Cross-posted to DeviantArt and AO3.

Update (9/24/2017): I have decided to change the rating from T to M. This is rated M for violence, very dark themes, some language, and PTSD/anxiety triggers. I did NOT write this with the intent that minors would read it, and as an adult story, I go into some dark but real issues. This is not a torture fic...but it comes fairly close at times. You'll see what I mean as you read it. THERE ARE NO LEMONS OR CITRUS IN THIS STORY. There isn't even anything remotely close. If you came here just for that, then you won't find what you're looking for. Sorry-not-sorry. However, if you're one for developed characters, thrilling action sequences, and nonstop suspense, then this is the story for you.

Enjoy!

"Well," the white clad demon frowned upon inspecting the sides of the hero's head, "your ears aren't bleeding after all. What a shame." Ghirahim clicked his tongue in disappointment and shook his head slowly. As he paced back and forth, surveying his handiwork, the demon continued, "However, your…how should I put it, your everything else is. So I'm going to give you a bit of a break so you can think long and hard about where that cursed little Goddess of yours is hiding." He sounded like a parent talking to a young, misbehaving child. The hero, fighting the blackness encroaching around the edges of his vision, glared up at his captor, wishing he wasn't so utterly helpless.

Ghirahim rolled his eyes at the pitiful act of defiance. "Oh, you will tell me, my dear boy. I'll coax it out of you one way or another." Link struggled to keep eye contact with the demon, but he was quickly losing strength. His head slowly drooped back down as he focused solely on breathing in and out. The heat was suffocating. The pain was relentless. Each ragged breath was a struggle.

"Stay alive for me, will you?" Ghirahim doted. "I'll be back in a few hours for some more fun. Ta-ta!" Before his captor had even left the room, blackness consumed the hero's vision.

The sulfurous air of Eldin volcano burned Pipit's lungs as he continued towards the center of the fiery mountain. The sound of armed swine-man-things echoed around the corner. What the hell were those monsters? What had the old lady called them? Bo...koblins? Sure, he'd go with bokoblins for now. Whatever they were actually called, it didn't do them justice. Those things were horrifying. Trying to stifle the sound of his panting, Pipit ducked behind a boulder and waited. He prayed fervently to the Goddesses that the pig-like goblins wouldn't notice the terrified boy in the sweat-soaked mustard tunic as they marched past.

I am in way over my head, the teen thought to himself, feeling foolish for coming so ill-prepared. Granted, he hadn't realized that he would be infiltrating a mountain of molten rock. But still, his knight training dictated that he be prepared for anything, which he most definitely was not. His water skin was practically empty, and he had already downed one of his two red potions to ease the pain of the ankle he had twisted landing on the Surface. Thank the Goddesses that the old lady had convinced him not to chug them both, because if Pipit made the slightest wrong move now, he would be needing more than just a measly red concoction. Landing on the Surface was rougher than Pipit had expected. He had hastily snipped a large rectangle off of Groose's bedsheet to use as a makeshift sail cloth (like Groose would miss it, being on the Surface), but the smelly fabric was too thin to slow his descent to a more manageable speed. Thus the twisted ankle. And shortage of potions.

So things were going great.

The Bokoblin-things rounded another corner and disappeared out of earshot before the young knight-in-training released the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. Crouching down, he ventured further into the mountain, trying to stick to the shadows as much as possible…which was getting more and more difficult as he neared the glowing center of the volcano.

If I don't find him soon, the boy tried to reason, then he's probably fine and just ventured on to his next destination without visiting Skyloft. He refused to let his brain dwell on the more probable alternatives, but the sinking feeling in his gut remained. Truth be told, Pipit was terrified; terrified for his own sake as he invaded enemy territory, but more terrified for Link's. Three days, Link had promised. Three days he would be gone before he'd check in back in and resupply in Skyloft. Those three days had come and gone, and Pipit began to worry for his friend. When three days turned into five, Pipit grew restless. On day seven, he threw caution to the wind and leapt off of his Loftwing to plummet below the cloud barrier in search of his childhood friend. Hopefully his mother and Karane wouldn't worry too much. He had lied and told them that he would be doing some required knight training off the main island and wouldn't be able to visit for a few days. Required? Well, no. And calling it "training" now seemed like the understatement of the century.

Another corner rounded, another spike in the temperature. The chainmail seemed to scald his skin through his undershirt. Pipit had no idea how much more of this aimless wandering he could endure. He really hoped he wasn't lost. Each time the ambient temperature increased, his hopes fell. Trying not to think of the confusing return trip he would inevitably have to make, he took a slow breath in an attempt to calm his frazzled nerves. The putrid air that filled his lungs only made his stomach knot up with nausea. In all reality, it was probably the combination of fear and his nerves that had him queasy, but he shook his head and blamed it on the stale stench of sulfur.

