The courtyard outside the training grounds should’ve felt familiar. Comfortable. The scrape of boots in sand, the ringing of steel, the distant echo of instructors barking orders—these were sounds you and Link had grown up in. Bled in. Competed in.

But today, every noise felt like an irritation. A reminder.

Every time someone bowed to the princess’s appointed knight as he passed, your jaw tightened. Every reverent murmur of “the chosen one” felt like salt on a wound that hadn’t even begun to close.

It should’ve been you. Everyone knew it. You had outperformed half the squad, pushed yourself until your hands bled, lived and breathed knighthood with every scrap of focus you had. You had dreamed—openly—of standing at Princess Zelda’s side, protecting her, proving yourself worthy. But the king had chosen Link.

Link, who never bragged. Who never sought praise. Who never even said out loud that he wanted the position.

Link, who had known exactly how much you wanted it—and still accepted it.

You avoided him for days, slipping away whenever he walked into a room, vanishing before he had the chance to look for you. The resentment sat heavy in your stomach, an ache deeper than jealousy alone. He hadn’t stolen your dream, but it felt like he had walked right over it on his way to the throne room.

This morning, you’d taken refuge at the far edge of the training field, sitting on a stone ledge with your arms draped over your knees. The sun glinted off the castle in the distance like it was mocking you. You heard his footsteps before you saw him—quiet, familiar, careful.

Of course he had come looking.

Link approached slowly, as if you were some skittish creature that might disappear if he breathed too loudly. His shadow paused beside yours, cast long across the sand. He didn’t sit yet. He waited.

“…Can I—” His voice was soft, half-air, half-hesitation. “Sit?” You didn’t look at him.

He took that as a yes, or maybe just hoped it was, because he lowered himself beside you. The silence stretched, heavy but not suffocating. Just… full.

After a moment, Link exhaled shakily, eyes on the ground. “I did not… mean for this to hurt you.”

He turned his head slightly, enough that you felt his gaze flick toward you—nervous, searching, guilty in a way he hadn’t let anyone else see. “I want to talk,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “Please.”