and at this point Twilight noted that Time was stifling his farmer accent) “- here to try and establish something. Us former heroes are retired, but a lot of us want to work again. Maybe not in the same way we did back then, but we want to help. We want to continue making the world a better place.
“You know that when Twilight was in need, I learned how to manifest in order to teach him. And we do not know when Hyrule will need a new hero. When that day comes, we want them to be ready. We want to have peace, for their sake, as soon as possible. You all understand this.
“For that reason, we must stick together. With our powers combined, I believe we could be able to guide these new heroes and to help the common people. Maybe you don’t care for the people of this era, but Hyrule is and always will be our country. We have a duty to it.”
During this speech, Twilight noted Minish’s discomfort. He tried to look over at him as if to ask if he was alright, but found his eyes blocked by the shadow of his hood.
“And, how do you suggest we go about this?” Sky was tentative on it - he did love his home, but his time on it was over. His bloodline had died out by now.
“That is exactly what I called you here for. I think that you might have some ideas.” Ah, yes, that’s Time for “I don’t know”.
“Not all of us know how to manifest like you can,” Minish said, peeping out of his hoodie cocoon.
“You wouldn’t have to. You would just need to be able to channel magic through the new hero,” Time explained.
“I’m with you all the way. But who would lead such a team?” Twilight asked, and then everyone looked at him very strangely. “What?”
“Well, you do know the most about the current Hyrule,” Sky nodded.
“You would know better than us how to manifest, since you’ve been training with Time,” Minish added, and then, quietly, “I don’t want to be the leader.”
“And you’re the one who keeps the best records. You could keep us on track!” Sky seemed excited.
Twilight looked at Time as if to ask for an answer. To give him a task, so he could complete it.
“That’s up to you, Twilight. I’ve already served my share, so it’s all you. Do you think you can handle it?” Time glanced at him.
Can he handle it? Can he? He’s not nearly as wise as these past heroes, nor is he half as powerful. Why him? Wouldn’t Sky be the best fit? He’s always fair.
“I…have a commitment to my Hyrule.” And then again, he’s been yearning for something new. Something to make him feel complete again. “And to all of you. I will not let you down.”
“It’s settled, then! I’m glad we didn’t argue. I hate arguing,” Sky sighed in relief, sinking into his chair.
“But there’s still the issue of the rest of you, and what your roles might be. I have an idea of what I’ll be doing, but what would you like to do, Sky?” Twilight was still new to this whole leader thing. Normally he works alone. But…having these guys with him, it might be beneficial. For the first time in a long time, he feels like he has friends.
“I’m not sure…. But I’d love to ride my Loftwing once again.” Sky never really got the chance to fly anymore; the Spirit World was said to be in the sky, but that’s not true, it is a whole other plane of existence.
“And you, Minish?”
“I’d like for you to stay out of my business.” Ouch. Well, Twilight can’t say he didn’t expect that.
“Time?”
“I’m sure you can find a place for me somewhere,” Time smirked. Nice. Very helpful, Time.
“I’ll work on it, then,” Twilight nodded, then looked at the rest of them. A team of Links, all working together to bring about a better future. Well, this team needed a name. And Twilight guessed that responsibility fell to him.
Ah, whatever. He’ll think about it later. For now, he has work to do.
“I’m going to the surface,” Twilight explained.
“Right now?” Sky blinked.
“Yes. Someone needs help - I can feel it.” Perhaps that was half a lie, but he really did sense some kind of danger on the surface. Maybe it wasn’t immediate, but he needed some action. Maybe then he can get his feet wet on this whole leader thing.
“Go, and do not falter,” Time shook his hand.
“I won’t. I swear it.”
…
From the very first time Twilight went out on a mission, he knew what his purpose was. Get in, get the kid, get out. A silent protector. That was all he needed to be.
But his heart ached incessantly; how he had to leave these children just as soon as he met them, how he never interfered further in their lives, and slowly but surely watched them die. He was no Hylia. There was nothing he could do about fate. But maybe, if he challenged the cruel hands of time, he could make their lives a little better.
This is the tale of Sophocles Bernard, a boy who would change Twilight’s life forever.
…
There were two constants in life; work and sleep.
You load sixteen tons of supplies into the cart, your squire superior tells you how well you did, you go home, you out, and you wake up screaming.
