Hero's Blood

By Shadsie

Disclaimer: The Legend of Zelda and related characters belongs to Nintendo. Valiant Comics elements belong to Valiant Comics and Nintendo of America. I seek to make no money from this.


Notes: This story is based upon Zelda II. It is also based upon the little-known Valiant Comics series put out by Nintendo of America back in 1990.


Warnings: Violence, Partly based on a non-canon/quasi-canonical source, Plays with *both* Reincarnation Theory and Bloodline Theory, References to various other LoZ games and a couple of anime series if you can catch them.





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Link silently cursed himself as the chains on his wrists rattled. The manacles scraped the scabbard on his back. That was perhaps the bright spot in all of this – they hadn’t taken his sword. They tried, but when any of his captors had tried to touch it, strange sparks of energy had come from the hilt and burned their hands. One determined Darknut had tried to yank it from its scabbard and found it wouldn’t come free, so they’d just chained his hands behind it, as he couldn’t use it now, anyway.


And if all went according to the plan, he’d never use it again. Link couldn’t believe they’d gotten the drop on him. He’d insisted on going alone on his hunt, he’d “wanted to get in touch with nature on his own,” and it had cost him. Even after he’d broken the Spell of Eternal Sleep on the princess, the evil creatures of the world were still hunting him, still hoping to bring back their master, Ganon. How many years had it been? How many years had be been eluding them and fighting them off? Link had often wondered when they’d give up, but the answer was clearly “never.”


Now they had him. He was marched in front of that one Darknut, with a pair of Stalfos at his sides, and Moblins and Goriya behind them. Some of the creatures of the Overworld, whom he’d never seen down in the old dungeons and ruins before, were venturing down now. The young man was tense. He could hear the various growlings and screeches of wicked creatures, behind him, in the darkness, and behind the walls. Every one of them was howling for his blood.


Down, down he was forced to walk, spear points to his back and sides. “Careful!” a Wizrobe screeched in a hissing voice. “Bruise him all you like, but not a cut, not a scratch! He must not lose a drop before we reach the remains of our master! Every drop is precious!”


Link briefly wondered why his blood was so magically important. He’d read stories like this, where evil wizards and hungry gods always demanded the blood of someone – young maidens and children, typically. Why was it always blood? Why not flesh, bones, hair? Or perhaps sweat or piss? Those were body fluids, too. The air inside the roots of this mountain was stifling. He and the party that was “escorting” him were far away now from the entrance, as the gusts down the corridors had stilled. He was halted and stood in complete darkness. The breath of his captors was hot and rank, smelling of rot and death.


Torches on the walls were lit. This room was devastatingly familiar. In the center of the room was a pile of light gray ashes, a sizeable pile, and in this still air, it was the same as he had left it years ago – completely undisturbed. Link gave a snort, looking down at what remained of his old nemesis. The odor of stale burning was everywhere – but not like the scent of burnt wood, more like the stench of burnt hair and meat. There were odd, circular shapes on the floor all around the ashes, inscribed with strange symbols. Link had seen something like these before. Though they were not many, his home country of Calatia had a few wizards and scientists who called themselves “alchemists.” They drew circles like these on sheets of paper and in the dirt in order to aid in the magical transmutation of one material into another. It was a fascinating process, and Link had often enjoyed watching alchemists at work. He even recognized some of the symbols on the floor before him – and the meanings behind them as he read them were decidedly sinister.


He felt a blow to his back as he was pushed to his knees upon the central circle. A cloud of ash came up in his face. A hand grabbed his hair and yanked his head up. It belonged to the Wizrobe, by the feel of his bony fingers and the sound of his swishing robes. Link then felt the cold, flat steel of a knife pressed to his throat and heard chanting, dark and low. It was then that his world melted away.



He was falling through Time. He knew what was what he was doing, though he didn’t know how. Everything was white and he could feel his body stretch and bunch. He could see the silver gears of clocks everywhere. He was a child and a man. He became a child again and searched long and hard for a friend. He looked upon the sky of another world and saw the glaring face of an angry full moon. He had to hurry. The world was about to end.


He wandered through a strange, cloudy, golden and falling sky. The world was painted in the colors of sunset and the clear forest spring beside him was moaning – no… it was the spirit of the spring. His body was different, changed. He was a beast, a strong wolf with thick fur and strong teeth. His spine felt strange, a tail wagging at the end of it, and his heart was beating strangely. There was a little female creature upon his back, and somehow, he knew that he cared about this creature. What was this? Where was he? Who was he?


