#fs shadow link

[zelda-daily]

Omg zelda daily you're back!! I hope the break was fun! Can I request uhhhhh Shadow from Four Swords (˶‾᷄ ⁻̫ ‾᷅˵)

Day 110: Twitch

[puddlestories]

Blood Ties (Part 1?)

Vampire Vio & Reincarnated(?) Shadow w/ mentions of the colours and Zelda.

Written as part of a Discord gift exchange!

Idea: Vio as a vampire, altered timeline and lore, with maybe a reverse AU of Shadow being Hylian and the colours being more magical, leaning to a vampire theme. Vio meets a young lad that has entered the abandoned section of Hyrule castle, not being one to attack he simply watches, and yet it seems the lad sees him too.

CW: alternate AU, implications of death, minor character death, themes of betrayal, personal insecurities, ideas of reincarnation.

3.9k words, not proof-read.

He never thought his life would end up like this, and it seems that he didn’t either.

It had been an extremely long time since anything had been normal, not just within his own life, or what he sometimes considered now to be a previous life, a separate entity from what he was now, despite how it so heavily influenced who he was today, or what he was meant to be that he pondered about for many nights.Many years had passed, slipping so quickly through his fingers, practically frozen solid and stiffened with the constricting of thinned skin, pulled taught and tanned into an unmoving leather. Instead, it felt much more disorientating, to believe you awake to meet a certain day, only to find yourself thrown so far forward, whether weeks, months or years, to live a reality which distorted around you with every waking moment- to hold would mean to experience, to feel, and he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t accept the truth, that he was no longer the man he was meant to be, no longer surrounded by those he was meant to die alongside, instead stuck to grieve every day, every moment in which he could pull together his lucidity.

Time passed on and on, and he remained trapped, entangled within his own frayed coil, no longer bound by the mortal thread but suctioned into the fibres themselves.

But now, there was a change he could never accept, or at least that’s what he would keep telling himself- though he would be forever grateful that this was the only change he had to accept, his brothers having remained by his side, bones bowing and fingers locking with age, joints worn and muscles remaining strong from years of swordsmanship; Zelda too defying the tests of time, skin still soft but eyes crowed, cheeks plump and heavy, lines blessing her features with years of happiness and the unfortunate strokes across her forehead from diplomatic stress. Yet Vio remained the same, mostly, at least.

Long ago, in a time when the borders of magic and man still bled together like ink blotted on watercolour paper, the kingdom of Hyrule faced a rising darkness. It did not come from external conflict, Hyrule wavering for centuries between fragile political ties with bordering lands and maintaining piece between the factions within their borders, but instead a threat brewed from within- from deep within the soil, rocks and grains of sand blown from distant beaches and deserts, where ancient relics slept and power long sealed stirred. It was an expected but still uninvited threat, stories spoken through generations, children and grandparents freed from a chronic curse, others who lived through tragedy or those born into chaos. Yet, following in the footsteps of their ancestors, the hero and princess of the land faced a bilateral threat, a looming figure of destruction, and a sharp edge held at their neck from behind, cornering, unable to find relief from either side.When the seal on the Four Sword was broken, and Vaati once again threatened the land, a figure not prominent in legends but a festering wound from a battle not long passed in Hyrulian blood, elders still scarred from burnt villages and tongues rolled with scriptures and tales, the Hero of Courage took up the blade. Yet that day it was just a boy, split into four- Green, Red, Blue, and Vio- made to carry a man’s weight, the battle worn armour and weeping responsibility heavy on their shoulders, necks bowing in the face or responsibility, in the eyes of the public. In the simplified version of his story, their story, together, they vanquished the wind mage, but not all magic is meant to be unravelled so easily.

In the aftermath of Vaati's defeat, a curse was released. A reflection of the seal placed against Vaati himself, to seal a monster in Hylian form, his own body already altered from the mere Minish he had been before, and now, they faced the same fate. Altered from a single boy, now split and broken down, shattered and pieced together in the form of monsters, magic that split them forced deeper into the tissues of their muscles and marrow of bones.

