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“So this is a shrine?” the captain remarked as the floating platform lowered the chain, packed like sardines, into Tah Muhl Shrine. Warriors looked impressed, to say the least. Not even once did he smirk and give a dismissive flip of his scarf. Sheikah tech, working its magic as usual.
Ever since they’d been dumped in Wild’s era, the chain had been begging to check out one of these “shrines” he “never shut up about” (as Legend would, and did, say). With the portal opening at the southern foot of Death Mountain, and this shrine being a… rather easy one, Wild figured it was as good a starting place as any. He’d let them fool around, inevitably get stuck, and come begging for his help 15 minutes later. Those 15 minutes’ peace would be a goddess-send.
“To you who set foot in this shrine… I am Tah Muhl. In the name of the Goddess Hylia, I offer this trial.”
A few of the Links, Wind and Hyrule specifically, whipped around in panic as the otherworldly voice of the mummified monk snaked through their heads. Wild cringed. He forgot how disorienting that was the first few times. Probably should have warned them… oh well.
Once the initial shock wore off, the chain proceeded through the antechamber. The more curious of the bunch ambled along at a shuffling pace, necks craned upward to take in the impressive architecture. The whole place was bathed in a deep spiritual grandeur that had the chain stifling enamored gasps. Sky found himself drifting into prayer as he walked, reaching out with his heartstrings to connect with the spirit of Hylia within this holy site.
Unfortunately, they didn’t make it too far. Scarcely a few paces into the cavernous room, the pathway off to the right came to a dead end. Those up ahead doubled back to the entrance, then returned immediately back to the wall. Some began to pace in anticipation, or draw their weapons as they felt they’d been cornered.
Wild allowed himself a tiny smirk, sneaking a peek at the time on his Slate. 5 minutes down. Right on schedule.
“Do they normally have all this dead ivy on the walls?” Hyrule asked, plucking a few of the conspicuous papery leaves that were plastered along the walls. The traveler tilted his head at the champion. Rulie was standing beside the roaring goblet at the far end, tapping the toe of one leather boot.
“No…” Wild lilted with faux innocence, purposely dragging his tone up at the end to garner intrigue.
“So that’s part of the puzzle then,” Legend remarked for confirmation.
Wild shrugged and wriggled where he stood, relishing in the sensation of holding his brothers in suspense like this.
“Maaaayyybeeee,” he cooed.
The veteran rolled his eyes and drew down the brim of his cap. He sent a scowl towards his brother, who merely batted his eyes.
The traveler, thoroughly and literally puzzled, reached a hand into his scraggly hair and withdrew a single thin stick. He’d stashed it there for safekeeping. Holding it between his thumb and forefinger, Hyrule dipped its end in the fire to char it. Then he pulled it back out from the heat, blowing it for good measure. The distal end of the twig was blackened and powdery. Perfect. He wanted to leave his mark on this shrine: writing something on the wall like “Link wuz here” or similar.
But as soon as he readied the makeshift writing utensil against the wall, his spirits fell.
He didn’t know how to spell.
“Wait, Rulie, that’s a good idea!” The smithy called across the shrine’s entryway. Hyrule spun around to watch Four dash over to Legend. The tiniest hero just about jumped up and down as he explained something rapid-fire to the veteran. Squinting a bit, Hyrule saw how he pointed at Legend’s fire rod, then waved at all the dead plant matter. Then waved both arms around his head frantically.
Oh.
Oh!
Legend readied the fire rod with utmost haste, spreading and planting his legs to stay put as a fiery plume was jettisoned from its end. The spindly vines roared into flames. The leaves smoked and crackled as they caught, burning into a chalky charcoal oblivion. Warriors yelped and jumped back as an ember popped and landed upon his scarfed shoulder. He brushed it away, grumbling to himself about the importance of that garment.
Behind the first wall of leaves was a set of wooden double-doors: these, too, caught fire and were soon destroyed, revealing a path forward. The heroes whooped in glee and scrambled to help each other over the lip into the next chamber. Wild grinned at their progress, beaming with pride as he followed them to the back half of the shrine.
