Chapter Text
The blight appeared in Kakariko Village, and by pure chance alone, Prince Rintarou was among the first to see it.
“I must’ve not prayed hard enough this year.” The innkeeper standing behind him joked, nervous as Rintarou knelt down in her garden and began inspecting the plants. “Did you say that you were a botanist?”
“I am.” Rintarou nodded. It was a lie, of course, but it wasn’t like he could confess his real profession. “Have you planted crops in this exact spot before?”
“Yes. I’ve harvested about four seasons worth of fruits and vegetables from this garden, and they always turned out beautiful. And these crops were doing just fine, too. But a few days ago, they started looking… blah.” She winced, her cheeks turning pink under the scorching summer sun. “I did everything I could to help them. I began watering them at very specific times of the day. I infused the soil with better nutrients. I even asked Great Fairy Cotera for a blessing or two, and she promised that she’d help. But nothing worked. Look. They’re nearly all rotted!”
She was right. Every single thing she’d planted was either moldy, half-decomposed, or completely wilted. The smell was abhorrent, too, Rintarou growing closer to losing his lunch with every bundle of slimy roots he pulled out of the ground, grimacing as he upturned nearly the entire garden.
One week, he thought to himself, ripping off a few yellowing leaves and stuffing them into his rucksack. There’s no way this much rotting happened over the course of one week. But he didn’t say that out loud. No, he only calmly stood up and lightly bowed to the innkeeper, apologizing for her ruined crops.
“So there’s nothing I can do to save them?” She whispered, wringing her hands. “Nothing at all?”
“I will run a few tests while I’m here.” He promised her. “There might be something we can utilize in order to undo the damage. A spell, most likely.”
The innkeeper’s face broke out into a smile, something that warmed even the frostiest parts of Rintarou’s heart. “Oh, thank you so much, traveler. That is beyond kind of you.”
Afterwards, Rintarou spent the rest of his day inspecting the plants within Kakariko Village, but he only grew more worried. Nearly every crop was infected with the same disease, no matter where it was located. Even the flowers nestled in the windowsills of each home were showing signs of decay. The village’s central tree, too, had sickly streaks of yellow buried beneath its bark, a discovery that had Rintarou’s eyes growing wide as he peeled off a large chunk of it.
Before he could process that information, though, he heard someone stop walking right behind him. Someone who let out a huff of great disapproval.
“I’m a botanist. I have permission from the village elder to be doing this.” Rintarou said. Then he steeled himself, preparing to be more assertive if the villager behind him refused to go away. But the second he turned to face them, his breath caught in his throat.
Standing behind him was no ordinary Hyrulean. No— Prince Rintarou, on his knees in the dirt, with a large chunk of bark in his hands— was now staring up at the Hero of Hyrule, Miya Osamu.
A quiet oh fell from Rintarou’s lips. A sound that only served to deepen the displeasure in Osamu’s eyes.
You are not supposed to be here, Osamu signed. His Hyrulean sign language was flawless, as it always had been, but seeing it only soured Rintarou’s mood.
“I can go where I want.” Rintarou verbally responded. Then he began packing up his belongings as quickly as he could, trying not to break the chunk of tree bark as he slid it into his rucksack. “Besides. I am here on official royal business. The king approved it himself.”
You cannot lie to me, Osamu signed, his hand motions curt and snippy. The youngest prince isn’t allowed to leave the castle. Not under any circumstance.
Rintarou was starting to get really pissed off. To the point where he stood up and tried to brush past Osamu without responding. But Osamu, stubborn to a fault, grabbed onto Rintarou’s sleeve and yanked him back, forcing him to read his gestures.
You’re not even in a proper disguise. Hiding your Hylian ears might be enough to fool the people of Kakariko, but they’re not enough to throw off your enemies, Osamu paused for a few seconds, grabbing Rintarou’s left hand and making an involuntary noise of disgust. A sound that was astonishingly loud, for a man who’d long since taken a vow of silence. You didn’t even bother to cover your triforce up!
“You know how badly I hate wearing those damn gloves!” Rintarou snapped in return. Then he forcefully yanked his hand from Osamu’s grip, violently shoving him. “Leave me alone. Leave Kakariko. That’s an order.”
Rintarou managed to stomp off after that. And for the rest of the day, he spent it holed up in his room at the inn, studying the rotten leaves and flowers he’d collected from throughout the village. Despite not having his usual arsenal of testing supplies, Rintarou was still able to fill at least five pages of notes on how the diseased plants reacted to various substances. Then he called it a night, passing out on the bed in the corner.
He woke up around midnight, to the sound of a soft knock against his door.
“Ikeda?” The innkeeper’s voice carried through the wood. And Rintarou, still sleep-addled, needed thirty whole seconds to remember the fake name he’d given her at check-in: Ikeda Fuyuki. “Ikeda, are you in there? There is someone here to see you.”
Rintarou, fully able to guess who it was, only rolled over and went back to sleep. But the poor innkeeper resurfaced about fifteen minutes later.
“It seems urgent, Ikeda.” She tried again. “He’s out on the porch. When you’re ready, of course.”
It took Rintarou another round of snoozing to gather the courage to get up. Then he dragged himself down the stairs and out the back door of the inn, only to find Osamu seated at a small wooden table, a pint of ale clutched in his hand.
Despite Rintarou’s anger at him, he couldn’t help but notice how nice Osamu looked beneath the warm glow of Kakariko’s traditional lanterns, the honey-golden light softening his features in a way that the harsh afternoon sun hadn’t. He couldn’t stop his heart from aching, either, over the realization that Osamu’s physical appearance had changed so much over the past few years. He no longer wore the youthful, rounded cheeks that Rintarou had once loved so much, nor was his frame still the one of that lanky, clumsy teenager who couldn’t even pick up his own sword. No— Osamu was much older now. And so was Rintarou, time still passing no matter how many days they spent apart.