He felt like a monster. His story was simplified, it helped with his pain, to try forgetting, to either ignore who he used to be, or try to ignore who he became.

The four, though once unified as one soul, had each grown distinct, fragments of a whole, but now individuals in their own right. It hurt even more. The magic that once bound them together cracked, unstable; in the days that followed, each had begun to change.

Vio was the first to feel it- the way sunlight stung his skin needles deep in the creases of his palms as he tried shield his eyes, wary of a possible illness, so he separated himself for what should have been temporary isolation. Yet instead he continued to see how mirrors seemed to ripple of water when he passed, body distorted in his eyes, how the scent of blood accidentally spilt during a training session meant to help him recover and build back up his energy, pulled at him with an ache in his heart he could not name. So, he withdrew again, retreating further to the shadowed corridors of Hyrule Castle’s East wing, which had long stood unused, such a large building unable to be maintained so easily by such a small selection of staff. There, his transformation completed, and his fear grew. To be so highlighted in the eyes of the public was already a feeling which grabbed at his throat, closing the muscles and spasming in his vocal cords- once a boy with the weight of his father’s accomplishments upon him, then a hero tasked with saving those he loved, to a freak of nature, four boys split only to deteriorate to an actual anomaly. Heart slowing to a scary rhythm, unnatural and critical for any normal Hylain, skin turned ashy, veins prominent until they slowly withered away, tight and dehydrated, his eyes deepened to a dusky violet, and fangs glinted when he spoke. At first, he saw Shadow within himself, a friend he already had to grieve once, now trapped once again within his reflection, but no, it wasn’t the same. He read all the books he could, his chosen family helping bring heavier tombs that only the daytime librarian was willing to unlock, and there his answer lay, his curse, he had become a vampire, ageless, deathless, cursed to darkness.

But in a way that mattered most, yet he felt guilty for, he wasn’t alone, he wasn’t the only one who had changed, but they were still unique, different people, and their curses reflected that.

Red, ever warm and bright, his energy radiating from within, took on the form of a fire spirit. His skin shimmered with heat twisting and turning under Vio’s delicate eyes; his laughter crackled like the popping ashes of a flame. He burnt bright, ever the figure of like those around expected of him, to be the bubbly bright boy they wanted, but even he wasn’t free from drawbacks, none of them were. He could no longer touch water without pain, trapped to hear the distant tapping of rain on the thatched roof, baths and cleaning after training a chore, nor remain too long within stone walls without discomfort, the draining draw of the stone not even enough to conduct his heat- his presence brought warmth, but also danger, an irony of the forest, he had once said in tears, his skin burning white streaks under his own emotion.

Blue, fierce and wild-hearted, once protective and brave became something almost feral- or that’s how they saw him, and it made them all furious, especially to not realise how they all felt about themselves, the shame, the pain. A lycanthrope bound to the moon’s cycle, he roamed the deeper forests during empty nights, the moonlight a constant presence, hoping to limit his exposure when the moon too hid away, even in the day light he was effected though less so, his curse relying on the reflection of light, not the source itself luckily for him. Body towering in his morphed height and furred, from thickening body hair in the day to tufts of an animal at night, his instincts not untamed but much more unfiltered. Blue tried to hide it at first, ashamed, but after long, vulnerable meetings between them all when the side effects became too much, his brothers accepted him, even when he could not accept himself.

Green, the one believed to be closest to the original Hero’s image, draped in green and maintaining his boyish spirit of the Link portrayed outside the walls of his home, bore the strangest transformation. Not changed in body, but in spirit- he could walk between the veil of worlds, existing both in dream and waking life, another irony that didn’t go unnoticed; for that reason, they wondered if the moonstone had been tied into the beginning fray. He spoke to spirits and foresaw the future in fragments, partial blurred riddles that even he could barely interpret. Of all the curses, his was the quietest, and perhaps the heaviest- a combination of all their fears combined, desperately trying to remain in control, remain a leader and encourage them all, and for that reason they discouraged him from revealing to others his ability for the fear of others demanding his service, a pressure which can never be successful or “good enough”.

