A rooster's cry rang through the worn streets of Maple Village sharp and insistent in the still morning air.
Jethro's eyes cracked open greeted by the dim glow of early sunlight bleeding through the cracks in the wooden shutters.
He yawned, running a hand through his messy blue hair when he felt something warm and oddly heavy resting against his right side.
His gaze snapped downward.
Link was curled up beside him, clutching Jethro's left arm like it was a lifeline his small cheek pressed against the fabric of Jethro's sleeve.
Drool pooled at the corner of his mouth leaving a dark spot on his sleeve.
Jethro blinked unsure how to react.
'What the hell…?' He wasn't used to this. Not the closeness. Not the trust. In his old life, mornings meant cold coffee, game menus, and silence. No kids. No… attachments.
His mind drifted back to yesterda the way the boy had looked at him and called him 'Daddy'.
"Tch" Jethro muttered under his breath scoffing. "I'm nineteen kid. You need your head checked."
Carefully, he pried his arm free. Link mumbled something unintelligible but didn't wake.
Jethro swung his legs off the bed, moving like someone diffusing a bomb and padded to the small bathroom.
---
A short while later, the creak of the wooden stairs carried his footsteps down to the bar.
Cora was already there, standing behind the counter with a rag in hand. She looked up when she heard him.
"Morning" she greeted.
"Morning" Jethro replied, sliding into a seat at one of the front tables.
She disappeared briefly into the back returning with a plate of bread, fried fish and a steaming cup of tea.
"Here. Eat up."
"Thanks" he said, and meant it. He ate quietly, his posture straight, each movement deliberate.
He ate like someone trained to be precise.
When he finished, Cora handed him a small cloth. "Here. Wipe your mouth."
He took it cleaning himself off before resting his forearms on the table. "Where's Varo's hideout?"
Cora's brows lifted slightly."Why? You planning to…?"
"I like to know my target's territory before they come back." Jethro replied simply.
She hesitated, then leaned against the counter. "It's on the east side of the coast, about half an hour's walk if you cut through the old mill road. Looks abandoned from the outside, but don't be fooled. When they're around, it's well fortified."
"How many men?"
"When they're here? Sometimes ten, sometimes thirty," she said, shaking her head.
"That's enough." Jethro said, pushing back his chair and standing.
---
The walk was quiet, save for the distant cries of gulls and the crunch of his boots on the dirt path.
The village faded behind him, replaced by sparse trees and the sound of waves slapping against rocks.
Half an hour later, the hideout came into view a squat, weathered structure of patched together wood and stone.
The roof sagged in places, but the walls stood firm.
A tattered flag bearing a crude skull and dagger flapped limply above the entrance.
He scanned the area. No guards. No movement. Just the creak of wood in the wind.
"Quite arrogant of them" he murmured.
Then he moved.
The silence broke
CRASH!
The sound of splintering wood echoed across the coast.
BANG! CLANG!
A chair flew through a window. Somewhere inside, glass shattered, followed by the heavy THUD of something large hitting the floor.
A moment later
BOOM!
Dust billowed from the cracks in the wall. A door went flying off its hinges.
The chaos rolled from room to room, each noise closer to the heart of the hideout, this continue for many hours, until Jethro reached the last door.
He stopped, hand resting on the frame, eyes locked on what waited inside.
The rusted hinges let out a long, drawn-out creak as Jethro pushed the door open.
Two things hit him immediately.
First, the stench. It was thick, clinging to the back of his throat like rancid oil. Rot, blood, unwashed bodies… and something else far fouler.
It made the air heavy, almost liquid.
Second, a cage in the far corner crammed with women all of them stripped bare.
Jethro's brow lifted slightly. He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a dull thunk.
The room was dim, lit only by a single lantern hanging crooked from the ceiling.
Its flickering light revealed walls stained dark with old blood, splashes and streaks that told silent stories of agony.
Rusted chains dangled from hooks, some ending in manacles, others in jagged, rust-eaten spikes.
A table against the left wall was littered with tools some he recognized, others whose purposes he didn't care to imagine, every one of them crusted with dried brown and black.
The floor was uneven, patches of sticky residue pulling at the soles of his boots.
The smell was worse here. Stagnant. Ancient.