“I told you to leave Kakariko.” Rintarou eventually muttered. He didn’t feel comfortable sharing a table with Osamu, so instead, he leaned against a nearby wall. “Why are you still here?”
I am duty-bound to protect you, Osamu signed. I cannot leave you in Kakariko on your own. That would break my Oath of Honor.
“You could’ve just pretended like you didn’t see me.”
And have you killed? Osamu huffed, his sign language growing rushed and frustrated. I took out an entire horde of Bokoblins today. Bokoblins that were planning on swarming you the second you left Kakariko. They couldn't wait for their first taste of royal flesh.
“I could’ve handled them myself. Just because I wield the Triforce of Wisdom does not mean I’m defenseless. I can fight just as well as you can.”
I’ll believe it when I see it, Osamu snapped his fingers, watching as Rintarou clenched his fists. Sit down already. We’re long past the age of acting childish.
Rintarou begrudgingly obliged, and for the next several minutes, Osamu caught him up on the reason why he was in Kakariko Village. Apparently, he’d been trying to track down an old friend of his, for months on end. But seeing as this friend was currently on the run from the Yiga Clan, Hyrule’s most ruthless band of assassins, Osamu had no choice but to engage in the painful process of raking through Hyrule village by village. Just today, he’d reached Kakariko.
I came here to pick up some herbs for Aran, too. Osamu signed. Stress flashed on his face, though, right as he raked a hand through his dark brown hair. But the entire selection at the apothecary was rotten. Is that why you came to Kakariko? To find out why all of their plants are wilting?
“No.” Rintarou confessed, feeling as his cheeks tinged the slightest shade of pink. “I’ve been planning a trip to Kakariko for several months. I wanted to study their local flora for my research. It’s just a pure coincidence that I landed here at the same time as the blight.”
There is no such thing as coincidence in Hyrule, Osamu chided him. Rintarou’s eyes darted to the Triforce of Courage on Osamu’s left hand, a sore reminder of their intertwined fates. Also. What is that word you used? B-L-I-T-E?
“No, it’s spelled differently. It’s—” Rintarou stammered for a moment, trying to figure out how he wanted to correct Osamu. And in the end, he just decided to lift his hand and spell it out for him in return. B-L-I-G-H-T. Then he raised his other hand and showed Osamu the official gesture for it, mimicking the way a plant would grow, then wilt. “Blight. It means the crops are sick.”
Osamu’s mouth tugged upwards at the sight of Rintarou using sign language, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he went straight to bossing Rintarou around, which was hardly a surprise. You need to let the village elder know.
“I’m aware.” Rintarou said. “I was going to let her know tomorrow, and I’m going to ask her to shut down all exports out of Kakariko. We cannot risk the disease spreading to other towns.”
I think that is a good idea. Then I will return you to the castle immediately.
Rintarou only let his eyes fall to the table, unconsciously reaching up to fiddle with his left ear. Before sneaking out of the castle, he’d spent weeks perfecting one single enchantment: a simple spell that would temporarily morph his pointy, elf-like ears into blunt human ones. Of course, Rintarou’s pointy ears weren’t the only recognizable trait of his, but no sane villager would accuse him of being the prince in disguise if his ears were human-shaped. And truly— along with his spells to alter his eye color, hair color, and height— he’d thought his disguise was perfect. But then he’d managed to run into Osamu, the one person who’d be able to spot him from miles away. And now, all of his hard work in curating a disguise had been rendered useless.
The thought deeply enraged him. The thought of leaving Kakariko tomorrow, despite planning on being here for at least two weeks, burnt Rintarou up from the inside. A roaring fire that Osamu quite clearly felt from the other side of the table.
You are upset, Osamu signed, gentler than he’d communicated anything thus far, but not by much. You do not wish to return home, do you?
“No. I don’t.” Rintarou spat, hating that he had to spell it out for a man who’d once known him so well. “This is the first time I’ve left the castle in over four years, and thanks to you, my escape barely lasted more than two days. Of course I’m upset. You don’t even know how much I just risked to sneak out, or how furious my father will be upon my return. You likely don’t even care.”
I care, Osamu signed. But orders are orders. The youngest prince is not allowed to leave the castle.
“And look where that rule got us.” Rintarou snapped, standing up so violently that his chair knocked backwards onto the porch, a little bit of Osamu’s ale spilling onto the table. “I don’t even recognize you anymore, Osamu. And I don’t think Atsumu would, either.”
Osamu didn’t physically react, but his hand lightly shook on his glass. And that was enough. That was enough to tell Rintarou that his words had cut Osamu as deeply as he’d wanted them to.
Unable to stand being in his presence any longer, Rintarou stormed back inside and headed up to his room, the creaky stairs of the inn groaning with every step. Then he fitfully fell back asleep, too hurt to do anything but shut his eyes and wish it all to go away.
When Rintarou woke up in the morning, a note had been slid under his door.
After you talk with the village elder, pack your things and meet me at the stables, the note read, Osamu’s abominable handwriting recognizable from miles away. I will be waiting for you.
Rintarou violently ripped the note up and threw it into the fireplace. And he was still seething after his meeting with the village elder, slamming all of his belongings into his rucksack, huffing and puffing the entire way to the stables.
“Leaving so soon, Ikeda?” The stable attendant asked upon Rintarou’s arrival, his face slightly falling. “I thought you booked your horse for two weeks.”
“Change of plans.” Rintarou grumbled. Still, though, he dug enough rupees out to pay for the full two weeks he’d booked, something that made the attendant’s eyes grow wide. Then he headed out to the pasture and spotted his all black horse, Kiba. Frankly, she looked just as annoyed to see Rintarou as he was to see her. She’d likely been enjoying the change of scenery.