Despite their changes, the four remained brothers. But Hyrule, cautious and fearful, did not always see it that way.

The King, uneasy with the growing influence of magic and “cursed blood within his walls” as he spoke, words emphasised in the wrong places, spiking fear in those unknowing of magic, and ordered the boys to remain in designated areas. Unspoken rules and forced barriers. Red was granted the old forge beneath Death Mountain, where the heat sustained him. Blue was allowed to range through the royal forests, so long as he returned to the deep stone caves by dawn. Green remained in the barracks, working with the guards and other prophets, an accident from a disorientating vision revealing his secret. And Vio, oh Vio was confined to the East wing of the castle.

Officially, it was labelled unsafe- structurally unsound and severely off-limits.Unofficially, it was a prison gilded in silence. Despite visitors of importance and wealth entering the castle, he was close a perceived danger, he was close enough to monitor, to remain controlled. Yet he never posed a threat, he simply wished to feel happiness again, to be able to be himself again.He wished to see his brothers aside from those stolen moments, the group holed up in the darkest rooms of the castle, the East wing bearing multiple guest rooms, and a spacious lounge area that Vio was able to maintain himself. The floors creaked and the ceilings caved in certain rooms that he blocked off, remaining to a small selection of rooms, but it was comfortable, a small luxury he kept clean of dust and open for family.

But wrinkles formed and arthritis made climbing to the higher floors difficult, their own areas now formed into their own homes through years of trinkets, monitored shopping trips and woodcarving practice in Red’s case. Red and Blue were effected the most, a normal Hylian lifespan, Green felt it too but much slower, holding the appearance of a man within his prime years, not that the others weren’t still spry and lively. Vio remained a boy.

A lonely boy with the mental challenges of a man too traumatised to bear such plump cheeks and lanky arms.He wrote to them daily, some letters remained on the empty chairs at the small oak table, the cloth clean and ready for a visit that wouldn’t happen, others were transported in bulk, words not enough.But he still wrote, praying every day for a reply.

Only Princess Zelda visited him now, slipping past guards under the veil of darkness, bringing him books, scrolls, and conversation. Her company kept him together yet the slight hunch of her posture and slowed gate unravelled him again. She did not fear him, not even when his fangs peered from between scarred lips bitten and worn from anxiety and the adjustment of such features, or when his magic flickered across the floor in violet sparks. She called him a scholar, a hero, but most importantly, still a friend, but even she could not undo the King's decree.

So Vio waited. Nights passed like clouds trying to blot across the moon, slow, silent, intangible. Sometimes his brothers visited when they could- they shared news, sparred with chairs pulled to the sides of the room feet dancing across the floor, and joked as though nothing was wrong. But as the years continued to slip on, the East wing became quieter. Red was busy at the forge. Blue hunted long and far. Green trained soldiers, studying his visions.

And Vio remained.

Alone.

-

The East wing of Hyrule Castle was a place forgotten by time and touched by ruin, some areas blocked, but the life still shined within, a light violet from within repaired rooms previously grazed by decay.It sat far from the throne room and royal chambers, sequestered behind marble archways and carved decorated in wood and metal upon the doors. Though years passed, no dust gathered, no ivy crept across the stone. Magic lingered in the air like perfume- old, elegant, precise, cared for enough to not become stale nor stagnant within the air. The chandeliers still burned with soft light at dusk, though no servant tended them, tapestries did not fade, and the halls remained immaculate.It was a place preserved.

But it was also hollow.

Silence ruled the East wing, broken only by the occasional creak of wood or the rustle of pages from within the grand library, or at least grand to the scale of the wing itself, a once boarded room restored and opened, books lining the high walls and piles stacked upon the floor, brought from other areas in the castle. Vio lived there like a ghost, his presence quiet but constant, unbending through time and pure will. He had taken over the largest study, converting it into a sanctuary of knowledge, buried in his hobbies and interests to ignore the rest of his existence. Shelves spilled over with even more books both mundane and arcane, the covers worn and spines bend, embroidered designs crinkled with inspiration. Gifted crystals glowed faintly in the corners; quills hovered mid-air, recording thoughts as they came, the slight violet glow encasing them with slight sparks as the man himself flickered his eyes upwards, away from the paper in front of him, pondering.