He walked toward the cage, boots crunching over shards of glass and small, unidentifiable bones.
"Hey," he said flatly, eyes scanning the women inside. "You hear me?"
No answer.
He took a step closer, his shadow falling over them. "Anyone here can stand? Speak? Tell me what happened?"
Still nothing. No flinch. No glance. Just vacant stares through the bars.
That's when he noticed the shapes in the far corner of the cage.
Bodies.
The dead women were slumped together like discarded rags, skin pale, lips cracked, their eyes wide and glassy. Flies buzzed lazily over them.
The ones still breathing didn't look much different skin stretched thin over bone, eyes dull, their lips barely parting as if even breathing was an effort.
Whatever humanity they'd had was gone. They weren't living anymore. Just waiting.
Jethro let out a slow sigh through his nose. He'd seen this before. Too many times.
"…Alright."
He turned, scanning the cluttered shelves on the back wall until he spotted an old flintlock pistol resting beside a coil of rope.
Picking it up, he checked the chamber. Loaded.
He walked back to the cage, unlocked it with a key left hanging from a nearby hook and stepped inside.
He stood in front of the nearest woman. She didn't even look up.
BANG!
The gunshot echoed in the room, bouncing off the stone walls. Her head slumped forward instantly.
The others didn't move.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
Each shot was methodical. A clean, unhesitating pull of the trigger. No wasted movement.
On the last pull, the pistol clicked hollow, empty.
Jethro dropped it to the floor with a dull clank and scanned the room again.
His gaze fell on a machete leaning against the torture table, its blade chipped but still sharp enough.
He took it in hand, stepped to the last woman, and with one smooth swing
SHUNK!
Her head rolled to the side, the body crumpling.
Silence.
Jethro stood there for a moment, his breathing steady then turned and searched the shelves again until he found a small box of matches.
One strike and the flame danced in his hand.
He dropped it onto the stained floor, the fire hungrily catching on discarded rags and splintered wood.
By the time he stepped out, the fire had begun to spread, smoke curling through the cracks in the walls.
Minutes later, the entire base was a roaring inferno.
Jethro stood with his hands in his pockets, watching until the flames reached the roof.
Then he turned his back on it and began the walk toward Cora's bar, the orange glow at his back fading into the morning haze.
---
Link stirred with a soft groan, stretching his arms above his head. Yesterday had drained him more than he realized.
He blinked blearily, taking in the unfamiliar room then noticed the empty space where Jethro had been.
"…Where'd Daddy go?" he mumbled to himself, rubbing his eyes.
Sliding out of bed, he shuffled to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face until the fog of sleep began to fade.
His hair stuck out in messy angles, but he didn't seem to care.
When he came downstairs, the bar was quiet. "Morning" he called lazily.
Cora looked up from behind the counter, eyebrows rising. "Morning? Link, it's already afternoon. What time did you even wake up?"
Link tilted his head. "…Just now."
She folded her arms. "Where did you even sleep? You weren't in your room."
"I dunno," he replied, brushing past the question. "Where's Daddy?"
Cora sighed, muttering something under her breath before answering. "Out. Said he had somewhere to go."
She slid a plate of food toward him along with a cup of water.
As he started eating, she leaned on the counter. "Why do you keep calling him "Daddy"? You only met him yesterday."
Link paused mid bite, thinking back to that moment in the bar how Jethro had stood there calm, unflinching, kicking a grown man across the street like it was nothing.
The way his face almost mirrored Link's own, only with their hair and eye colors reversed.
"…I dunno," he said finally, shrugging. "I just feel like it."
Cora let out another sigh but this time a small smile tugged at her lips. "You're a strange kid."
"Mm." Link replied, already focused on his food.
Silence settled over the bar, the only sound the steady clink of utensils and the scrape of his plate.
The door creaked open.
Link's head shot up, his eyes brightening. "Dadd-"
His voice faltered, and his shoulders slumped. "…Not him." He turned back to his plate, grumbling under his breath.
Cora, however, had gone completely still.
The man who stepped inside was tall, broad shouldered, with a face carved in harsh lines and eyes that glinted with malice.
Her hands trembled as she gripped the edge of the counter.
Varo.
The name burned in her mind like poison. The one who had destroyed her life.