Such was the life for a poor boy from a disgraced noble house, where all he could afford to be was a page to a knight who was never really going to let him see battle. He had no need for more, really, and his fellow pages were tolerable. Sophocles never had a need for books, really. Those were for people who knew how to read. But the stories his mom told him always lit a fire in his soul, and he knew that one day, he was going to make it big.
Washed up with a slipped disc and a bottle that grew him deeper in debt was not how he wanted that to go, but Sophocles managed. And more importantly, he hoped. Someday was gonna be his big break.
When that day came, he knew it. He just didn’t think so far ahead.
Arthur Basilio Winchester, the knight he was page for, was holding a grand party at his estate, and Sophocles was to be the errand boy. This, though, was special. All the big shots - knights, nobles, and royals alike - were to be at this party. If he could just get a word in edgewise, he might be able to move up in the world.
And so Sophocles, a young man of sixteen, dressed in his best clothes, with the perfect smile on his face; and served the guests as best he could.
Arthur, having noted his page’s actions, gave him a little pat in the back, and wished him well on his journey. A word about Arthur; he was always smiling. However, that award-winning smile often turned into a smirk, and he was an excellent gambler. He’d won his fortune playing poker and fighting wars, which were some of his favorite activities.
He had striking red hair and warm brown skin, which his wife, Genevieve, peppered little kisses all over. Sophocles had only met Genevieve a few times, as he was not allowed in his personal estate, but he knew that she was madly in love with Arthur. Arthur had all kinds of charms that seemed to attract women; but he was above all loyal to Genevieve, who he had one beautiful son with. Sophocles had never seen Arthur’s son until today, but when he did see him coming in the arbor, he noted his appearance immediately.
Percival Bertrand Winchester was a young boy of seven, born in IY 2007, when Sophocles first pledged his service to the Winchester house. He had the reddish brown skin of his father and the dark green eyes of his mother, and his hair was a bright ginger that fell in tiny curls around his face. He was wearing a little red vest with gold embroidery, and his glasses were a little too big for his face, so it looked a little like he had fish eyes. Sophocles found such an observation hilarious, but kept it together. He had to be on his best behavior today.
Percival, or Percy, as his friends called him, was stuck by his father’s side as if they were attached at the hip. Sophocles knew that he looked up to his father terribly, so much so that he even had his own little dagger that he pretended to be a knight with. Sophocles had no quarrel with the kid, but he was quite bossy - he noted that he demanded the waiters for candy almost incessantly, and that Arthur could never say no to him.
“I’d like to thank you all for coming,” and Arthur’s kind but somehow holier-than-thou voice moved through the room, as all eyes were on him. “Today we celebrate the recapture of the fort at Arbiter’s Grounds, as well as my son’s birthday. We are so glad you could make it.”
Sophocles crossed his fingers behind his back for someone to please, please look at him.
“I’ll propose a toast - to our hardworking knights, and to my dear son. Aye?”
“Aye,” Sophocles replied with the crowd, mouth barely moving.
The crowd’s glasses clinked, and there was much laughter. But Sophocles didn’t laugh. He waited. Waited and hoped.
Soon enough, Arthur made his way out of the dining hall. He left Percy to play with his friends - the sons of Duke Floyd and Pyrce, plus his cousins - and headed over to Sophocles, who was placed in the ballroom.
“Sophie,” and Sophocles grit his teeth, as that was his mother’s name for him, not Arthur’s, “it’s good to see you. I have something I’d like to talk to you about.”
Please say promotion. Please say promotion.
“Yes, sir?” Sophocles looked up at him, expression blank. Keep calm.
“I’d like for you to come with me to the front lines. The war on the Eastern Church is still ongoing, and my fleet is leaving soon. I’ll need someone I can trust,” Arthur said, placing a hand on his shoulder. Yes, of course, he won’t let you down.
And then he thought of it.
“I’d love to go, sir, but my mother….who will take care of her?” Sophocles’ mother was an old widow, and he never knew his father. She had been sick with hay fever for a long time, and her condition had only worsened.
“Of course, I will provide arrangements for her. You can rest easy.” Sophocles’ eyes sparkled, and he nodded in excitement. “You understand that the front lines will be much harder to work in than the frontier here.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then it’s settled. Pack your things and we’ll leave in a fortnight.”
Genevieve entered from the side and stole him away, but Arthur waved goodbye to him and said that he could take the rest of the night off.
Sophocles went to bed that night completely restless, hugging his pillow. Things were finally looking up.