He was young, and was ascending a mountain. He grew curious about a small pool. He was transformed again, and in a stranger way than in the impression he’d had before. Stretching before him were the pink furry paws of a rabbit. The sky was golden, but not like it was before. The sky was a red-gold, and malevolent.



Link came back to himself. He could still hear the chanting. He could feel the edge of the Wizrobe’s knife begin to bite into his skin. In an instant, the blade would slick through skin and veins and it would all be over. In half an instant, Link jerked, popping his hands free of the manacles. He’d been shifting them the whole way down here. Link had big wrists and small hands, or at least, that’s what he used to explain how he got out of situations like this. He stood and went for his sword like lightning.


The Wizrobe shrieked as he sliced its middle and dispelled it into black smoke. The Darknut and the Stalfos were upon him. Link’s blade bit into dry bone as he felt a blade slice his right side. He hissed in pain and wheeled around, beheading the living skeleton that had gotten him. He felt a punch land under his ribs on his left side. No… Link realized to his horror that it wasn’t a punch. His other Stalfos escort stood before him, one of its long twin-blades stuck right through him. He felt its tip slide out as the creature withdrew it.


Link fought the urge to double over in pain. He spun around; sword grasped in both hands, with all his force and aimed the blade carefully. He felt it slice through flesh that turned to smoke, and clatter through bones that fell to the ground. He earned more cuts before he managed to slide, kneel, and wedge the blade’s tip beneath the helm of the Darknut. He felt his feet slip in what he at first thought was mud, before he remembered that the floor in this underground chamber had been purely made of stone. The young man looked down. His boot was smearing ashes, soaked in blood – Ganon’s ashes, soaked in his own blood.


He was bleeding everywhere.


The entire room shook. There was a groaning that echoed off the walls and turned into roaring. Link ducked behind a pillar, finally free to double over in pain. He didn’t have any bandages, potions, or any of his other customary supplies. They’d been taken from him, all save his sword, which his enemies were apparently unable to touch.


There were strange, strangled squealing noises coming from the center of the room. Link looked, because, like the room, those sounds were devastatingly familiar. Didn’t they need all of his blood to resurrect the Dark Lord? That was what he’d heard - that he was to be sacrificed to bring Ganon back, but that the ashes needed to be doused with all the blood in his body. He was losing it fast, but Link still had enough left in him. Still, whether it was morbid curiosity, or just a gut reaction, he looked.


A shadow rose and coalesced from the bloody ashes on the ground. It looked flat at first, like a stylized painting. What rose from robes of shadow was the profile of a swine’s snout and long, curved tusks. One red eye glared from that darkness, and then two as the shadow creature turned around. Flesh formed beneath the robes, tight and yellow. Link continued to watch in morbid curiosity from his hidden place. Horror clenched his heart. This creature was Ganon… Ganon was alive again. He was a bit smaller than Link remembered, however.


“Incomplete!” the new revenant cried. “The hero’s blood… I must have more!”


Ganon bent down and put his face to the floor. Link stared as the wizard licked up puddles and spatters of his own dark life fluid. Ganon ran his tongue luridly over the smears on the stone, his red eyes betraying neediness, perhaps even a form of lust. Link wondered if he should strike now, if he could send this creature back to ashes. The hero shivered and his body felt cold. He felt incredibly weak, as if he expected to melt if he tried to stand. His wounds screamed angrily at him. His muscles felt tight.


“Incomplete!” Ganon moaned again. “Not all of myself…” He stood and glared at his hands. “I am a shadow, a shadow! Need more… he’s wounded. He must be near.”


Link assessed the situation as Ganon was sniffing the air, trying to catch his scent. He wanted to fight! No… he’d remembered Zelda telling him that “discretion is the better part of valor.” No one could call him a coward. He just knew that he wasn’t good to any of his friends dead. As “incomplete” as Ganon was, Link knew that he was the stronger one right now. What was worse was the fact that he was bleeding everywhere, and that his blood flying around in a fight might serve to strengthen the Dark Lord. He would very likely be killed in one blow, or stagger forth to fight and drop right there. Link knew that he was no good to any of his friends dead, but that he was very good to Ganon dead. He couldn’t take that risk.