'They came while Jethro is gone'… Her breath quickened. 'What should I do?!'
Varo's smirk widened the moment he saw Cora stiffen.
His tongue dragged slowly across his lips as he swaggered forward, boots thudding against the wooden floor.
"Well, well, well…" His voice was slick with mockery. "If it isn't little Cora."
She flinched when his hand rose, but instead of striking he gently cupped her cheek, thumb brushing her skin as if they were lovers.
Her palm cracked across his face.
The sound echoed in the room.
Varo chuckled low, shaking his head. "Tsk, tsk… you haven't changed. Still got that fire. Didn't work out too well for you last time, did it?"
His gang behind him erupted into laughter, slapping each other's backs.
"Remember, boys?" Voro called over his shoulder. "She begged. Oh, how she begged said she'd do anything."
More laughter, some whistles.
Cora's hands balled into fists. "Shut up."
"Oh, I love it when you pretend to be brave," Varo sneered. He leaned closer, breath hot on her ear. "Tell me, do you still wake up in the middle of the night crying? Or did you finally forget what I did to your precious little-"
"Enough."
The word didn't come from Cora.
Varo's eyes flicked to the side too late.
FWIP!
A rush of displaced air and suddenly Link was standing in front of him, glaring up at the much larger man.
SLAP!
The crowd froze. Varo's head turned slightly from the blow, his jaw tightening.
FWIP!
Link was gone, now leaning casually against the bar's entrance.
"Wow," Link called across the room, voice dripping with mock innocence.
"Your face is even uglier up close. That scar? Did you get it from losing a fight with a goat?"
A few of the gang members stifled laughter, earning themselves death glares from Varo.
"Get him!" Varo roared, storming toward the boy.
The gang poured out of the bar after him.
---
Outside, the afternoon sun lit up the dusty street. Varo lunged
FWIP!
SLAP!
"Missed!" Link's voice taunted from ten paces away.
A larger thug charged, swinging wide
FWIP!
SLAP!
"Too slow, grandpa!"
The gang cursed, tripped and grabbed at air.
Link darted between them like a phantom, each appearance punctuated by a sharp SLAP! and another insult.
"Oooh, is that all you've got? My "grandma" cat moves faster than you!"
"You!" one thug shouted, spinning only to get smacked across the cheek and find nothing but empty space in front of him.
Link zipped right up to Varo, looked him up and down, and grinned.
"Hey, did your mother want you to look like that, or was it an accident?
The laughter from a couple of bystanders was immediate.
Varo froze, his face going red. That THAT! was the line. Nobody mocked his appearance.
"You little! I'm going to rip you apart with my bare hands!"
---
Cora had followed them out, heart pounding, but let out a relieved breath when she saw Link unharmed and still grinning.
Her relief shattered when one of Varo's men noticed her lingering near the bar's side.
He smiled sharp, predatory and moved like a shadow behind her.
Before she could react, a rough arm clamped around her waist, yanking her back.
Cold metal pressed to her forehead.
"Heh… look what I found" the man crooned. Then he burst into loud, mocking laughter.
"Oi, Captain!" he shouted toward Varo. "Guess who's about to have a really bad day?"
The dusty street went silent for a moment, only the faint creak of the pistol's hammer breaking the stillness.
Then, laughter. Loud, ugly, merciless.
Varo bent over, clutching his stomach, roaring with mirth.
"Good job, Brann! You really are Pig-Eye. I'll give you whatever you want as a reward!"
Pig-Eye Brann grinned wide, his right eye milky white and unfocused, the left small and beady, almost buried in folds of scarred flesh.
A jagged, rotting tooth stuck out when he smiled, and a perpetual sheen of grease clung to his lank black hair.
"You know what I want, Captain" Brann said, his voice heavy with lecherous anticipation. His gaze never left Cora, crawling over her like filth.
Varo's grin stretched wider. "Hah! I figured as much."
Behind them, Red Jaw let out a short grunt more growl than laugh. His square jaw was permanently stained crimson, the skin around it rough and pitted as though it had been burned or dyed in blood.
Thick, corded muscles bulged beneath his tattered sleeveless coat and his one visible canine tooth jutted upward, giving his smirk a predatory curl.
He couldn't hide the envy in his voice. "Tch… lucky bastard."