“I know, girl. I don’t want to go back, either.” He muttered. Kiba only neighed in response, stomping her foot in displeasure. Then she grew even more frustrated as Rintarou slid his saddle onto her back. “I’ll plan another escape soon. I promise.”
She lightly nipped at his ear, as if to say: you know you won’t be able to. She was right, of course. The king was likely never going to let Rintarou out of his sight again. He’d lock him in his bedroom and throw away the key, dooming his youngest son to a lifetime of solitude.
A few minutes later, he had fully mounted Kiba, her hooves reluctantly clopping their way out of the gated pasture. It was at that moment that Rintarou took one last look at the sky-scraping mountains that surrounded Kakariko village, trying to burn the bright blue sky and rolling grass fields into the backs of his eyelids. But his moment of peace ended as he heard another horse loudly neigh, followed by an impatient finger snap.
We must get going, Osamu impatiently signed from atop his horse Epona, her light brown mane blowing in the wind. I want to be in Hyrule Castle Town by nightfall.
“Yeah, yeah.” Rintarou turned back to face Kakariko once more, his heart quietly breaking. Then he shut his eyes and forced Kiba to pull away, not opening them until he and Osamu had ridden at least ten minutes away.
Strangely enough, though, Osamu was leading them southeast. Hyrule Castle Town was northwest.
“Hey, dolt.” Rintarou threw a stray acorn at Osamu’s back, watching as it pinged off of his pristine metal shield. “We’re going the wrong way.”
Osamu pretended like he didn’t hear Rintarou, not even bothering to look back.
“Osamu.” Rintarou tried again, getting irate. How could Osamu have the nerve to interrupt his one moment of peace, then have the audacity to waste their time by going the wrong direction? “This isn’t the way back to the castle. This is the way to Hateno Village.”
Exactly, Osamu lazily signed with one hand. Upon Rintarou’s confused silence, though, Osamu eventually explained. Oh. Silly me. I forgot to mention that I have very urgent business to attend to in Hateno, and I no longer have time to take a detour. Sorry. Looks like you’ll have to come with me so I can keep an eye on you.
Rintarou could only stare at Osamu’s back in shock. Then he snapped out of it, pushing Kiba to move a little bit faster, galloping until she was right beside Epona.
“What do you mean?” Rintarou rushed. “We’re going to Hateno? To do what?”
Oh, y’know. Stuff. Very, very important stuff. Like cleaning out my fridge. Perhaps checking my mail.
“For how long?”
Osamu didn’t look Rintarou’s way, but he did crack a small smile. Well. How long were you supposed to be Kakariko?
“Two weeks.”
Then we’ll be in Hateno for about two weeks. Osamu signed. Rintarou almost fell off of Kiba in complete disbelief. I will have to write to the king. I’m going to let him know that I found you during your unauthorized trip to Kakariko, and that I tried to bring you back to Hyrule Castle Town. But then I will tell him of my… ‘urgent business’ in Hateno, and that you must come with me. Hopefully he will not be too mad.
“You…” Rintarou drifted off, his heart pounding in his chest. “You’re really going to take me to Hateno with you? No— you’re making up excuses to take me to Hateno with you. You’re willingly lying to the king. Why?”
Osamu lifted his hands and began to sign, then let them fall back into his lap. In fact, he did that several more times, seemingly unable to start the sentence he wished to say. But eventually he gathered enough courage, Rintarou hanging onto every single gesture.
You were right, Osamu gently signed. Last night, with the way I was treating you… Tsumu wouldn’t have recognized me. And that hurt to hear, which is how I knew it was true.
Rintarou could only stare at Osamu’s side profile for several moments after that. At his well-defined jaw line and morning stubble. His pierced, pointed ears, silver hoops and studs lining the entire cartilage. His stormy eyes, fixated on the path ahead of them.
“Thank you.” Rintarou whispered. “I will not forget this kindness, Osamu.”
I know you won’t, Osamu simply signed in return. I’m sorry that we can’t stay in Kakariko, but you will be safer in Hateno. Those Bokoblins really unnerved me yesterday.
“That’s okay. I understand.”
As Osamu likely anticipated, Rintarou was in a much better mood for the rest of their journey. Sure, Hateno wasn’t Kakariko, which meant that Rintarou would be unable to conduct the research he’d been planning to do for months, but he didn’t really care. No— all Rintarou was excited about was being anywhere but the castle for two whole weeks. In that span of time, he could see and do so many things. He was even willing to bet that Osamu would let Rintarou tinker around with his own plants, as long as he didn’t disturb them too much.
“You have your own garden, right?” Rintarou asked.
I do. I haven’t been in Hateno since I planted it, but Kita has been taking care of it for me. Osamu thought for several seconds, then gave Rintarou a stern look. Yes, you can do your little experiments on it. But don’t mess with my radishes. Those are my—
“Favorite, yes. I remember.” Rintarou rolled his eyes, looking away. “Gee. We go a little while without seeing each other, and you think I’ve forgotten everything about you.”
A little while? Osamu repeated, expression incredulous. I haven’t spoken to you in five years.
Rintarou balked at that, and at first, he was convinced that Osamu must be lying. There was no way they’d gone that long without talking to each other. “But you still work for my father. You stop by the castle all the time.”
You don’t talk to me, Osamu replied. And I don’t talk to you. The last time we talked with our words was during the Eclipse Festival.
“But the Eclipse Festival wasn’t that long ago. It was only—”
The eclipse happened when we were twenty-four. We are twenty-nine now. Do the math.
Rintarou was stunned into silence. “How did that even happen?”
Hatred is a strong emotion.
Rintarou chewed on those words for the rest of their ride to Hateno, feeling far too awkward to try talking to Osamu again, so he didn’t. Instead, he focused on their surroundings as they traveled to the very far edge of Hyrule’s territory, the ground steadily growing more rugged as they approached Mount Lanayru. And before he knew it, he and Osamu were entering Hateno Village.