Ganon went back to lapping blood up off the floor. Link slunk around behind pillars and in shadows. He felt his way along a wall, dizzy and feeling like he was going to collapse at any moment. His wounds stabbed into him with every footstep, the deep one on his left side being the most profound. His clothing was sticky and clung to his body. The scent of iron was thick in his nostrils. Ah, what was that he felt? Cool wind? His fingers found a depression in the corridor wall. Link felt at it and looked carefully, then climbed into a crawlspace. He smelled fresh air, leaves, the scent of the forest.


Link emerged high on the mountain, in a place he’d never seen before. It was night. Everything was pale, lit by the full moon. He ran and rolled, with a lot of pain, down a steep trail. Not all of the rolling was voluntary – it came as the result of him stumbling and tripping. He soon found himself in a forest of scraggly trees. Leaves fell down around him and the aroma of Fall was thick. He could smell it over the iron smell. He moved in between the trees, surprised that he could still walk. He felt at his wounds, thinking he’d stopped bleeding. The blood on his tunic was drying and sticky, but a fresh gout spilled forth from the one deep stab wound. He hoped nothing vital had been damaged. He couldn’t tell.


He found an apple tree and wrenched a ripe fruit down from a low branch. He bit into it with the ravenous lust of an animal. The young man knew instinctively that he needed something sweet if he was to keep awake and keep going. His pain did not subside, nor did the “dropping” feeling that had come with the blood loss, but maybe the sweet juice filling his mouth would help.


He staggered a few paces more before falling down among the drying leaves. Maybe he would rest here for a bit. Fall was the season of dying, perhaps it was his time. Link looked up at the stars between the slender branches of the trees. He could pick out the constellations. The stars looked the same here as they did in Calatia. He remembered the nights he and his brothers, and his little sister, would lay out in the field behind their house and look at the stars. They’d tell each other stories. Their father would sometimes join them, and tell them stories about their ancestors. Ah, yes, Link remembered, he’d been named for an honored ancestor, a man who’d been a hero. He’d lived in Hyrule, too…. Their family had come from Hyrule to Calatia a few generations back. Now, here he was, back in Hyrule.


“Full circle,” he whispered to himself. He wondered what Zelda was doing right now. Maybe she was worried about him. He’d gone off on his hunt and had been captured three days ago. She had her kingdom to rule, though – she need not concern herself with him. Surely, she thought he was just goofing around. Perhaps she was angry with him, for not being back at the appointed time. He was going to miss her, and his family. No, he couldn’t let himself think like that. He was going to survive… he just did not know how yet.


He heard hoofbeats. This mountain was crawling with lynels. Link sat up and drew his sword. If he had to go, at least he’d go out fighting. A minute or two passed in silence, and then he heard a voice call his name.


“Link? Liiiiiiiiiink!”


It was Princess Zelda’s voice! Link tried to call back, but found his throat tight. He sheathed his sword and summoned the strength to rise to his feet. He grabbed a long tree branch on the ground and used it to steady himself as he walked. He saw her on a narrow trail, mounted on her white horse.


“Link?” she asked. Even in the darkness, he could see the appalled look in her eyes. He must have been a sight.


“Zel-da,” he managed before he felt himself falling. Darkness swarmed around his vision and overtook him, and everything went numb. He heard the creak and thump of Zelda’s boots as she dismounted and felt the light pressure of a hand on his back, and the warm sensation of another caressing his cheek. He registered feeling cold just before feeling nothing at all.




Zelda sat in a small chair in the fireplace-lit room. Lanterns hung all around the room’s sole bed, in which lay Link, stripped to the waist. Impa was hard at work, her wrinkled but dexterous hands stitching rent skin together. An errand-girl had been sent to summon the fairy, Miff, but no one knew how long she would take to get here.


An idle thought crossed the princess’ mind. In the fireplace and lantern light, Link’s bare skin looked soft, despite the angry wounds it bore. The young man’s muscles were well-toned underneath it, but it was the soft skin of a boy. Zelda could see the faint outlines of old scars, too, the remnants of his travels, the remnants of his quests to save her. It hit her hard and she struggled not to sob. She did not want to break down and distract Impa. Link had really sacrificed a lot for her. He was an adventurer, he sought danger, at least to a degree, but he did not deserve all of this – the wounds he endured for her sake. She wish she’d treated him better, that she’d given him a stupid kiss once in a while – perhaps she’d give him one as long and as deep as the one she’d given him when he’d awakened her from the Spell of Eternal Sleep, the one kiss he’d given him, once he woke up.


If he woke up.


