The wind was sharp as Link adjusted his scarf, his eyes narrowing against the sting of the cold. He stood at the edge of the bustling market, a reluctant observer of the city’s pulse. Crowds had never been his favorite, even before the wars. Now, they left his shoulders taut and his senses on edge, scanning for threats that weren’t there. He didn’t belong here, in the steady rhythm of civilian life, where the world moved on without him. He was a soldier, a veteran.

But his quiet watch was interrupted when he caught sight of you.

You stood on a crate in the center of the square, your voice carrying a passion that made people stop and listen. You shouted, holding a hand-drawn map high for the crowd to see. It outlined the land slated for destruction, a forest Link had passed through more than once. He’d seen the corporate banners staked into the earth, marking their claim.

You were different from the rest of the crowd—raw, unshakable, and fierce in your determination. But there was something else, something beneath the fire in your words: the exhaustion etched into your face, the tight line of your mouth when you thought no one was looking. You were wearing yourself thin, and Link recognized that all too well.

That’s when the first bottle flew.

The glass shattered at your feet, and the crowd gasped, some scattering as more objects were hurled your way. Link moved without thinking, closing the distance between you in a few strides.

“Move,” he said tersely, his voice low but firm.

“I’m not running,” you snapped.

He stared at you, both irritated and impressed. “You can’t stop them if you’re dead.”

You hesitated, and that was all the opening he needed. He stepped closer, his presence alone enough to make the crowd back off.

“This isn’t over,” you called to your attackers as Link guided you away, his hand firm on your arm.

Later, he told himself it was the right thing to do, stepping in. That’s what heroes do, isn’t it? But the truth settled deeper than that, and it wouldn’t be so easy to walk away.