For several moments, Rintarou stopped to appreciate the view. Laid out before him was a sleepy, charming mountain-side town— every building constructed with the same white walls, red roofs, and wooden accents. There were a few windmills, too, lazily spinning around as a quiet summer breeze blew through the area.
What do you think of it? Osamu signed.
“It’s lovely.” Rintarou breathed. As they rode through the crowded town square, several villagers stopped what they were doing in order to wave at Osamu. A few even brought him spare goodies. Osamu turned it all away, hurriedly signing simple gestures that they likely understood. Things such as thank you, I’m good, I’m okay. But he did accept a free loaf of warm bread from the baker. One that he ripped a large chunk off and handed to Rintarou.
“See? I told you that my disguise was good. Not a single villager recognized me.” Rintarou boasted, just a few moments after they’d ridden out of the main square.
Your disguise wasn’t good enough to fool me, which means it’s no good at all. We will need to work on making it better tonight. I’m not risking you getting hurt in my hometown.
“Oh, Osamu. I will be fine. Hateno is such a peaceful village, anyways. It’s not like—” Rintarou abruptly choked off, his entire body going rigid. To the point where even Kiba froze mid-step.
What is it? Osamu signed, his other hand reaching to unsheath his sword. But he froze, too, right as his eyes followed Rintarou’s line of sight. All the way over to a nearby flowerbed that was completely rotten. Every delicate petal was withered, brittle, and yellowing. The stems were nothing but moldy sludge. The flies were the worst part, swarming the bed as if it were as foul as a decaying carcass. It might as well have been one, solely from how bad it smelled.
Rintarou wasted no time in grabbing Kiba’s reins and ordering her into a gallop. And from there on, as Rintarou raced through the streets of Hateno, he spotted more and more of the same rot. Of a decaying fruit tree, dropping nothing but sludge-filled pears. Of a small field of corn, every stalk drooping. Even a fresh baked apple pie on someone’s windowsill smelled entirely sour, Rintarou’s face quickly paling.
Osamu caught up to him a few minutes later, eyes livid. But before he could chastise him for running off, Rintaru cut him off by raising his own shaking hands.
The blight, Rintarou signed with panic. He didn’t have enough strength in his voice to say it outloud. Hateno has the same blight as Kakariko. It has already spread.
Poor Osamu was stunned speechless, a rotten pear splattering onto the ground right beside him.
A few hours later, Rintarou found himself on the floor of Osamu’s cottage, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. In front of him was a crackling stone fireplace, the warmth turning his cheeks a light rosy pink.
Osamu went out to check the mail. Only to come back with what looked to be hundreds of letters.
This is not good, Osamu signed, right after dumping it onto a small, cluttered kitchen table. Much of Osamu’s cottage was cluttered; it looked to be a stylistic choice. My mail only piles up this much if something bad has happened.
And something bad had happened. The letters shoved into the mailbox were from nearly every single town in Hyrule— Gerudo, Rito, Lurelin, Goron— even Zora’s Domain had managed to send one, despite the village being 99% water. And they all practically said the same thing: Great Hero Osamu, our crops are failing. We need your assistance.
Osamu only slumped down at his table and put his head into his hands. Meanwhile, Rintarou pushed up off of the ground and slipped out the back door of the cottage, the full moon bright above his head as he stumbled towards Osamu’s very own rotten garden. And when he’d gotten his fill of poking through the moldy sludge, he plucked a few of the radishes and lugged them inside.
I told you not to fuck with my radishes, Osamu signed with a huff.
“Your radishes have already been fucked with.” Rintarou responded. He snipped a few wilting leaves off and dunked them into one of his pre-made chemical solutions, and within just a few minutes, Rintarou’s gut feeling was scientifically confirmed: this was the same disease that was in Kakariko, which meant it was likely the same disease that had spread all over Hyrule.
There’s no way, Osamu signed after a few minutes, watching as Rintarou capped the solution and set it onto the kitchen counter. There is no way that a single blight made its way across the entire country in the span of one week. Common colds don’t even move that fast.
“You’re right.” Rintarou confirmed. “Normal blights take multiple seasons to spread, especially throughout a country as big as Hyrule, but this doesn’t seem to be a normal blight. It moved too fast. It spread too wide. It has to be something else.”
Like what?
“It’s probably a curse.”
Osamu’s face instantly darkened. He didn’t sign a single word, though, only crossing his arms across his chest and leaning back in his chair, moving his heavy-lidded gaze up to Rintarou’s. And Rintarou simply stared back, his left eyebrow quirking upwards.
Just because I was born into a curse doesn't mean that I’m an expert on them, Osamu eventually signed. I won’t have the answers you’re looking for.
“I know that. But you were awfully close to someone who knew a lot about curses.” Rintarou said, lightly motioning towards the locked bedroom behind him. “Where is Atsumu’s research?”
Not here.
“Then where is it?”
Doesn’t matter. We’re not looking through it. Osamu signed, then made a quick shushing gesture when Rintarou tried to argue. Atsumu’s research was nothing more than a desperate attempt to save his life. It is entirely nonsensical, illegible, and not backed by any science whatsoever. It is not going to help us with this blight.
“How can you say that so confidently?” Rintarou argued back. “Atsumu knew more about curses than anyone else in Hyrule. And yes, maybe his passion was fueled by something deeply personal to him, but that doesn’t automatically disqualify how hard he worked. There could be something incredibly useful in his journals.”
There will be absolutely nothing.
“Then let me waste my time! I know you don’t want to look through his research. I know you hate it more than anything else in Hyrule, but those feelings don’t extend to me. Let me take a look at it. Even if it has the tiniest chance of helping us, it’s worth a shot. This is my kingdom at risk, Osamu, and I’m not about to let it fall into famine.”
Silence rang out for what felt like an eternity. But Rintarou refused to back down, staring with a look that eventually grew so stern that Osamu had no choice but to give in— finally remembering that it was a prince who was asking to see Atsumu’s research, and not just any random villager.