“His injuries are dire,” Impa said, smearing some more salve on a freshly-stitched wound, “I do not know how much help my medicine and magic can be. He has lost a lot of blood.”


“We have to do all we can,” Zelda said calmly, concealing her worry.


It was sheer luck that she’d found him on that narrow Death Mountain trail. When he did not come back from hunting, she’d sent men out to look for him. By the next day, she was riding with them herself. They’d searched that day and the next in the woods where he’d said he was going to, and suspecting the worst, the princess had gone with a search party to the Death Mountain area. It was late into the night when she’d had a peculiar feeling and rode out onto that tiny side trail alone. Her long, sensitive ears had caught the distinctive steel sound of a sword being loosed from its scabbard. It had a familiar ring and she knew that Link had to be near. She trusted her instincts and called out to him. Moments later, he came staggering out of the woods, most of his frame soaked and glistening with blood. He’d collapsed in a pathetic heap before the front hooves of her horse. She’d feared he was gone even then, but she lifted him up, got him in the saddle, and rode back to where she’d left the rest of the search party. If she had not heard the sound of his sword and cried out for him, she may never have found him.


Zelda startled as Link groaned and stirred. “Sssh,” Impa chided him. “Stay still. We are trying to help you.”


He looked right at Zelda. “Zel-da,” he rasped. “Need… need to tell you….”


“What is it, Link?” the princess asked gently. She moved her chair closer to the bed. She winced as she watched Impa’s work. The old nursemaid passed something into her hands.


“Soak this cloth,” she said, “and put it on his forehead. “It’ll help him feel a little better.”


Zelda did as instructed, and Link regarded her with a strange, glazed look. He looked somewhat panicked.


“You’re not going to die,” Zelda said, trying to assure him, and herself as well.


“Not that,” he said. Hearing his voice, weak and breathy, was painful. It wasn’t the same voice that challenged an enemy or serenaded her with songs.


“Princess,” he continued, “I… I failed.”


“No, no, no, you didn’t fail. I’m okay, see?” she said. “I’m right here, safe, and so is the Triforce of Wisdom.”


Link closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Zelda figured it was from the pain he was in, but truly, he looked frustrated.


“I failed,” he rasped. “Ga… Ganon…. My blood…. Didn’t need all of my blood…”


“What are you talking about?” Zelda questioned.


“Ganon has returned,” Link said frankly. He looked at the princess very seriously, and even Impa turned her attention away from her healing work for a moment. “He’s returned!” Link said more forcefully. “I was captured… they were going to sacrifice me, I escaped, but…. But… he got what he needed. He’s alive…. Again. He’s not what he used to be… but he’s back. Zelda, I have failed you.”


Impa put a hand on one of the areas of his chest that wasn’t wounded and gently bade him to lie back down. “Don’t strain yourself!” she commanded.


Zelda simply stared at him, gnawing at the knuckles of her balled-up right hand. “It’s true?” she gasped.


“I saw him,” Link said with conviction. “I am sorry. I brought him back…”


“Nonsense!” Zelda retorted. “It wasn’t your fault, Link. You didn’t want it to happen. Those monsters hurt you.”


“Maybe if I’d been a little quicker…”


“Sssh,” Impa said, “No use in fussing over it now. There’s no use in thinking what might have been when what is, is. Here, drink this.”


Link gagged as the old woman thrust a bottle of bright red liquid in his face. She practically forced it down his throat. “Very good, that should help with anything internal. Now you be a good boy and lie still for me. No stressing yourself out. You’ve got to concentrate on staying alive. You’re no good to anyone around here but the undertaker as a corpse, especially if Ganon’s back.”


Link lay still, trying to ignore the sensations of needle and thread going through parts of his skin. It wasn’t so bad, really. The salve that Impa was using to dress the wounds had a numbing effect, so while he still felt the pressure, he didn’t feel the acute pain he would have felt otherwise. He did not much like Impa’s morbid manner, but she was always a very practical and brutally honest woman. He wondered if those ways came with age. He felt soft fingers stroking his hair – he noticed that his hat was gone, but he didn’t care about that at the moment. Those same fingers stroked his ears. It had a very calming effect. Zelda was being almost motherly.


“Impa?” Link asked cautiously. “You know a lot about magic, right?”


“Yes, my dear,” the nursemaid answered.


“Earlier… inside Death Mountain, something strange happened to me. It had to do with some magical symbols Ganon’s creatures had painted on the floor, I think.”