Finally, a door! In the distance, the door seemed to shimmer and waver in the sweltering heat. As he approached, Pipit's hesitant excitement was slowly overtaken by fear once again. There was no telling what was behind this door. It could be an army of Bokoblins, or worse, Lizalfos. Or it could be yet another pit of lava and fire keese. There was only one way to find out. Pipit steeled his nerves and reached towards the handle…

…which was locked.

"Damn it all to the Surface!" Pipit cursed under his breath. He paced in front of the ornate metal door. Of course this one was locked! Nobody would be foolish enough to leave anything of importance behind an unlocked door, especially one tucked so far into an erupting volcano. This room was practically at the center of the mountain anyway. No one wanted to cook themselves alive, so why bother locking the doors? It seemed pointless…unless…

Oh.

Right.

Maybe he was more tired than he realized.

Resolve renewed, the young knight-in-training backed up, took a breath, and threw his shoulder into the door. Over and over, the boy rammed into the door, loosening it little by little. "Come on. Come on!" he coaxed, becoming more agitated as his shoulder grew sore. Just as he was getting ready to give up and search for another entrance, the door burst open. Pipit tumbled into the massive room with all the grace of a drunken Kikwi. Scrambling back on his feet, he whipped out the sword he had stolen from the Skyloft armory, lest any monsters had already moved in to attack. Sword in hand, his eyes darted around the room, searching for foes. When he found even the high cave ceiling to be void of keese, he felt himself relax a touch. He let down his defensive posture, but kept the sword in hand as he took a more thorough survey of his surroundings.

Essentially, the room was empty and slightly cooler than the labyrinth of hallways leading to it. The floor beneath his boots was a beautifully tiled mosaic of the fire dragon himself. Why create such an intricate masterpiece in the center of a volcano? Pipit didn't know, but he was certainly impressed. The torchlight danced across the tiles, revealing small spots of crusted, ruddy dirt. There was a distinct trail of the brown splotches, and upon closer inspection, Pipit's heart sank. It was not dirt. It was dried blood.

Following the trail, Pipit wheeled around towards the back corner of the room. What he saw made him want to cry in his mother's arms. Or vomit. Maybe both.

"Oh, Goddesses, LINK!"

He floated in an ocean of black. It gripped him tightly, drowning the hero in emptiness. Surprisingly, he felt comfortable and at peace. But something wasn't right. He couldn't place it, but it didn't really bother him. Somewhere, someone was calling out. It sounded like a male voice, perhaps familiar. He couldn't be sure. A name, maybe. Whose name was that? The voice sounded panicked as it echoed through the all encompassing shadows. Was that his name? He didn't even know. Unable to think through the fog, he thought about falling back into the void of emptiness he had been a moment ago. It would be so easy to let the nothingness consume him once more. It was rather lonely, though. Wasn't there someone he was looking for?

Memories, fuzzy through the haze of darkness, seemed to glow in his mind. A warm laugh. Bright, cerulean eyes. The slightly floral scent of her golden hair.

Zelda.

The memory of her seemed to fight back the cold darkness threatening to overtake him once again. He struggled against the black tendrils holding his consciousness, pushing forward towards a growing light with renewed determination. The voice called out again. The hero focused on the sound, using it to pull himself out of the cold blackness. It sounded thick, garbled, and distant. As he fought the arms imprisoning him, the voice became clearer and the light grew stronger.

"…Llllll…iiiiinnnnnk…? …Lliiink…caanyooo heeaar me? Link! Answer me, damnit!"

The sea of blackness shattered and fell away, and a torrent of agony flooded the battered hero. Oh, Goddesses, everything hurt. His head was pounding. Broken ribs shifted painfully with every breath. A particularly deep gash across his abdomen throbbed with each heartbeat. The caked layer of blood baked onto his skin hid the bruises from view, but he felt each one. His shoulders ached from being strung up by the wrists, which were inflamed and raw from straining against his shackles. The burns across his bare back stung each time the air shifted. It was too much. The blackness encroached upon him again, and he struggled to retain some level of consciousness. If he went back into that void, he wouldn't return from it.

Clang!

Link didn't even have time to wonder what that sound could have been before his arms were loosened and he crumpled onto the warm tile. He groaned at the wave of pain that shot through his body. Fighting the darkness, he focused on taking one ragged breath at a time. It was as if someone was sitting on his chest, stabbing knives into his torso. Never before had it been this hard to breathe.

He felt himself being hastily turned over. Was someone…holding him? Shaking him gently?