…
The front line was quiet. Sophocles kept itching to hear the bombs, the cannons. But nothing was there. The war was cold - both sides knew that inciting an attack would be the end of them all.
“Wait and hope,” Arthur had told him, “pray that everything will be alright, that this war will be over soon.”
But Sophocles thrived on the war. It brought him work, it brought him money. And more importantly, it brought him a sense of purpose. He felt like he had finally become something. Something real. Something worth something. Arthur and him were different; Arthur wished to return home as soon as possible, to not miss any moments with his son, but Sophocles wanted it to drag on and on. He knew it was a terrible thought, but he was just a kid, after all.
So when he saw arrows come over Fort Snowpeak’s wall, he rushed to the stables and had the warhorses ready in less than a minute. Yet Sophocles found himself congratulated less and less; no one had the time for it, even if he desperately craved the attention.
There was an old legend about Snowpeak - that there was a reaper here. A strange young man who wandered the cold, soul-searching, whose eyes could freeze you in place faster than the snow. But that was just a legend. Sophocles was not superstitious. He was about to become very, very superstitious.
One day, when the snow had settled, Arthur took him on a supply mission. Sophocles followed along as best he could, but he hadn’t brought enough rations for the both of them. In kindness, he decided that Arthur should have the remainder of them. Arthur just told him that that sort of kindness would get him killed if he were a real knight. Once they made it back, Sophocles found himself a little uncomfortable around him, and this rift only grew larger with time.
It was the little things - a comment here, a jab there. Sophocles was beginning to realize that Arthur was not the perfect knight he had once idolized. He was arrogant, prideful. And that would be his downfall. By the time the war was over, Sophocles found that Arthur was almost entirely fed up with him, and he quit his job soon after. He had decided that he didn’t need a grand fortune and the help of knights at his side. He knew that he only needed his mother.
“I’m home, Ma,” Sophocles said, exhausted. He finally got to hang his coat up. “Ma?”
That’s strange. Ma always answers. Sophocles began to search the house. But there was nothing there. He couldn’t find her anywhere. Worse still, everything was packed up in little boxes.
Though he hated to ask Arthur for advice, he had no idea where his mother might be. So he walked along the cobble road to the Winchester house. A new page - most likely his replacement - opened the door.
“Who is it?”
“Sophocles Bernard, here to see his former Lord.” He nodded.
“We don’t know a Sophocles here,” the page replied.
“Surely he has not already forgotten me!” Sophocles mumbled, then looked up at the window above him. He recognized Percival’s messy orange curls popping out of the sill. “Hello, Percy! Tell this man to let me in. I am here to see your father.”
Percy, hearing him, glanced down at Sophocles. He had a big smile on his face.
“Sophie, is that really you?” He asked, waving from the windowsill.
“Yes, really! Your page will not let me in.”
“Oh, shoo him away! He knows nothing, he’s new. I will meet you down there,” and Percy rushed back into his room and ran down the stairs to meet Sophocles. “Here, let me show you around!”
Sophocles took little Percy’s hand. Over the two years the war had gone on, he’d gotten much taller, and apparently even more obsessed with knighthood, as he had a proper rapier at his side now. Percy gave him a full tour of the lower floor, which he certainly appreciated, but didn’t like having his time wasted. Percy was a cute kid, but really, he could be quite dense. Like father, like son, he guessed.
“Here we are! Papa’s study. Hello, Papa!” He knocked rhythmically on the door, and soon enough, Arthur appeared. He had that same smile that Sophocles now found so annoying, but his expression dropped when he saw the former page.
“Good morning,” Sophocles bit his lip and smiled back.
“Yes, good morning. What do you want?” Despite the obvious anger in his word choice, he spoke very politely, perhaps because Percival was around.
“Do you know where my Ma is?” He asked, “I can’t find her anywhere.”
“Oh, your mother? She’s dead.” Arthur just blinked. Sophocles’ heart sank.
“Dead? Dead, how?”
“From the fever.”
“But you said that you—“
“I did. But we were down on our luck, you see. We had to make some sacrifices to survive.” Sophocles’ heart burned. Sacrifices? How do you sacrifice her life? She hadn’t done anything to you! All she was was a liability to you, wasn’t she? She wasn’t even your page’s beloved mother. She was just another variable. “My condolences. She was cremated, at her request. The jar is in your home.”
Now that he thinks about it, he noticed a new vase when he was there.
“You — how do you—“ Sophocles’ eyes widened.