Fine, Osamu signed, looking as if he deeply regretted bringing Rintarou to Hateno. Tomorrow morning, I will take you to my brother’s research, but I cannot help you look through it.
After that, Osamu got up and left the room, his bedroom door quietly shutting from the other side of the cottage. Rintarou should’ve gone to sleep as well. But he hesitated outside of Atsumu’s old bedroom for several minutes, scared to cross the threshold.
The sight of it would’ve likely made Atsumu laugh. Scaredy-cat Rintarou, Atsumu would’ve undoubtedly signed, just as he had throughout all of their teenage years together. It’s a good thing they don’t let you out of the castle. You’d likely piss your pants at the sight of your own shadow.
Rintarou only weakly smiled at the memory. Then he gathered the courage to finally enter Atsumu’s room, lighting a match and igniting the lantern in his hand. And once the small flame had grown steady enough, he was able to glance around.
By far, the strangest thing about it was that it looked virtually untouched. Despite Atsumu being dead for six years, his room still looked like it was being used. His hiking boots, crusted with mud and dried grass, still sat by the door. His hair products were still scattered beneath his vanity mirror. There were even a few clothes scattered on the ground. But there was no built-up dust or cobwebs anywhere in the room, implying that Osamu regularly cleaned within it, then took the time to return all of Atsumu’s belongings right back to where he’d left them all those years ago. Almost as if he still expected his twin brother to burst in at any moment, angrily gesturing for Osamu to stop touching his stuff.
The mere thought of that was enough to make Rintarou’s eyes sting. So he chose to stop thinking altogether, hurriedly blowing out his lantern and climbing into Atsumu’s creaky bed. But despite how badly he wished for unconsciousness to sweep him away, it never came. No— Rintarou was stuck staring at the plain white ceiling of Atsumu’s room for the next three hours, his mind spinning in anxious circles.
I have to solve this blight, he told himself, over and over again. If left untreated, the blight will lead to famine. Famine will lead to civil unrest. Civil unrest will lead to assassinations. I can’t lose my family. I can’t lose my brothers and sisters like Osamu lost Atsumu.
Out of complete frustration, and a little bit of helplessness, Rintarou sat up and launched his pillow across the room. But unfortunately for him, the weight of it shook the entire wooden wall, rattling loud enough to echo throughout the cottage. A noise that undoubtedly woke Osamu up, the highly trained soldier bursting into Atsumu’s room less than a few seconds later, his sword clutched in his hands like he was ready for a fight.
Are you okay? He signed with one hand, the motions barely legible. If Rintarou hadn’t dedicated so many years of his life practicing Hyrulian sign language, he likely would’ve interpreted the slurred gesture as nothing but slop. What’s going on?
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
Those words didn’t calm the adrenaline racing through Osamu’s system, so he took a long moment to poke around Atsumu’s room, checking to ensure the window was locked and that there were no assassins hidden beneath the bed or in the closet. Then he finally set down his sword and ran a hand through his hair, his eyes moving back over to Rintarou.
You don’t look fine, Osamu signed. Is sleeping in Tsumu’s room bothering you? If so, that’s an easy fix. We can just swap beds for the night.
“No. It’s not that.” Rintarou muttered, sighing. “It’s the blight. I’m worried sick over Hyrule. You don’t happen to have an easy fix for that, do you?”
Osamu thought for a moment, then abruptly walked out of the bedroom. And for the longest time, Rintarou was convinced that he’d just given up on him and gone back to sleep. But then he heard the sound of someone rifling through a drawer. One that sounded like it had been filled to the brim with glass vials, each of them all rolling around and clinking as they crashed into one another. Then Osamu finally stepped back into the room, a small potion in his hand.
This will help you sleep, Osamu signed after giving it to him. Rintarou held it up to the moonlight for a moment, examining the way the dark blue liquid shimmered beneath it. And before you ask: yes, it’s safe. It’s one of Aran’s recipes.
“Oh. You really stayed in touch with Aran?”
Of course I did, Osamu huffed, offended. He’s still one of my best friends. His apothecary is right down the road from here.
Despite Rintarou’s exhaustion, he couldn't completely suppress the smile sparking on his face. “Can we stop by his shop, then? I haven’t seen him in a very long time. I’d love to say hello.”
If we want to see Atsumu’s research, we’ll have to. He’s the only person I trusted with it.
Rintarou’s smile grew wider and giddier. All while Osamu pretended not to be staring at it, even though he very clearly was.
Take the potion already, Osamu ordered. I’d like to go back to sleep myself.
Rintarou complied, finally uncapping it and knocking it back. And it was pleasant enough going down, tasting vaguely of berries, lavender, and something quite earthy. By the time he’d finished it all, his eyelids were already growing heavy, fingers turning numb. To the point where he accidentally dropped the vial, Osamu’s fast reflexes catching it before it could shatter against the floor.
“How long?” Rintarou slurred, voice husky. “How long until it kicks in?”
Not much longer. Here, you need to lay back. I don’t want your head to smack against the headboard.
But Rintarou’s vision was blurring so rapidly, he could hardly read Osamu’s gestures anymore, which meant that Osamu had to be the one to help Rintarou lay down. He did it gently, too, lowering his head onto a pillow, bringing Atsumu’s quilts up to his chin.
“Osamu?” Rintarou croaked a few minutes later, his heartbeat slowing to that of a snail’s. He peeled his heavy eyelids open, only to find that Osamu was sitting on the bed with him. Waiting, just to make sure everything was okay.
Yeah? Osamu signed.
“I’ve missed you.”
The silence that followed was heavier than anything Rintarou had ever felt in his life before. A soul-crushing type of weight, one that he swore his ribs were crunching beneath. It only got worse once Rintarou realized that Osamu was unable to look at him anymore, his stony gaze fixated on the floor, his breathing uneven.