His bedroom was simple: a four-poster bed with violet drapes he’d swapped from another guest room, preferring the layout of his current abode, a decorated mirror with twisted metal carvings welded to the edges of a mirror long since covered, an oiled violin on the windowsill. He never slept long, dreams came in strange patterns for a vampire. Rest was not always fulfilling.

Surprisingly, a small garden bloomed on the lower level, occupied by too many decaying rooms, the humid air and composting wood and cloth of abandoned furniture beneficial to the plants lurking within, tended by unseen hands. White lilies, nightshade, moonflowers, and blood-red roses danced together in eerie harmony, a tribute. The garden was his favourite place aside from the library, a glimpse of the outside world brought into his containment, a rebellion though small and secretive. Sometimes he would sit by the fountain of a small bird bath, a small spiral running water down a stone slide, found upon a now lost balcony, and listen to the wind in the leaves, pretending he could still feel it on his skin. The sound was comforting.

On rare nights, he stood at the highest balcony, treading careful steps and light movements, gazing out over the kingdom he could no longer walk in freely. The moon was his sun now, the stars, his court.

Despite the beauty of his surroundings, Vio felt the weight of centuries pressing inward.

Even magic could not replace companionship.

So, when the wards at the entryway flared one evening- soft, pulsing, alerting him to the presence of someone new- he did not react with alarm.

He simply closed his book and crossed his leg over his knee, waiting.

Someone had entered his territory.And they were not meant to.

-

Shadow’s steps echoed through the grand corridor like a whisper from another time, tapping forwards and backwards. Entering through what must have once been a main entrance into the wing, now guarded by ancient spells, now long since faded but still active.

He paused at the soft shimmer of the wards faded behind him, their protective spell weaving themselves closed once more. The air inside the East wing was strangely still, though not stagnant or deadly thick, but deliberate, like every breath of air and tick of silence had been handpicked to suit the mood. It was not cold, but Shadow felt a chill none the less.

The hallway stretched before him, lined with portraits whose eyes followed him with an artistry so lifelike, their pores practically seeping with the oil within the paint, though they remained unchanged, he had to glance back twice. Every surface gleamed. The dustless sconces lit automatically as he passed, an almost purple ash in their bases tingling with practiced convenience, casting warm light onto the tapestries of wars past and wonders forgotten, the Hyrulian crest woven in faded golds.

He wandered deeper. His footsteps moved from marble to velvet rugs, from hallway to open gallery; then, just past a narrow archway, he saw the first signs of life.

Floating books, or perhaps hovering? He wasn’t the most educated man nor pris enough to care for such specifics, the idea worked, they were floating, though now held still.

No, hovered, gently. Carefully. He was definitely indecisive, he could admit that with a deep yearning to sit into a slot that didn’t fit, a cracked space aged and greyed. A desk of dark wood sat at the centre of the room, shaped like a crescent moon cloaked in the soft glow of magical candlelight, flickered in reds, yellows and, oddly purples, an ongoing trend he’d seen so far. Shelves soared upward in all directions looming high and seeming to curve over his head with the perspective of the shorter room, not as grand as some may have been in the castle, but still a sight he’d never had a chance to see in his short lifetime or adventuring, hunting, searching. A soft hum of magic danced through the air like the faint ringing of crystal, sweeping past his ears, tingling, then past and around, back into the lattice of the solid specimens upon the mounted shelves.

Spinning around, taking in the small marks and personality of the room, he slowly rotated to face the far side of the desk again, instead to a smaller arch previously faded in an unnatural darkness. And there, seated in an armchair, the back high and armrests wide with plush velvet, with one leg crossed over the other, was a figure cloaked in violet.

Vio.

And even stranger, he knew that without introduction.

