Shattering the Stars

That Cold, Sterile Embrace

To be honest, I'm still stoked that I'm finally writing something as ambitious as this! I really hope you all like the intrigue so far, as I'm proud of how I wrote it. Anyways, enjoy!
-Jooostan

Shattering the Stars
Chapter 2: That Cold, Sterile Embrace

"Shatterhand?" Link repeated, dwelling on the name.

"Yes, from a very distinguishing feature. A malformed right hand, mangled by something we don't know. Shatterhand." Beads of sweat ran down the bedridden Link's forehead as he explained.

"Is that a nickname? A title? I'm not sure I understand," The younger Link stated, putting his hand to his chin and trying to reconcile the name. It made sense as a nickname, due to what his doppelganger said about the disfigurement the man allegedly bore.

"That's our dilemma, you see, because we don't know what he really goes by. He claims his name is 'Alastor', but it's clear it's a load of bull," The older Link spoke scornfully, hardly concealing his rage. The look in his eyes, his clenched fist, the distasteful frown, all of it perfectly expressed how the damaged man really felt towards this fellow.

"But exactly how did he do this?" The younger asked, opening his hands and signaling to his variant's scars. Before the other could answer, he coughed furiously, ignoring the drips of red that stained his blanket. Then he groaned, panting, out of breath from the effort. It was painful to watch.

"Those little twerps he calls 'soldiers', they teamed on me, and I barely escaped with my life," said the older Link. The memory of how expertly they fought had still remained trapped inside his psyche. "They seemed to be able to counter everything I had. It was... odd, to say the least."

"Did they have prior knowledge of your techniques?"

"I'm not sure. Possibly."

"Were they well trained?"

"It seems so, but by who I don't know."

"Why does this Shatterhand want to kill you?"

"Please! Enough questions!" The wounded man erupted with annoyance, catching the younger Link off-guard. Silence purveyed around the room for a moment before another coughing fit began, this time fiercer than any of the previous.

"Ugh... I-I-" The older man looked at himself, his sheets, and his own wobbly hands. His eyes, formally laden with fiery passion, now fell victim to an overwhelming gloom. "I-I know that these wounds are too severe. It's apparent to me that I'm not long for this world..."

Apprehension consumed Link's face. Was the other aware of his sneaking around last night? Did he know that his variant used the Lens of Truth to see the true extent of his injuries. Maybe, but it was equally likely that he just had a feeling deep down that he had little time. That neat little trick Link had, the sixth sense towards danger, perhaps it was ubiquitous with him across the different realms.

"You knew, didn't you?" The dying man said, trying to force a smile.

"Huh? I-I'm not sure I follow," the other Link failed to mask what he was already aware of. The variant just chuckled, albeit weakly, glad that his other was as cunning as he used to be.

"Oh please, don't be so modest. I can see it in you, and... it's alright. I accept my fate with open arms," said the variant, lying back and staring at the ceiling. With his eyes, he traced the swirls on the oak planks above him, focusing on the grooves. There he was just able to discern the age of the tree the wood had come from. 218 years old. It must've been a breathtaking specimen in its heyday.

"I-I..." The younger Link didn't know what to say. The affirmation he witnessed spread across the doomed man's face made his heart sink into his stomach, which then tied itself into a knot. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.

"No need to be sorry for me, because I know..." he paused to cough again. Before he continued, he glanced over at his younger variant, reading him over. "Because I know this isn't the end. My sacrifice won't be in vain."

"What do you mean?" Link asked, perplexed. There, the other man recited an old proverb he was taught by a very regal woman in his life.

"You know that there is no end, nor is there a beginning. There's only the infinite passion of life. As long as the people we meet-" A sudden tightness sprung up in the bleeding man's chest, but he wheezed and fought through it. "...the people we meet carry on what we've done, we're never truly gone."

"Wait, are you saying...?" Link's jaw went slack, and he inched closer to himself.

"Yes. I hate myself for putting this onto you, especially seeing how much you've managed to find in this world, but... I need you to finish this. I need you to find and kill Shatterhand," The older, weaker Link truly despised his request, and seeing how his doppelganger fumbled with his words, he felt it wasn't fair. Their faces were only a foot away, and when the bedbound fellow held his hand up, his younger double took it. The grip was strong as iron, using what little strength he had left. "It shouldn't be you, but it must. Otherwise he'll hunt you down and destroy this land and everyone in it."

"P-Promise me..." He whimpered, feeling helpless as death was stalking the doorstep. The grip was starting to loosen, and his prolonged departure was at hand. He gazed at the oddly balanced sword across the room. "Promise that you'll use that sword to find him... and promise that the foul crimes of that man will be burned and purged away, for the sake of all."

"I-" Link almost hesitated, but quickly came to the notion that he couldn't let the life fade without accepting. The weight on his shoulders, he finally knew what it symbolized. Responsibility. "I promise."

At last, the misery had all fallen away, and the older, damaged, declining Link was ready to be cradled by the arms of the fallen. His body went limp, arm slumped down on the bed, and one breath of conclusion signaled the man's reunion with death. The other Link was overwrought with remorse, and he lowered his head in shame as he watched a mirror of himself pass on. He reached up and gently used his fingers to shut the man's eyes, letting him embark on his well-deserved rest.

For a while, Link just sat alone, thinking about what he'd do. How would he even tell Romani? Jim? His parents? Possible arguments swarmed his head as he gradually became more distressed, a few tears streaking down his cheek. Using his sleeve to wipe his face dry, he slowly stood up and staggered out of the room, mentally trying to articulate how he'd explain everything.