Every man there knew what the "reward" was one night with the most beautiful woman they'd captured.
It was the prize every filthy soul in Varo's crew dreamed of.
Varo's eyes cut to Link, who hadn't moved a muscle. The boy's jaw was tight, fists clenched at his sides.
"You so much as twitch," Varo said slowly, almost playfully, "and she gets a bullet between the eyes. Heh… in fact-"
He lunged forward without warning.
A fist smashed into Link's face, the sound of flesh on bone sharp in the air.
Before the boy could recover, a boot drove into his ribs, sending him sprawling.
Varo yanked him up by the collar, slamming him into the dirt again.
"Think you can make a fool out of me, brat?!"
Another punch, this time to the stomach. Link gasped, the wind forced out of him.
A knee crashed into his back, followed by a kick to his side.
Laughter rolled from the gang as Link was tossed, kicked, and driven into the ground over and over.
Dust rose in small clouds around them, mixing with the metallic tang of blood in the air.
Finally, Varo planted his boot on the back of Link's head, grinding it into the dirt.
Link's cheek scraped against the ground, but his eyes… his eyes stayed locked on Varo's, filled with unshaken defiance.
Varo's lip curled. "Still looking at me like that, huh? I'll wipe that look right off your face."
He reached for the pistol at his belt-
"Stop!"
The shout cut through the air.
Pig-Eye Brann barely had time to register the movement before Cora tore herself free from his grip.
She stumbled forward, then dropped to all fours in the dirt, forehead pressed to the ground before Varo.
"Please…" her voice cracked, raw and desperate. "Spare him. I'll… I'll do anything. Just… let him live."
Brann's expression soured instantly, his one good eye narrowing.
His captain's disapproving glare burned into him 'how did you let this woman move?'@@@@
"You… bitch."
His boot slammed down on the back of her head, forcing her further into the dirt.
"You begging again? Just like back then?" Brann's tone dripped with cruelty.
"Ten years ago you groveled just like this… and what happened? Huh?" He leaned closer, lips curling. "Your husband and your brat still died. You were pathetic then and you're pathetic now."
Cora's eyes, hidden beneath the shadow of her hair, burned hotter than the sun.
Hatred coiled there, deep and simmering, but no one could see it not with her forehead pressed into the ground.
She endured the humiliation, her voice gone, her body still. She would not rise. Not if it meant even the smallest chance her son, her Link, would live.
Around them, villagers stood and watched without a flicker of expression. No outrage. No pity. This was just another day in Maple Village.
Pig-Eye Brann opened his mouth, the first syllable of another cruel insult already forming-
CLICK.
A sudden, unmistakable chill pressed against the back of his skull.
Before his mind could register the danger-
BANG.
His head erupted like a smashed melon. Bone shards, brain matter, and blood splattered across the dirt, painting the ground and the boots of the nearest men.
His body twitched once, then crumpled in a heap.
For a moment, the entire street froze.
Varo's gang stared in stunned silence, eyes wide, mouths slack. The sheer suddenness of it their comrade's life snuffed out in an instant, had punched the air from their lungs. No threat. No warning. Just gone.
Red Jaw's sword arm trembled. Another man dropped his half-lit cigarette, the ember dying instantly in the dust.
Even Varo's smirk faltered.
"D… Daddy!" Link's tired but excited voice broke the moment, snapping every head toward him.
Jethro stood there, his expression unreadable, but his golden-blond eyes burned like the desert sun at noon.
He took in Link's battered face, bruises swelling, blood drying at the corner of his lip. His grip on the weapon tightened.
He didn't know why this fury felt different.
Maybe because Link was one of his favorite game characters… or maybe something deeper, something that had nothing to do with games or coincidence.
All he knew was that he was angry.
Furious.
"Who the fuck is you?!" Red Jaw bellowed, breaking the stillness with a voice like gravel.
Varo, however, didn't shout. His gaze swept over Jethro, taking in the battered duster coat, the desert-worn boots, the slight tilt in his stance that spoke of a man who lived by his weapon.
And then his eyes landed on the weapon itself.
Jethro's left hand gripped a single-handed double barrel shotgun, a piece so unusual it looked more like an artifact than a gun.