“Is that all?” Arthur asked. “I’m kind of busy.”
Kinda busy. Kinda busy, his ass. Sophocles wanted to strangle him right then and there. But not here. Not in front of the kid; he hadn’t done anything wrong. Except be born to this animal of a father.
“Yes, that’s all.” Sophocles said through gritted teeth. “Have a good day.”
“Good day, as well. Percy, will you be a dear and show him the way back to the door?” Arthur returned to his study, and Percival showed him out. Before he left, the little boy clasped his hand.
“Sorry about your Ma.” He said quietly, as if that would do anything. As if that would ease any of the betrayal and pain he felt.
“Yeah. Sorry about your Pa.” Sophocles sighed.
“Huh?”
“See you later, kid.”
…
Being down on his luck was something that Sophocles knew well. After losing his house to the courts, he moved further and further north. First he settled again in Castle Town, then in Zora’s Domain, and finally, he found himself again employed at Fort Snowpeak. Not that there was much work at all there, since the war had ended for months now by the time he arrived.
Sophocles found himself down on his luck - and though he was never a pious man, he began to pray. Pray to any deity that would listen. No one answered, but he kept praying. Ironically, he was following Arthur’s advice.
The legend of the reaper at Snowpeak had rung again and again in his ears. As he slipped further and further into poverty, he began hoping that perhaps the reaper would take him, take him away to that big house in the sky. But not yet, he knew, not until he had his revenge.
One day, he spoke the reaper’s name.
“Divine Beast.”
He appeared.
…
Only one question rang true in Sophocles’ mind; are you ready to die?
The reaper was not a person. Or at least, not a person like any Sophocles had known. It was almost a force and almost a face, but not quite either of them.
He knew from the legend how he might appear, but he hadn’t expected any of the gossip to actually be true. There, in the freezing snow, the world turned unbearably cold, the wind whipping around his tied curls and swirling about in ways that almost seemed to form shapes. Sophocles watched as his breath froze in front of him and clattered to the ground, shattering.
Everything was whirling around him, and yet nothing was happening. For a moment he thought saying his name didn’t work. So Sophocles dared to open his mouth to speak —
“I heard you.”
A voice like the steady rise and fall of a guillotine.
And then there was a man, veiled in shadow, who was taller than Sophocles by far. White and gray streaks streamed through long brown hair, and pointed ears longer than any he’d ever seen flicked back to hear the Goddess’s voice clearer than ever before. He wore a blue vest with gold embroidery, armor and fur dotting his shoulders, and a dark cape slung around him.
When the man offered his hand to him, Sophocles hesitated, but took it nonetheless. A chill unlike the wind resounded up his spine. His hands were freezing, physically dripping with ice, frostbitten to pieces.
“You called me?”
“I’m lost,” Sophocles felt as if he were about to cry, for no reason at all. Perhaps it was the cold. “I need help.”
“You came to the right person,” he nodded, and for a second, Sophocles could’ve swore that his touch was full of warmth instead of cold. “My name’s Twilight. What’s yours?”
“So-Sophie —“ He stuttered, shaking from the snow, “Sophocles.”
“Come on, let’s get you out of here. I wouldn’t want you to catch a cold,” Twilight smiled at him, and guided him slowly back to the fort. When Sophocles told the guards to open up, he noted that they didn’t question Twilight’s appearance. Perhaps this ghost was visible only to Sophocles? “You have a nice place here.”
“Yeah, it’s… it’s okay.” Nothing compared to the house he used to have.
“It needs flowers,” Twilight mumbled, and Sophocles thought about how flowers could possibly survive in this ice. “To brighten the mood.” He clarified, but Sophocles just stared.
“I’ll work on it,” Sophocles said.
“You have much riding on your shoulders,” Twilight took a seat in the air, floating, “and you don’t know where to turn.”
“Yes, exactly,” He just read Sophocles like a book.
“I can teach you to fight, to be great. But that all depends on what you want. So, what do you want, Sophocles?” Twilight studied him. Sophocles thought on it for a long time, and then, with a deep breath —
“Revenge.”
“Very well, then,” He couldn’t tell if Twilight was disappointed or excited, “it is a risky business, but I have dealt with it before. First, though, you will need to show me if you can handle it. I am a stern teacher; you will soon find that out.”
“I can handle anything,” Sophocles nodded, “I have nothing to lose.”
“And much to gain, I see.”
“Here’s hoping.”