He got up and left the room without saying anything. And Rintarou, his already damaged heart unable to crack any further, only closed his eyes and went to sleep.
Upon arriving at the apothecary, Aran ran out the front doors and nearly tackled Rintarou in a hug. Then, once he pulled back, he immediately commented on how bad Rintarou’s disguise was.
“I mean, you certainly hid your ears…” Aran drifted off, fiddling with Rintarou’s faux human ones. “That’s decent spellwork. I see you altered your hair and your eyes, too. Even your height. Has it been fun, disguising yourself as eight inches shorter?”
“Yeah. I hit my head on a lot less stuff, so that’s been a bonus.” Rintarou answered, unable to stop himself from smiling as Aran broke out into laughter. “It’s hard not being able to reach everything, though. Osamu had to get Atsumu’s kettle down from the top shelf for me this morning. I couldn’t even get close to reaching it.”
“Well. I’ll make sure to get all of Atsumu’s research down for you myself. Can’t risk the baby prince hurting himself in Hateno, can we? The king would blow us off the map.” Aran joked. Then his eyes went wide in realization, panicked as he turned to Osamu. “Oh my god. The king knows that Prince Rintarou is here, correct? Did you kidnap him?”
No, I did not kidnap him, Osamu signed, looking beyond irate at the mere suggestion. I just wrote to the king to let him know that Rintaoru is in Hateno with me. Hopefully we will hear back from him soon.
“Okay. That’s good. Great, actually, to know that the kingdom’s guards won’t bust down my front door.” Aran muttered. Then he turned and hugged Rintarou once more, this time even tighter. “I’m so glad you’re here. Come inside, will you? I can’t wait to show you around.”
The interior of the apothecary was quaint. The floorboards were a rich mahogany wood, the walls painted a deep emerald green. The granite countertops were beautifully maintained, rows upon rows of potions, herbs, and other medicines on display. At the very back was a small counter. One that a happy orange cat was curled up on, lazily sunbathing with his tail swishing back and forth.
“This is Chickaloo. He’s a bit wild, but he’s a sweetheart.” Aran grinned, reaching over and lightly tapping the cat on his side. The cat only playfully meowed, then wrapped his paws around Aran’s hand, lightly biting at his thumb. “Sometimes I’m pretty convinced that Atsumu got reincarnated into Chickaloo. They act a little too similar sometimes for my own comfort.”
Osamu rolled his eyes. No way. At least Chickaloo tries to help you with dinner by bringing you mice. Atsumu did nothing but eat all my food and then complain about how bad it tasted.
“Fair point.” Aran laughed. Then he bent down and planted a kiss on Chickaloo’s head before heading up a small set of carpeted stairs. One that took them to the second floor of the apothecary, completely furnished with a kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom. All the way in the back was a small study, one packed to the brim with rows upon rows of books.
“All of Atsumu’s old research is right here.” Aran said, reaching up to one of the highest shelves and grabbing onto a metal basket. Then he set it down on the desk, blowing off a slight layer of dust. “I believe I’ve got everything. All of his journals, writings, theories… you name it. I’ve been meaning to try to compose it all into an actual book, y’know. I figured he might like that. But…” Aran shook his head, a bit of buried grief flaring in his eyes. “It can be hard to stomach sometimes. So take your time with it, Prince Rintarou. There’s no rush.”
Aran disappeared downstairs a moment later, hurrying to go assist a few customers who’d just walked inside. Rintarou expected Osamu to disappear, too. But he lingered for a few minutes, watching from the doorway as Rintarou began sifting through the journals.
Do yourself a favor— Osamu ominously signed, from the corner of Rintarou’s eye. Don't read anything about the triforces.
“I won’t.” Rintarou said.
Swear it to me.
“I swear, okay? You can go now. You said you weren’t going to help, so follow through on that and let me work in peace.”
Osamu eyed him warily for a moment longer. Then he left, his footsteps quiet as they padded back down the stairs. And just like that, Rintarou was left completely alone.
He spent the next several hours pouring through each of Atsumu’s journals. Most of them didn’t have a cohesive theme, of course— Atsumu’s research jumped from curse to curse like a frog on a set of lilypads, seemingly fascinated by something different each week. Rintarou did his best to bookmark the ones that mentioned anything to do with crops or blights, pushing them to the side to revisit later that night.
He couldn’t help but get sidetracked, though, when he reached the very bottom of the metal crate. Only to find that there was a diary. One that Rintarou hadn’t seen in a very, very long time— teenage Atsumu more protective over his diary than anything else in the world.
I shouldn’t, Rintarou’s mind whispered as he picked it up, his hands lightly trembling. Atsumu would kill me if I read this. He never even let anyone touch it.
But the diary had been left unprotected for the past six years. Longer, considering the time that Atsumu was away from the castle in the months preceding his death. Which meant that it was more than likely that Osamu had read it by now. Rintarou was willing to bet that Aran had taken a peek at it as well. And if both of them had read it, then it was Rintarou’s right to read it, too.
At least that’s what he told himself as he cracked it open to the first page, his heart already aching at how juvenile Atsumu’s handwriting was.
Dear Diary,
It looks like the draft has finally reached Hateno. All boys above the age of fourteen are eligible to be selected for military service. Lucky for Samu and I— we just turned fourteen last week. And by lucky, I mean absolutely dreadful. I don’t wish to be a soldier. I don’t wish to be yet another nameless sacrifice to die at the hands of Calamity Ganon.
I’ve never once been thankful for my lack of hearing, but perhaps this will be the first time it does me any good. Perhaps that will make them axe my name from the draft entirely. What good is a soldier who cannot hear enemy footsteps?
Rintarou took a moment to trace his fingers over Atsumu’s handwriting, savoring the feeling of it. Then he turned the page.