The metal gleamed the same warm golden-blond as Jethro's eyes, catching the sunlight with a fierce glint. The handle and trigger were a striking, deep blue, the exact shade of his hair.
Etched along both barrels was the winding form of a western dragon, its scales catching the light in intricate detail, the head curling near the muzzle so that every time the gun was raised, the dragon looked ready to breathe fire.
From any angle, the dragon was visible, an unmistakable mark that even an enemy would remember long after.
It was one of the two weapons god's gift him, with simple explanation: "Your stamina is this gun's bullets. Fire power, grow stronger as you become stronger."
Varo's eyes narrowed. The resemblance between this stranger and the boy was impossible to ignore hair and eye colors reversed, but otherwise… uncanny.
"Hey, young man," Varo finally said, his voice was smooth but edged with malice, "didn't your parents teach you not to interrupt an adult's fun?"
His grin returned, thin and mocking. "And you're too damn young to be that brat's father."
Jethro didn't so much as blink at him.
His eyes were already locked on Red Jaw, who had decided that yelling was easier than thinking and was now charging forward with a curved blade raised high.
BANG.
The second head of the day burst apart before the blade even came close. Red Jaw's body stumbled forward two steps before collapsing face-first in the dirt.
Gasps and curses erupted from the remaining men.
Jethro didn't stop.
Still holding the shotgun in just his left hand, he pivoted smoothly, the weapon an extension of his body.
Each shot was deafening in the narrow street, each blast reducing another of Varo's men to nothing more than a heap of lifeless meat and shattered bone.
The dragon along the barrel seemed to glow with each firing, as if feeding on his will.
BANG. Click. Twist. BANG.
BANG. Step forward. BANG.
Bodies fell in every direction, the smell of gunpowder mingling with the copper scent of blood.
Link, even with his limbs aching and his face throbbing from the earlier beating, couldn't look away.
His Dad moved like the coolest hero he'd ever seen, calm, efficient, never wasting a motion.
Each time the shotgun barked fire, Jethro's coat swayed just slightly, the dragon design catching the light like a living thing.
It wasn't just that Jethro was winning. It was the way he was winning, like the entire street belonged to him and anyone foolish enough to challenge that fact was simply erased.
BANG
The last of Varo's men jerked violently before collapsing face first into the dirt, a black hole still smoking in his skull. His blade clattered beside him with a lifeless clang.
The village square went dead quiet.
A handful of villagers peeked from doorways and cracked shutters.
Some covered their mouths in shock.
Others stared at Jethro as though a ghost had just walked into their world.
Cora stood frozen behind them, wide eyed, one hand clutching her apron as though it could anchor her to the moment. Her breath trembled.
Link, despite his bruises and the pounding in his head, couldn't stop grinning. 'He's so damn cool… The best. My Dad's the best.'
Varo, for the first time, looked shaken eyes darting between the sprawled corpses of his crew and the man who had done it without breaking a sweat.
But the fear in his face quickly twisted into something ugly.
"You think you're some kind of hero, huh?" Varo snarled, forcing a sneer.
"You've got no idea who you're messing with-"
Jethro didn't respond. He just kept walking forward at the same casual, almost lazy pace, his shotgun hanging loosely at his side.
"You deaf, bastard? Varo barked, but Jethro's silence only made him angrier.
Then, Varo's eyes flickered with an idea. He lunged forward, grabbing Link by the collar and yanking him off the ground.
The kid wheezed, feet kicking at the air as Varo shoved the barrel of his pistol against his temple.
"Take one more step and I'll paint the dirt with this brat's brains!" Varo roared, his teeth bared.
Jethro stopped.
Varo's lips curled into a wolfish grin. "That's right. Drop the tough-guy act. I run this show now. You hear me? You ain't taking another breath without my say so."
Cora gasped, "No!" but Varo ignored her, laughing under his breath.
"Link," Jethro finally said, his voice low, controlled.
Link tilted his head, still dangling in Varo's grip.
"Cover your ears."
"Yes!!" Link obeyed without hesitation, slapping his palms over his head like it was the most natural order in the world.
Varo scoffed. "What the hell are you-"
Time seemed to slow.
From Link's eyes, eyes trained by his Devil Fruit to notice every flicker of motion, Jethro didn't move so much as arrive.