“What happened?” Zelda asked.


“I had…. All these visions… more like impressions. It was kind of like reliving old memories, but I don’t think they were mine. I felt everything. The first impression I had was of falling through Time, then… I was a wolf and everything around me was the color of twilight. Then there was this angry red sky and I was trapped in the body of a rabbit of all things. Was I dreaming? It felt very real. All of this happened before a Wizrobe was about to cut my throat to harvest my blood.”


“You’re dreaming, Link,” Zelda said.


“No he isn’t,” Impa said with authority. “He was not dreaming, Zelda. He was remembering.”


“Remembering?” Link asked incredulously.


“Yes,” Impa said as she began to wind bandages around his middle, “There are not many people who live outside of Time, but you are one of them, as am I, and Princess Zelda.”


“Huh?” Link questioned.


“Impa?” Zelda asked.


“Zelda, dear?” Impa inquired, “Would you get me a book off the bookshelf on the far wall? That big green one.”


Zelda got up and went to the bookshelf. “This one?” she asked before pulling it off the shelf.


“Yes, that’s the one – with the golden lettering on the cover. Bring it over here into the light, my dear. If I remember correctly, the old Hero Legend is right about in the middle.”


Zelda sat with the book on her knees, turning the pages gently. She could not read the writing – it looked like a form of Hylian letters, but it was archaic, and what words she thought she could make out seemed to be spelled strangely, with extra characters on the end, words that shouldn’t be adverbs being spelled as such, and other things of that nature. “You can read this?” she asked Impa.


“Of course,” the old woman replied. “To perform some of the spells I know, I have to read Ancient Hylian.”


“Why didn’t you ever teach me?” Zelda asked, “Knowing this could be very useful.”


“You never asked,” Impa said with a smile. “I can begin your lessons right away, if you’d like.”


Link was glancing at the book. He began softly mouthing; “This is a legend held dearly by the royal family, the story of a boy who waged battles across Time…”


“You can read that?” Zelda demanded.


“Sure. It’s my native Calatian.”


“Hold still, boy!” Impa commanded. He had been moving around a little too much. “In any case,” she said, “That’s the beginning of the Hero Legend. There are actually a number of different heroes in the Great Line, whose feats are all chronicled in that book. Perhaps you should turn to the illustrations, Zelda. There are many rather beautiful drawings and etchings among the pages.”


“What does this have to do with what I saw in Death Mountain?” Link asked.


“You are one of them,” Impa said with a smile. “Of course, your feats have not been recorded in that magical book just yet, because you are still alive. You are part of the Great Line. What you saw was the result of your living outside of Time. You were experiencing the lives of your past selves, memories from your past lives.”


“Past lives?” Link yelped.


“Tell me, Link,” Impa said as she finished with the bandages, “Ever since you were a very young child, did you feel the call of Destiny? Did you feel like you were destined for something grand and you didn’t really know why?”


“Well, yes, actually, I did. It was why I decided to travel and explore the world.”


“According to the legend, there is one Chosen Hero who appears whenever the world is in gravest danger. He is always from the same bloodline, and he is always named Link.”


“I was named after one of my ancestors….” Link whispered, looking at the ceiling.


“Yes,” Impa said, “And he was probably, in turn, named after the last one. According to one part of the legend, the Hero has always been the same soul, traversing Time, resurrected into the bloodline as needed.”


“So, I guess I shouldn’t worry too much about dying,” Link said, “I guess I’ll always come back.”


“No, you should worry about dying,” Zelda said, “Because people in there here and now care about you.”


Impa took the book from Zelda and began flipping through it. “I just remembered…. There is a very powerful healing spell in here somewhere. I can’t believe I forgot about it! I really ought to have put a slip of paper or a feather in here to mark it.


“The title on that page of legends….” Link began, “Why was it ‘The Legend of Zelda?”


“Really?” the princess asked, “That’s what it said?”


“Uh-huh,” Link said.


“She is the Legend-Keeper,” Impa said, “The Underpinner. Every firstborn girl born into the royal line is named Zelda, to honor the legend.” Impa nodded to the princess, “The records lost count some time ago on your true number, my dear. Anyway, not every Zelda meets a Link, but every Zelda that does becomes the keeper and the teller of the Link’s legend. Like Link, every ‘true Zelda’ is the same soul in a new body. Ganon…. Or Ganondorf, as he used to be known, is an ancient evil. He always returns, always the same soul and the same body – as corrupted as Power has made him through the generations. His is a continuous life, only to be seemingly ‘killed’ and sealed away until he becomes strong enough to break the seal and rise again.”