Dear Diary,
My name was pulled first for the draft. My father began openly weeping. My mother turned and hid her face in her shawl. Meanwhile, I could do nothing but stare at the soldier at our front door.
Samu was the bravest of us all. Samu ran up to the soldier and volunteered himself to enlist, right then and there. Likely so I wouldn’t have to die alone.
Rintarou sunk down onto the ground with the diary, reading page after page after page. He got to see Atsumu’s opinions on being inside the castle for the first time. Moving into the barracks with Osamu, Aran, and Kita. Rintarou saw, too, that the first few weeks of training were extremely difficult for Atsumu— the deaf soldier unable to hear the same sound cues that everyone else received. Which ultimately meant that he got smacked, cut, and shot with arrows more than anyone else did.
He reached the hundredth page in Atsumu’s diary before realizing it, the afternoon sun warming Rintarou’s skin as it hit its peak outside the window.
Dear Diary,
Samu and I met Prince Rintarou today.
I still can’t wrap my head around it. See, Rintarou isn’t allowed to leave the castle. This was one of the first things they drilled into our heads when we began training. I always assumed this was because Prince Rintarou was sickly, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. No— Prince Rintarou isn’t allowed to leave the castle, solely because of the triforce he wields on the back of his left hand— the Triforce of Wisdom.
Of course, I didn’t know he had that. Nobody knew. Not until today, when a kingdom official pulled Samu and I from sparring practice, then led us up to the tippey-top of the castle. And at first, I could’ve sworn Samu and I were about to be killed for the thousands of snacks we’ve stolen from the kitchens. But no— we were simply led to small study. One that the youngest prince was inside of, waiting on our arrival.
Once the door was shut, Rintarou ripped off his glove, showing us both that he had a triforce, too. Three golden triangles on the back of his hand. Just like the one Osamu has. Just like the one I have. Then he proceeded to look me in the eye, launching into a monologue that I couldn’t understand a word of. Not until Osamu stopped the youngest prince, likely telling him that I was deaf.
For the longest time, Rintarou didn’t seem to know what to do. His eyes traveled from me, over to Osamu, then back to me, then down to his hand. And honestly, I expected Rintarou to just start talking to Osamu at that point. To entirely ignore my presence, and hope that Osamu would just translate to me later. That’s what most people in the castle did. But Rintarou didn’t do that. No— he went and got a piece of paper, scribbling on it in front of us so Osamu and I could both read it at the same time.
He proceeded to write down that Osamu’s triforce was the Triforce of Courage. And that my triforce was the Triforce of Power. And that apparently, according to legend, we were all in grave danger.
Rintarou jolted as he felt a hand wrap around his shoulder. He looked up, only to find that Osamu was right behind him. A man who immediately scowled, snatching Atsumu’s diary out of Rintarou’s hands before he could protest.
You’re reading his diary? Osamu angrily signed. You know how protective he was of this. He never wanted anyone to read it, not even you.
“He’s dead, Osamu.” Rintarou spat, growing livid himself. “Give it back.”
No, Osamu tucked the diary beneath his armor. We came here for you to research the blight. There is no time for you to waste airing my brother's decade-old dirty laundry.
He disappeared again. And Rintarou, truly, had no other choice but to return to Atsumu’s research, spending the rest of the day going over the sections he’d bookmarked before. But he couldn’t stop thinking about Atsumu’s diary. Couldn’t stop his heart from aching over the fact that reading it had been the closest Rintarou felt to his best friend in years.
No, I need to focus, Rintarou violently shook his head, lightly slapping the sides of his face. Hyrule comes first. Hyrule always comes first.
By the time the sun had set, Rintarou finally found something useful. The Toils of Spoils, Atsumu had written on the last page of his most recent research, work he’d completed mere days before leaving for the trip that killed him. It’s a curse that can send an entire nation into famine with the snap of a finger.
It looked to be a perfect match of what was happening now: crops rotting overnight, roots turning slimy, sickly yellow veins materializing beneath the bark of trees.
“Aran!” Rintarou shouted as he raced through the apothecary, Atsumu’s journal still open in his hands. He only stopped once he reached Aran’s side, the medicinist trying his best to make a potion with the last of his dried herbs. “Aran. The blight— it is a curse! It’s the very last one Atsumu researched before his death.”
Rintarou passed the journal over. And after Aran read through all of Atsumu’s notes regarding The Toils of Spoils— all of the history, prior uses, and materials needed to cast it— he slowly nodded. “Seems to be a perfect match. What do we need to do in order to reverse it?”
“It’s right here.” Rintarou said, flipping to the next page, then pointing near the top. “All you have to do is obtain the Master Sword, then slay the entity that cast the curse in the first place.” He let out a breath, looking back up to Aran. “That should be pretty easy, shouldn’t it?”
But Aran was only rapidly paling before Rintarou’s eyes, his gaze nervously darting the floor.
“What?” Rintarou lightly shook him. “What is it? Osamu still has the Master Sword, doesn’t he?”
A mere second later, Osamu exited the first floor bathroom, leaning against the doorway as he dried his hands with a towel. And Rintarou could tell that he’d overheard every word of their conversation, solely due to the pissed look on his face.
No, Osamu signed. I do not still have the Master Sword.
“God, you don’t have anything, do you?” Rintarou yelled so abruptly that Osamu actually flinched. “First, you don’t have Atsumu’s research. And now you’re telling me that you got rid of the sword, too? Do you even know how hard Atsumu worked to find that damn thing?”
Trust me, I know! Osamu hastily signed back, nearly looking mad enough to throw a punch in Rintarou’s direction. Something that prompted Aran into stepping forward, instinctively protecting the prince. Unlike Tsumu's research, it wasn't my choice to get rid of the sword. It was taken from me, and I value my life too much to try and steal it back.
Unease instantly pooled in Rintarou’s stomach. “Who took it?”