In one blink, he was standing three feet away. In the next, he was right in front of Varo, his golden and blue shotgun raised.
Nobody else Cora, the villagers, not even Varo saw him move. To them, Jethro simply vanished.
BANG!
Both barrels roared at once, the recoil barely making his arm twitch.
Two smoking shells blasted from the muzzle, tearing through Varo's skull in a wet explosion.
Blood, bone, and brain matter burst into the air, spattering the dirt and painting Link's cheek in crimson.
THUD!
Varo's lifeless body hit the ground, the pistol slipping from his fingers.
For a breath, no one moved. The sound of the shot still seemed to echo between the buildings.
Then the cheering started. First a few voices, then the entire village erupted, their shouts and claps crashing together like waves.
Men and women stepped into the street, laughing, crying, shaking each other's shoulders.
"He's dead!"
"Finally... finally free!"
"No more Varo!"
Cora stumbled forward, tears spilling freely down her cheeks. "He's gone… Husband… Son… you can rest now," she whispered, voice trembling between sobs.
"We're free. We're finally free."
Link, still catching his breath, grinned so wide it hurt. He stepped forward and threw his arms around Jethro's waist. "I knew you'd come for me! I knew it!"
Jethro didn't flinch at the blood smeared across the boy's clothes or the fact that it was his kill that put it there. He rested one hand on Link's back, feeling the kid's small frame relax against him.
Moments later, exhaustion overtook Link. Still clutching Jethro's coat, he drifted into sleep, his face pressed against his side.
Jethro looked down at the peaceful, snoring boy, and for the first time that day… he smiled. Not a smirk. Not the cold, unreadable expression he showed others. A genuine smile, one no one else would see.
With the cheering crowd at his back, he shifted Link into his arms and walked towards the bar.
Jethro pushed open the door to his room. Not knowing which one belonged to Link, he laid the boy gently on his own bed.
Without looking back, he spoke, his voice low but certain.
"Can you tend his wounds and clean him up?"
From the doorway, Cora's voice answered softly, "Of course."
She stepped in and began working while Jethro turned away, heading for the small bathroom.
The hot water sluiced away the grime, the smoke, the blood most of it other people's.
By the time he stepped out, hair damp and fresh clothes clinging comfortably to his frame, he reached for the door handle only for it to swing open from the other side.
Cora stood there, shoulders a little slumped from exhaustion, but her face… her face was glowing, as if someone had placed the world's most precious gift in her hands.
"I've cleaned him," she said quietly. "Can you… stay with Link?"
Jethro gave a short nod.
Inside, he grabbed a small stool and set it near the foot of the bed. For a while, he simply sat, watching the boy sleep. Then he heard a faint mumble.
"…Dad… Daddy…" Link's small hands twitched restlessly, searching for something unseen.
Jethro hesitated, then awkwardly extended his hand. Link's fingers found it instantly, gripping tight.
Not long after, both drifted into sleep Link hugging his arm with a peaceful little smile, Jethro slumped in the stool in a posture that even at rest, could snap into action at the first hint of danger.
---
Morning came with the rooster's cry. Jethro's eyes opened instantly.
A yawn slipped out before habit snapped his mind alert, Link was gone from the bed.
He scanned the room, every muscle coiled, until the stillness convinced him there was no attack.
He guessed the boy had simply woken early.
After a splash of cold water to the face, Jethro headed downstairs. Halfway down the steps, he heard voices.
"Good morning, Daddy!" Link beamed, his face wrapped in fresh gauze but looking bright and full of life.
Jethro gave a small nod. "Morning." He glanced at Cora and added, "Morning."
Cora, no longer the haunted woman from yesterday, smiled easily.
She set plates on the bar counter warm bread, eggs and something that smelled faintly of herbs.
"Eat. I'll be right back." she said, disappearing upstairs.
The two sat together in the quiet clink of breakfast.
"You were reckless yesterday, kid." Jethro said finally not scolding, just stating fact.
Link rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Sorry…"
Before more could be said, Cora returned carrying a small wooden chest. She set it in front of Jethro, who raised an eyebrow.
"My payment" she explained.
He flipped the lid. Inside, neat stacks of bills, ten million berries.
"Whoa…" Link whispered, eyes wide.
"I've saved that for ten years," Cora said with pride. "All for Varo's head."