The vampire was everything he expected and more, the rumours could never do justice. Pale skin of smooth carved marble, long hair tied into a messy ponytail with a silk ribbon the colour of dusk and fringe thick, ghosting across his eyes. His eyes were a deep amethyst, intelligent and old, sclera stained red from insomnia. There was a faint aura around him, like the shimmer above a flame- powerful, restrained; contained.He looked up slowly, calmly re-closing his book, the temptation to finish another page as he waited had won, "you are not supposed to be here," he stated simply, voice devoid of any tone.

His voice was quiet but compelling, soft and edged in something both regal and dangerous.Shadow’s throat tightened, to face him head-on had been his expectation, but to talk like this, not jumping straight to a fight, no rabid beast in sight, with the blade by his side untouched he was nervous, "I... didn’t mean to intrude."

"But you did," Vio replied, his expression unreadable, lashes blocking his eyes, tracing the leather bind of the cover under his fingers, tracing circles, "how curious."

Shadow stepped forward, cautious, hopeful. "I heard stories about this wing, and about you, or at least something about you, about the, well you know. I thought they were just fairy tales."

"Most are," with a tilt of his head he gestured to a second chair, close to Shadow, across the desk from the man speaking, "and yet you still came."

Shadow hesitated for a moment, then sat stiff, a tightening in his back. The chair was unnaturally warm despite no grooves nor guests sat previous, impossibly comfortable. "I wanted to see for myself."

"And what have you seen?"

"A man," Shadow said, surprising himself with his honesty, "not a monster."

Vio arched a thin brow, an invisible quirk to his lips “you expected claws and coffins?”

“I expected something terrifying,” Shadow admitted, “yes, you’re different to the average man, though there isn’t really an average,” he began to babble, an overwhelming awkwardness and need to please taking hold, “but instead, I found someone alone, which was expected but not like this, not just a man alone, I expected a trapped beast.”

That gave Vio pause; for a long moment, he simply studied Shadow, and then, he studied the man himself, the dark of his tunic, the tint of his hair covering a slight white hidden within his roots and almost peeking red within his eyes, glistening with the changing angle of the candles wick, flipping from side to side as the wax melted below.Then a simple but heavy statement, “you’re perceptive.”

Shadow shrugged leaning back slightly into the leather binding of the high-backed chair, tongue unrolling into a casual tone. “I’ve spent most of my life wandering. You learn to read a room when you don’t know if you’ll be welcome in it.”

A corner of Vio’s lips twitched upward, more visible, the length of his fringe unable to cover nor shadow the twitch of his cheeks, instead the shadows highlighting the soft curves of his face, his plush cheeks curling towards his eye. "Tell me then, wanderer, what do they call you?"

"Shadow."

At that, something flickered in Vio’s gaze, a glimmer of painful recognition, an impossible confirmation of wished blessings- perhaps even something like fate. "A fitting name."

"And you?" he didn’t need to ask, he’d practically known him since the first day in his crib, told as a warning, the curses of Links, from ancestors to the legend himself, haunting only a few generations previous, yet one remained as a reminder.

"Vio."

They sat for a while in silence, the room breathing around them.

Shadow’s eyes drifted to the shelves, the arcane instruments, the paintings. "How long have you been here?"

"Longer than I’d like," he shrugged, “but not so long that I’ve forgotten how to converse."

That made Shadow laugh. “Well, I’ve got plenty of stories. If you’re willing to trade.”

Vio’s smile was small, but this time it reached his eyes, unhidden, fringe framing his face. "Then stay. For a while."

And so, Shadow stayed.

---

Thanks for reading as always! As stated this was written for a gift exchange that I'll add the details to if I can find them, hosted by Rae, however, my giftee didn't leave a Tumblr profile so shoutout to Z/ Vio (I won't place your Discord for your privacy). I hope to participate again.

I do have more ideas for this concept so if this recieves support or I simply get the energy I shall revisit this!

Sorry for any formatting issues, this was difficult to transfer to Tumblr for no reason. No fun facts today, but have a good one!

[spidorc]

Hey concept if one of the Links needs glasses they all probably need glasses...

[isthismayberelatable]

in retrospect, this was a lot funnier in my head