Who do you think? Osamu spat. Come on. Put that Triforce of Wisdom to work. Make a guess.
Rintarou thought for several quiet moments. Atsumu, despite croaking mere days past his twenty-third birthday, had amassed quite a large amount of enemies over the years. Foes who would’ve been ecstatic to get their hands on the Master Sword, likely racing for it the second they heard of his death. But then Rintarou remembered Osamu’s last line— I value my life too much to try and steal it back. Which meant that the person who’d taken it was quite the formidable opponent. Likely a soldier who’d been trained just as intensely as Osamu had been, skilled enough to win a fight against the Hero of Hyrule himself.
Only one person fit that criteria, now. A person that instantly wrenched Rintarou’s mouth into a frown.
“Kiyoomi has the sword, doesn’t he?” Rintarou asked.
Yes, he does. Osamu bitterly signed. He stole it from me a few months ago, in the middle of the night. He left a note behind letting me know that it was rightfully his, and if I wanted it back, it would have to be over his dead body. Everyone in this room knows I’m not strong enough to take down that bastard. He’d likely have me filled with arrows if I even dared to step foot on his property.
“But we need it.” Rintarou pleaded, taking a small step forward. “We need the sword to stop the blight. Don’t you think he’d be willing to loan it to you? Even for just a few days?”
Probably not. He and I tried to kill each other the last time we were in the same room. It was not pretty.
“Then what if I ask? I’m a prince, and technically speaking, Kiyoomi is still a soldier of Hyrule. He’s legally required to do what I say.”
“Like that ever worked on him before.” Aran muttered. When Rintarou shot him a look, he only doubled down. “It’s the truth, Prince Rintarou. He’s the one soldier who constantly got away with defying King Suna’s orders. If you think he’s going to listen to you, then you’re sorely mistaken.”
Rintarou chewed at his lip for a moment. “I guess you’re right. But still, asking is our only realistic option. If we try to steal it, we’ll end up with arrows in our guts before Kiyoomi even knows who he’s shooting. So we might as well go to him with our hands above our heads.”
Osamu and Aran looked as if they wanted to keep arguing, but wisely, they both came to the conclusion that Rintarou’s plan was the path of least resistance. And if things went really, really wrong with approaching Kiyoomi, then Rintarou could activate his powers, and they could survive that way.
Last I knew, Kiyoomi still lives alone in Korok Forest. Osamu eventually signed. It will take us two days to travel there, so we should leave tonight. Aran, would you like to come with us?
“Would I like to come?” Aran incredulously repeated. “Do you mean: would I like to be murdered? No thank you. But if both of you manage to make it out alive, then feel free to come back this way. With all of our heads put together— alongside the Master Sword— I’m sure we’ll be able to find who cast this curse in no time. Sound good?”
Both Rintarou and Osamu nodded. And less than a few minutes later, they were hurrying out of Aran’s apothecary with to-go bags of healing potions and snacks underneath their arms. Then, once they’d made a quick pitstop at Osamu’s cottage, they both mounted their horses and rode off.
Rintarou didn’t speak until an hour into their journey. Not until Hateno Village was nothing but a dot in the distance, his gaze turned north.
“You said something earlier.” Rintarou said, cicadas buzzing beneath his voice, stars blinking in the dark sky above their heads. “Something about you and Kiyoomi trying to kill each other. Was that the truth?”
Yes, Osamu signed, taking a moment to lightly brush his fingers through Epona’s mane. She neighed in sheer delight at the sensation. He and I don’t see eye-to-eye on most things anymore.
“Like what?”
Like the Master Sword, Osamu huffed, his movements growing curt. Kiyoomi claims that Atsumu promised the sword to him. That when he died, he wanted Kiyoomi to have it, or whatever. But I have Atsumu’s will. Nowhere in it does it say anything about the sword, which means that it is mine. It’s not Kiyoomi’s to take.
“The Master Sword.” Rintarou repeated. “You and Kiyoomi almost killed each other, over a stupid fucking sword?”
It’s not just any old sword, Rintarou. It’s the Master Sword. It’s unbreakable. It’s undefeatable. It’s the only thing that can put Calamity Ganon to sleep. Atsumu spent an entire year looking for it—
“Trust me, I know how hard he worked to get it.” Rintarou snapped. “That’s not the point I’m trying to argue. I’m trying to say that you shouldn’t be trying to kill Kiyoomi over it. That’s the last thing Atsumu would ever want.”
Well, he’s not here to stop us, is he? Osamu signed, eyes growing colder than a block of ice. Kiyoomi is nothing but a monster. I will never forgive him for what he did to my brother.
Rintarou only clutched Kiba’s reins in his hands, trying his best not to picture Atsumu’s death, but it was hard not to see it. Especially when he routinely witnessed it in his nightmares. Of Atsumu, slowly but steadily losing his mind while trapped in Lomei Labyrinth. To the point where Kiyoomi, duty-bound to protecting Hyrule, had no choice but to send an arrow clean through Atsumu’s skull. An action that Kiyoomi paid heavily for— losing the love of his life, and his entire right arm— all in one wretched afternoon.
Rintarou, of course, didn’t harbor any hard feelings toward Kiyoomi. Nor did most of the kingdom, almost every soldier in Hyrule understanding that he’d done what most didn’t have the strength to do— taking Atsumu out before the Triforce of Power fully corrupted him. But Osamu had always been that one outlier. Osamu had chosen to bury his head in the sand from the moment he learned that Atsumu was dead, and he’d simply never taken it back out.
Maybe this time, they can finally reconcile, Rintarou quietly thought, studying Osamu’s side profile. To the point where Osamu snapped at him to stop staring, and to keep his eyes on the path ahead. Maybe this time, I can get Osamu and Kiyoomi to talk things through.
It was something, at least, to hope for. A tiny lantern in the midst of a pitch-black forest, perhaps, but a ray of light nonetheless.