“And I brought him back…” Link sighed. “I screwed up.”


“No you didn’t,” Zelda assured, smoothing back his hair again, “Please don’t blame yourself for what Ganon’s creatures did to you. You’re not at fault.”


“It was Destiny,” Impa said. “His is an evil that cannot be destroyed completely. Only now, you say he is incomplete?”


“Yeah… he was shorter when I saw him than when I fought him… and he was moaning about being a shadow of his former self. Didn’t…. he didn’t get all of my blood.”


“Sssh,” Zelda soothed. “You ‘killed’ him once; you can ‘kill’ him again.”


“Just when I thought my work was done.”


“It’s never done, dear boy,” Impa said, “Neither is Zelda’s. Each of you is tied to the Triforce. And that sword of yours, Link…” Impa pointed where it, in its scabbard, lay against the foot of the bed, “If there is no other proof, that is. That is the Master Sword, though it looks different than the old etchings. Perhaps it has had to change forms with the passage of time, too. No evil creature is able to touch it, and only the true Hero can wield it.”


“My…my magic sword?” stuttered Link. “That… that explains in, then… Even that Darknut couldn’t draw it. I’m still alive because of it – Ganon’s followers couldn’t get it off me, it burned them when they tried to touch it, so they just left it on my back. Once I got loose from the chains…. Well, I’d be dead for sure if I didn’t have it.”


“My work is never done, either,” Impa sighed. “I, too, live outside of Time. Perhaps I am cursed in that respect – unlike either of you, I remember every life, every era, in detail. In every life, I watch over my dear Zelda. I am the last and the only of an extinct race, loyal to the royal family – betrayed and wiped out long ago, all save one family line.”


“You’re a Shiekah!” Zelda gasped.


Impa nodded. “I am unable, anymore, to practice the ancient martial arts. I would have taught them to you, my dear girl, had I not entered the king’s employ so late in my life.”


Zelda nodded and noted the regret in her nursemaid’s voice. Ever since she was a young child, she remembered Impa being old, her hands bony and her face laced with wrinkles.


“Aha! Here it is!” the old woman exclaimed. She placed her right hand gently on the center of Link’s chest, over his heart. “This may sting a little, and your heart will feel very strange for a few moments. This is the Life spell. Are you ready?”


Link nodded his readiness, always willing to face any experience bravely. He screamed and choked as a blue light emanated from Impa’s hand and was forced into him. Zelda stood back and worried. Impa broke away and Link gasped for air. He coughed several times.


“Link!” Zelda cried.


The young man opened his eyes wide and caught his breath. “I feel… better!” he proclaimed.


“No hopping out of bed yet, boy,” Impa commanded. “You’ve been restored, but you’re still going to be a bit woozy for a while. You don’t lose that much blood and start dancing a jig right away, even with the Life spell. Your headache is gone, I take it?”


“Yes, thank you,” Link replied humbly, “And I don’t feel so weak.” He sat up and winced.


“Oh, the cuts have been shallowed, but they’ll still probably scar,” Impa said.


“Good to know,” Link said, making an annoyed face. “May I… may I see the book?”


Impa handed it to him. “Since you can read the letters, it would be good for you to read up on your former incarnations. Their stories may give you strength. There is strong blood in your line, Link. Some of it is royal, much of it is from strong, common farmers, and some of it might even be Twili.”


“The Forbidden People?” Zelda gasped.


“Yes, well,” Impa explained, “The Hero of the Twilight, the man also known as the Great Wolf… The story is unclear upon whom he married and fathered children with. Most think he became part of the commoner’s stock, but a few stories tell of him breaking the barrier between our world and the world of the Banished. All that is known for sure about him was that he had a friend who was a Twili, who guided him on his quest.


“It is a far-fetched theory, but it is possible that our Link has a few drops of Twili blood in him. His other ancestors, some of them married the Zeldas. There’s a rumor that The Hero of Time may even had a relationship with a fairy – that one is considered an apocryphal story, but none of the legends that have ever been recorded tell of what the Heroes did after they saved the world, so I consider it all entirely possible.”


“If so,” Link said, “I have pretty mixed blood.”


“Your blood is hero’s blood,” Impa said sagely. “It is up to you to use it well.”




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