"You can count it if you want" she added, but Jethro simply shut the lid and slid it into his coat pocket without a word.
They ate in silence for a few moments before Cora finally spoke again, hesitance in her tone.
"Can you take Link with you?"
Jethro paused mid bite. "Why?" His voice was flat, unreadable.
Link's shoulders sank as he looked down at his plate.
"I don't know why," Cora said, "but he's attached to you. I know you'll protect him. I saw your face when you saw him beaten yesterday."
Jethro blinked. "…What?"
"I noticed it," she continued. "It's the first time I've seen him smile like that ever when he's with you."
"My work is full of danger and you want me to bring a child?" His words were cold, his expression the same.
Link stopped chewing. The boy's eyes stayed downcast.
"I know," Cora admitted softly. "But I think you're… fated to meet him."
"Hmph." Jethro pushed his stool back and stood, intent on leaving.
But before he could take a step, something latched onto him from behind, small arms wrapping tight around his waist.
He glanced back and saw Link's eyes, a little red from holding back tears but steady.
"Please," Link said quietly.
"I can't protect him forever," Cora added from behind, "but you can."
Jethro ignored her, staring down at Link's face. Something, something unidentifiable, shifted inside him.
He turned his gaze forward again.
"Fine. I got it. Now let me go!" he muttered, voice clipped, tone hiding whatever was on his face.
Link and Cora both lit up. Cora kept thanking him while Link vanished in a blur, only to reappear seconds later with a packed bag slung over his shoulder.
"Let's go, Daddy!" Link grinned.
Jethro just sighed and walked toward the door.
---
The creak of the dock's planks underfoot followed them all the way to the end, where Jethro's vessel waited.
It was a modest thing built entirely from weathered oak, the grain worn smooth from years of salt and wind.
The hull sat low and sturdy in the water, with a single short mast for a sail and a tiller at the stern for steering.
No flags, no colors just a working man's boat. Nothing to draw attention. Nothing to boast about.
Link stepped aboard, his eyes darting to every curve and corner.
"Whoa… the wood's so shiny… And it floats so steady… Is this the steering thing? What's that rope for? And that little wheel thing?!"
"Don't touch that," Jethro said, stepping on behind him. His voice was calm, but his eyes were already checking the knots on the sail. "It's called a tiller. Helps steer."
"Oh…" Link peered over the edge of the boat. "It's like… a chair that moves the water!"
Jethro didn't bother correcting him. He moved to the stern, hand on the tiller, glancing toward the wind.
"We're leaving, Link. Put your bag inside."
"Yes!"
The boy ducked through the small cabin door. Inside, there was just enough space for a single bunk, a built in chest and a shelf with neatly rolled maps.
A faint scent of cedar and something like soap lingered in the air. The wooden floorboards gleamed.
In the corner, a wall was tacked with several weathered wanted posters each one marked through the face with a bold red X.
Link's eyes scanned the names: pirates, bandits, a few marines. Then his gaze landed on the most recent, Varo's smirking face, freshly crossed out.
He froze for a moment, realization dawning.
'Dad marked him before even coming to Maple Village…'
A slow grin spread on Link's face.
He slipped back out onto the deck. Jethro was at the tiller, gaze forward, scanning the open water.
Link looked toward the dock and saw Cora standing there, hands clasped, eyes locked on him.
In a blink, he vanished, reappearing right in front of her. He hugged her tightly, smiling up at her with bright, unshaken eyes.
"Thank you!" His voice rang pure, not a hint of sadness in it.
Cora's breath caught. Tears welled instantly, slipping down her cheeks as she returned the embrace.
"No… thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for staying with me."
Before the moment could linger, Link darted back to the boat, landing lightly on the deck. He turned and waved, arm swinging high.
"Bye, Cora!"
She waved back, her smile breaking between tears.
The distance widened, her figure shrinking as the sail caught the morning breeze.
Link kept waving until the dock and the woman on it became nothing but a blur on the horizon.
Jethro said nothing, eyes fixed on the sea ahead.
Link finally turned toward him, still grinning.
"So, where are we going next, Daddy?"
Jethro's hand tightened slightly on the tiller. "You'll find out."
The boat cut across the blue, leaving Maple Village and its ghosts behind.