“I am curious - you are not suspicious of me. Why? I believe you have been betrayed once before,” Twilight asked, again, searching him.
“You’re different. I expected to die, but you…offered to help. To take care of me,” Sophocles explained, taking his hand, “And..I suppose desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“Desperate measures indeed,” He chuckled, but then looked at Sophocles’ dark expression. “You have no one else left, do you?”
Sophocles paused.
“No one.” His eyes watered.
“It’ll be okay. You’ve got me now, ?” Twilight wiped his tears. “Anytime you need me, I’m here.”
And for the next four years, Sophocles followed him. He learned how to fight, how to create, how to use magic. But more importantly, how to be a person again. Despite his nature, Twilight was the father he never had. He trusted him with his life. And soon enough, the day came when they would face Sophocles’ enemy….
Twilight had come to believe in Sophocles more than anyone. He was his beloved prodigy, his son. So he never had inquired further into the nature of his revenge, and had only abetted it. He had taught him everything he knew. From dark magic to the deepest secrets of the Interlopers. He had taught him very well. So when he went to face his enemy on the battlefield, Twilight had stood proudly with him, Ordon Sword in his hand. He would see this through to the end.
“There he is.”
Twilight's eyes snapped across the battlefield in fury; locking onto the man he would set out to kill. He placed a sigil window through which to see his aura around his eye, and that is when he noticed it.
Twilight and this man had the same aura.
That could only mean one thing; he had the same blood. And to have the same blood, he would have to be….
A descendant of Liza.
Twilight would have to murder his own nephew.
Shocked stiff, Twilight drew back, almost in fear. What? How? He was sure his bloodline had died out! He had watched the final granddaughter die in his arms. He saw it! How could anything be more real than that? He noted Sophocles was touching him, holding his hand, saying something, but Twilight could not hear, his ears were ringing.
“....light….Twi…light…Twilight!”
Finally, his son's voice snapped him out of his stupor. Sophocles was standing over him where he had collapsed. Panic was evident on his face.
“Twilight, what's wrong? What's happening?” Oh, you poor thing. You can never know. To kill his own blood would be striking down every ideal he had ever worked for. But to turn back and fight Sophocles instead….was he not also his son, though by adoption? It wouldn't be fair to either of them. He had never met this child; perhaps Sophocles was right, and he had deserved to die, but what if he was wrong? What if he guides a poor, lost boy to the afterlife? His morals were more complex than black and white, and what a fool he was not to question it beforehand. He let his affection for Sophocles cloud his judgment, and now he is going to make a decision that will define him for the rest of his (possibly immortal) lifetime.
“Can't….No, don't do this! Don't!” Suddenly Twilight's hand grasped Sophocles’, a pleading look in his eyes.
“Don't do what?” Sophocles was confused, trying to wrestle his way out of his grip.
“We can't kill him! Not…not yet!” He shook his head.
“What?” And he watched his boy shatter. “What do you mean?”
“He's my….he's my…” Twilight, how could he possibly explain? What way could he say this without giving up on Sophocles? When he trembled, he felt Midna's presence on his back. Follow your heart, she said. Do what you must. “Sophie, I beg of you, reconsider this!”
“What's wrong with you?” Sophocles looked broken. “You - you said you would help me! What'd I do wrong?!” Nothing, dear child. This is his mistake entirely.
“Let him live, for a time. Perhaps you would better watch him suffer than to—”
“What?! No! I don't want suffering, I want closure! I want justice for my Ma! I want—” and Sophocles pleaded with him here, “—you to stay by side!”
“I….I can't….” Twilight let him go, but took a step back. Gods, what now?!
“If….if you won't do it….” Sophocles’ hand twitched, as if it itched for blood. He couldn't blame him. This was what he had been preparing his whole life for. “Then I will.”
“No, wait!” And Twilight rushed forward from the shadows, his shield catching Sophocles’ blade. “Please, it doesn't have to come to this!”
“Whose side are you on?!” Sophocles demanded.
“Yours! No one's! I–I don't know!” He was floundering, for the first time in over two hundred years.
“Either you help me,” and his son imitated his disapproving tone so well, “or you get out of my way.”
A great, deafening pause.
“I can't do that, Sophie.”
“Then fight.”
————————
I hope you enjoyed these first few chapters! Most of it is simply establishing characters and lore. Still, I hope they were exciting! OPAF has been my ion project for a long time now, and I'm glad to share it with the place where I got my start writing.
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