The next chamber was smaller, but equally painted with great sheets of dry leaves. Off to the left, two massive panels of metal grating extended high up, not quite to the ceiling. In the center of it all… was a locked door.
If there was one thing the Spirit of the Hero could not ignore, it was a locked door.
“Alright, where’s the key?” Legend huffed, fists jabbing into his hipbones as a contemplative frown screwed up his visage. He turned an expectant frown back at Wild.
“You all solved that first part so fast,” the champion sneered good-naturedly. “This part should be no sweat!” With a cheeky wink, he spun on his heels and strutted over to the opposite side of the room. He heard a few expletives from over his shoulder, yet paid them no mind. There was a hidden chest in here that the rest of the chain didn’t necessarily need to know about. He intended on retrieving the contents of that hidden chest, without making a fuss about it.
Wind swiveled his head back and forth to survey this next segment of the puzzle, springy yellow curls hopping about as he studied. When his eyes met the conspicuous patch of plant beside the metal bars, he positively squealed.
“Fire! Fire rod! There!”
Legend obeyed. The tinder lit with almost no effort. The flame swept across the ivy, crawling upwards until it reached a wooden platform. That, in their haste, the chain hadn’t even noticed. A few yelped as they noticed it held up an important looking key… and screamed in horror as the platform was set ablaze. The flimsy wood died a fiery death and the key plummeted down to the ground unscathed.
A sigh of relief passed around the chain. And then a groan of frustration.
“How’re we supposed to get that, seaweed brain?!” Ledge bellowed.
Wind stalked right up to the metal bars, making a point of brushing past the veteran, and wedged himself firmly between the metal slats. And was able to stretch no further. He squeaked as he tried (and failed) to move another inch. Every muscle, every joint in his upper body strained as it was pushed well past its normal range of motion. Still, the sailor’s reach fell embarrassingly short of the key. In fact, none of them stood a chance of grabbing it through the bars on their own. No, it would take something a little more… creative.
Sky gave an all-knowing smirk, pouty lips contorting into an expression of pure self-righteousness. He dug around the many pouches of his belt, withdrawing perhaps his favorite item from his adventure (sorry, Fi): an ornate, golden beetle. A remote controlled, hook-mouthed ornate, golden beetle.
“Step aside, step aside,” he crowed, sauntering forward with the mechanical bug perched atop his forearm. He received several strange looks from his brothers: some eyes squinting in disbelief, others rolling dramatically at his theatrics. Striking a powerful pose, obliqued with one fist raised and the other hand throwing back his sailcloth, Sky loosed the beetle from its dock.
The automaton fluttered its thin alloy wings at impossible speeds, driving it in a sharp arc up and over the bars. The chain watched as Sky concentrated deeper, directing the bug back down and towards the key. The knight tried not to let his doubt show. That key is awfully big, and awkwardly shaped. I don’t think my beetle can scoop it from the ground like that…
In the culmination of its valiant effort, the beetle skittered along the smooth concrete floor. It crashed. And promptly died. But not without first flopping around, indeed like a mortally wounded insect.
Wind howled with laughter, after he freed himself from the bars. Sky’s countenance took on a hue roughly the same shade as his beloved loftwing.
“Got anything else useful strapped to that belt of yours?” Wind snorted, wiping a single joyful tear from the corner of his eye.
Hot anger flashed inside the Skyloftian. His frenzied hands clawed at his belt, withdrawing his gilded whip. “As a matter of fact, I do!” He snarled, cracking its long tail to make a show of intimidation at the sailor. “You want a taste o’ this one?”
Wind squared right up. His rosy cheeks blew up like an indignant pufferfish, eyebrows knitting together at his browbone. Sky was about to lunge for the kid, wrestle him into submission, when someone had the common sense to step in.
“Now jus’ you’s wait a minnit,” Twilight drawled, holding up a single palm. “Sky, how long ‘s that whip’a yers?”
The knight took a few moments to dispel his flash of anger, then looked down at the coiled red rope. It was… pretty long, in all honesty. It wrapped about his hands in over a dozen loops 2 feet in diameter.