"Link, wake up!" that same voice pleaded. "Come on, buddy. Open your eyes!" His eyelids felt like lead, but he managed to open them halfway. Blurred blotches danced in his vision, swimming with each labored inhalation. Link's eyes fluttered shut once more and his head lolled in his rescuer's arm. The darkness was returning.

A quiet, strained groan escaped Link's parched lips and relief washed over Pipit. Link was alive. Pipit had found him. Fumbling through his pouch, he grasped the single remaining red potion. Mentally kicking himself for drinking the other one, he tipped a tiny bit into Link's mouth. It dripped down his throat, throwing him into a convulsive fit of coughing. Pipit, now more terrified than ever, felt utterly helpless as his childhood friend struggled just to breathe. He could only hold the hero and wait until his weak friend's chest stopped spasming. Red liquid dribbled down Link's chin, and Pipit realized not all of it was the potion. Finally gasping for air, Link felt something cool being pressed once again to his lips.

"Drink it, Link. Please drink it," Pipit pleaded as he tipped the liquid into the hero's mouth once again. Praying for the goddesses' intervention in this hopeless situation, Pipit glanced down at the damage. Link's tunic and chainmail were nowhere to be seen. A few links of chain dangled from the rusty shackles still clamped around his wrists. The once khaki pants were now torn, stained, and crusted with blood from recent wounds. Even the soles of his leather boots were thin and burnt.

"Goddesses, Link. What happened to you?" he whispered, not wanting to know the answer to his question.

Finally, the hero swallowed some of the potion. Pipit waited as patiently as he could before offering more. It was an agonizingly slow process, and Pipit was anxious to get out of there before Link's tormenter came back. Finally, Link finished off the potion and his eyes fluttered open. It was a few moments before his eyes focused and found his older friend.

"P…Pipit?" the boy croaked out in a hoarse whisper. "What…what are you…" Link winced and shifted a bit in Pipit's arms. It was taking too long for the potion to take effect.

"You didn't show up, so I came looking for you," Pipit replied, answering Link's unfinished question. "And it's a damn good thing I did, too."

Link's labored breathing was starting to even out. He felt some energy slowly start to come back to him, and the mental fog cleared a bit. Thankfully, some of the pain was beginning to lessen as the potion finally did its job. He was still in agony, but he wasn't drowning in the pain anymore.

"I don't have much," Pipit sighed as he pulled out his water skin, "but here's some water." Link's eyes went wide and he reached up with shaking hands, downing the rest of the precious liquid in two swallows. He handed the drained leather pouch back to Pipit. The broken chains attached to the iron cuffs on his wrists jangled with each movement of his arm. After catching his breath (or, rather, attempting to), Link had his friend help him into a sitting position. The gash in his abdomen throbbed, and the change in position threw Link into another violent coughing fit. His fractured ribs screamed at him and he wrapped an arm around his torso to somehow ease the pain. Blood trickled down his chin, and he spat it out of his mouth.

Goddesses… Pipit thought in horror. Trying not to imagine what Link had endured to obtain such wounds, he put the hero's arm around his shoulders. "Link, we have to get out of here…" he said, the fear evident in his voice. Link nodded, still wincing in pain. "Okay, one…two…three!" Pipit hoisted his friend up to a standing position. The floor seemed to shift and roll beneath Link's feet. He wavered and his knees buckled, but Pipit held him up. "You alright?" he asked the hero, who nodded weakly in reply. Pipit didn't believe him, but continued anyway, "Let's go before whoever did this comes back."

Link shook his head and stopped Pipit. "Wait," he rasped. "My gear."

Pipit's jaw dropped. "Link, you can't be serious."

Link looked into his friend's eyes and simply stated, "Potions."

Pipit sighed. "I can't believe we are doing this right now," he said as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Helping his friend stay vertical, the pair made their way out of the mosaic room in search of Link's sword and items, ducking enemies along the way.

"Sword, shield, bow, quiver…" Pipit muttered to himself, mentally checking items off of their list. Link peered around the corner with blade and shield in hand, checking for lurking bokoblins. The three potions in his pouches had seemed to revitalize the hero. The wounds still remained, but he stood strong and confident. It was as if the injuries no longer pained the blonde. Pipit had wrapped strips of his bedsheet-sailcloth around the deep laceration in Link's torso, utilizing their limited supplies as makeshift bandages. Crimson had already soaked through, contrasting starkly against the white bedsheet. Link tightened his pouch belt around his bare waist, making do without his other garments. Pipit spoke up, "The last things we need are your tunic and chainmail, right?"

Still checking around the corner, Link replied, "I don't have a tunic anymore." His voice, still low and hoarse, portrayed no emotion.

Pipit's brow furrowed. "What do you mean you don't have a tunic anymore? Where did it go?" When Link pursed his parched lips and didn't respond, the young knight pressed further, "What happened—?"