“I—” he began, stammering a bit. “Long, I guess? I mean, I can swing a fair distance with it, and stuff.”
Twilight gave the whip a single-raised-eyebrow glare. Then swept his attention to Four: or, rather, Four’s ankle. And finally, all the way up to that notable gap at the top of the thick metal grating. A gut-churning understanding dawned in the tiny hero.
The smith balked. “You’re not suggesting…” His iridescent irises flashed blue, then red, as his expression rode out waves of emotion: indignation, terror, and then grumpy resolution.
“You are suggesting.”
Twilight nodded.
Four drew in, then let out a deep sigh. “And I have no say in this matter, do I?”
“All in favor of tying Four to Sky’s whip so he can climb the bars, go grab the key, and hand it to us so we can unlock the door and let him out?”
Eight hands went up. Wild hadn’t heard the question, from his preoccupation in the other corner of the room, so he abstained. Four didn’t raise his hand. Legend raised both.
“The ayes have it, smithy,” Twilight hummed, having the decency to offer an apologetic smile. Showing an admirable level of decorum and restraint, Four swallowed back a fierce curse.
“You all owe me for this,” Four growled as he tied the rope above his boot, nearly tight enough to cut off the appendage’s circulation. His eyes swirled with infuriated sapphire pigmentation. “Owe me. Big time.”
(Meanwhile, across the room…)
Wanting to flaunt his outdoorsmanship a bit, Wild withdrew some flint from the Slate. He took the pair of sharp, pearlescent black rocks, one in each hand, and struck them together against the wall of dead ivy. He expected a spark: and got nothing.
Weird. Bad luck maybe. Or I’m off my game.
So he tried again.
Nothing again.
Frustration crept in almost immediately. Wild readied the stones again, striking them repeatedly with increasing desperation. He couldn’t help but groan a bit when all the attempts failed.
C’mon, you piece of—
“SHIIIIIIIIIIIIII—”
The champion whipped around at the sound of someone screaming. High-pitched and desperate, as though in mortal danger. One hand wrenched to his bow, drawing it taut and notching an arrow faster than his brain could think. The two slabs of flint tumbled to the ground.
There are no Guardians in this Shrine! He gasped to himself. What could possibly be happening?!
Whatever situation he was anticipating, nothing prepared him for the scene revealed when he spun around: Sky, feet planted and sweating like a hinox, with Hyrule looped around his waist for extra counterweight, as Four dangled from the opposite end of the whip like a pulley. The smith thrashed like a fish caught on a line. With everyone else watching as if this was normal. As if any of this was normal.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Wild bellowed.
The rest of the chain remained deadly silent. For a few moments, the only sound to be heard was the squeaking of the strained rope that held their smithy aloft.
“Getting’ that there key…?” Twilight replied with a pointed finger, uncertainty drawing his cadence upwards like a question at the end. Frankly, he thought it was obvious what they were doing. After all, Wild must have solved this Shrine in the same way all those years ago. His Zelda must’ve been holding the rope then, he surmised.
Fuming, Wild abandoned his task of revealing the hidden chest. Stomping over, he wrenched out the Slate and jabbed at its surface until it pulsed with swirling magenta mana. The archer called upon Magnesis and two ropes of magic shot from the Slate, connecting through the bars with the key. He whipped the Slate over his head and, in one fell swoop, the key was tugged up and over the grating. It landed with an unceremonious clatter in front of the chain, who stared down at it with unreadable expressions.
Stowing the Slate, Wild gestured wildly, yet silently, at the metal object. Nobody spoke.
“Oh,” Twilight offered. Time laid a single, steadying hand atop the rancher’s shoulder.
“Yeah, ‘OH,’” Wild mocked.
“That was, uh,” Legend hummed, scuffing the toe of his Pegasus Boot along the floor to dispel the tension. “That was easier than we were making it.”
“… you think?!”
Silence. Silence, then a squeak.
“YOU GOT THE KEY, CAN YOU LET ME DOWN NOW?!”