Bloodshot, cerulean eyes flashed with anger and fear in the volcanic glow. Link's fierce gaze alone cut Pipit off before the hero slowly stated, "You don't want to know." Pipit gulped and dropped his gaze to the floor. Link softened a bit upon seeing his naïve friend put the pieces together in horror. The hero sighed and attempted to run his fingers through his hair, but the bloodied and matted locks would not allow passage. "Sorry," Link relented as he untangled his fingers and wiped them down his sweat-glazed face. "It has been a long week."

Pipit's gaze shifted back to Link, and with macabre bewilderment in his eyes he half-chuckled, "That might be the understatement of the year." If not for the gravity of the situation, the pair would have been amused. Instead, Link gave a one-sided smirk and turned back to the intersection, motioning for Pipit to follow. Link clutched the short lengths of chain attached to his shackles in his hands, silencing their jangling as the pair snuck down the hallway to the next corner.

When they found no adversaries in sight, Link crouched down on his heels and began drawing a crude map in the volcanic dirt. Pipit took the opportunity to ask, "How are you holding up?"

Without looking up, Link replied flatly, "I'm completely numb. Can't feel a thing. I don't think that will last much longer, though. I give it maybe seven minutes before the potions start to wear off, if we're lucky." Pipit pursed his lips in worry as the hero put the finishing touches on the map.

"This," the blonde instructed as he tapped a point on the map, "is where we are right now. We need to get to the loftwing statue, which is here." He tapped the bird icon with his other hand. As he began indicating the winding path they would need to take, the hero continued, "We are almost to the volcano's edge. Once we are out there, we'll have troupes of patrolling bokoblins to sneak past. The watchtowers," he noted as he drew in their respective markings, "will pay special attention to the guards' blind spots." Link looked up at his mustard-clad friend and said rather bluntly, "This is not going to be easy, and there are no shortcuts."

Pipit gulped and nodded. "So how do we do this?" he asked.

Link stood and took the Master Sword in hand again. "We have two possibilities. Option one: we try and sneak past everyone. While we will have fewer fights and the cover of night, this will take some time, and I'll be dead weight once these potions wear off. Option two: we make a break for it, fighting our way out where necessary." Pipit attempted to voice his objections to the perceived no-win scenarios, but Link interrupted, "There are no good options here, and we don't have much time."

Pipit hesitantly took in a breath of sulfurous air and began "I vote—"

Suddenly, a tremor shot through the ground, shaking the rock beneath their feet. Echoes of crashes and explosions emanated from the center of the volcano. Screams of rage reached the knights'-in-training ears, and any remaining color drained from Link's face. A furious voice snarled, "FIND HIM!" and the distant howls of bokoblins bounced off of the igneous walls.

Battered and burned, Link gripped the Master sword tightly and yelled "Run!"

Author's Notes: Holy crap I can't believe I'm finally publishing something. I've lurked around for, oh, 8 years now and I have never once actually published anything I've written. Not that I ever wrote much of anything before now. I hope you enjoyed reading this! Unfortunately, I am the slowest writer in the history of writing. Ever. Of all time. For whatever reason (maybe its because I'm a tad bit of a GIANT PERFECTIONIST) my brain demands that my first draft needs to be worthy of being called the final product. Thus, I obsess over each and every freaking word I choose before I even put it on paper. So writing takes a looooong time for me. Often, I'll stare at the page just trying to think of exactly the perfect word to describe the situation. Anyone else relate, or am I crazy? I think I'm crazy. My husband-who is a waaaaaay better writer than I am-thinks I'm crazy.

So let's just go with I'm crazy.

I do have some of the next chapter written, but I have been awfully unmotivated to continue writing as of late, thanks to a certain game that has occupied much of the time I didn't realize I had in the first place. I keep wanting to rewrite some of the memories from BOTW and give more context, specifically before and after certain memories take place. Mostly the last couple of memories. Where Link gets beat the hell up. Because who doesn't love some angsty hero near-death-experiences?

I'm not a sadist, I promise.

Aaaaaaanywaaaaaaaayyy...the reason I haven't started writing those memories is because I keep telling myself I have to finish this first. I have literally been writing this for about four months now. Yeah, I really am the slowest writer ever. This was originally intended to be the longest one-shot imaginable, mostly because I know I hate it when authors leave me hanging on a story I'm really hooked on, but I need feedback on this. I WILL FINISH THIS BEFORE MOVING ON TO OTHER THINGS. Stay with me here. I need you guys to keep me motivated, so please like, comment, and subscribe follow, favorite, or leave a review if you enjoyed this. Even if you hated every second of it, please review. Feedback is often what keeps writers going, so please take the time to do that. I'd really appreciate it.

Love love love, friends!

Shnarf