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Chapter Text

Link trudged wearily across the damp forest terrain, repressing a wince at every squelch that announced his presence through the early evening air. Although the Water Dragon had finally deigned to drain the forest, it was still not what Link would call 'dry'. The muddy earth sucked and pulled at each step, his tunic still dripped with water, and each monster destroyed by the flood had been replaced by a hundred buzzing insects. Even the air was moist, clinging to his skin and coating his mouth with the sticky taste of decay.

Still, the flood must have done its job. According to Fi, there was an 87% decrease in monsters, and a 95% chance of sleeping uninterrupted through the night if they found a decent camping place. Link would have much preferred a warm bed in Skyloft to a night hunched in a tree, but retrieving the Water Dragon's portion of the Song of the Hero had taken longer than expected. At this rate he wouldn't make it to the sky until dark, and Loftwings were notorious for their terrible night vision. He was stranded after a hard day's work without so much as cold soup for supper. It felt like insult added to injury.

Link slapped at a mosquito on his neck in irritation, and nearly fell on his face when the mud sucked greedily at his boot. It wasn't that he blamed the Water Dragon for doubting him—not exactly, not when the same doubts crossed his mind daily—but it still rankled that she in particular forced him to prove the fact over and over with her menial tasks, refusing to accept that the goddess might have chosen a blind hero. Miserable old—

"Master." His sword chimed gently, pulsing in his hand, and Link paused, wiping damp sweat from his face.

"Yeah?"

"There is a tree nearby, fifty paces to your left." Fi's voice was sweet and musical as always, but carried no hint of emotion. "It is tall and wide, with a sturdy branch halfway up that would make a suitable resting place. I sense no monsters in the immediate area, and thus recommend sleeping here for the night, as returning to Skyloft is no longer a viable option."

Another night in a tree it was. Link sighed, turning to his left and holding out his sword expectantly. "Lead the way."

The sword didn't pull him. It wasn't capable of moving without his direction, any more than it could fight his enemies for him. Instead it vibrated in his hands, barely perceptible when he chose the correct path but stronger when he went astray, and he interpreted those vibrations. A strange process, but they'd perfected it to the point that it worked seamlessly. He and Fi had even worked out similar signals to guide his way in battle, useful for facing opponents that required greater accuracy and finesse than even his sharpened instincts could match. With the Master Sword in hand and Fi at his side, Link was far from helpless, no matter what the Water Dragon might think. Of course, without Fi… the prospect was enough to give him nightmares.

Another chime from the sword made him stop, sheathing it behind his back and reaching out in front of him until his fingers met rough bark. Although he tried to avoid sleeping on the surface when possible, it had happened often enough that he'd worked out a routine. Methodically, he worked his way around the tree, getting a feel for its size and texture. He guessed that it was about as wide as he was tall, which meant he'd be climbing quite a distance to reach the halfway mark.

With a wry smile, Link grabbed a branch and pulled himself up, making his way from handhold to handhold with only occasional guidance from Fi. At least they had trees in Skyloft, if not quite so large, and he'd been climbing since he was three.

When Link finally reached the branch Fi had chosen as a resting place, he felt it out carefully, mapping its size and shape in his mind. It was long and sturdy, barely bending under his weight. As usual, Fi had chosen well. Next, he felt at the tree's trunk until he found a short, sturdy knot of a branch within arm's reach that seemed capable of hanging his supplies. His shield and pack were discarded and hung with a grateful shrug of his shoulders, followed more reluctantly by his scabbarded sword. He would have kept it on him at all times if possible, but it had only taken one night of uncomfortable half-sleep with the hilt poking into his back to convince him to relent.

Undoing the leather pouch Fledge had given him what seemed like an age ago, Link ran a finger along the specially-marked cork stoppers of his small bottle collection, hefting each in turn. He frowned as he came across one that seemed unusually light, only a quarter full at most.

"Remind me to pick up some red potion at the bazaar tomorrow," he told Fi as he refastened his pouch and set it aside, only absently noting the 'Yes, master,' she gave in reply. He'd intended to set out for Eldin Volcano as soon as possible, but he knew better than to go exploring without a good supply of potions—and breakfast. If he left early, he'd still have the whole afternoon to start his search for the Fire Dragon. No doubt Luv would be startled to see him back so soon, but with each attempt at freedom, the sealed abomination of the demon king grew more difficult—and painful—to subdue. Even with Groose's help, it was only a matter of time before—

A sudden, foreign weight settled beside him on the branch, and Fi's sharp chime of warning cut off as the branch holding his supplies broke with a snap. Raising his head in alarm, Link could do nothing but listen to the crash of his belongings through the tree grow fainter, until even that was gone. The silence stretched as what had happened slowly sunk in. Fi. If she hadn't appeared already, she must be out of range. He was alone, disarmed and defenseless.

Worse, he realized as the branch he was on shifted beneath him, he was not alone.

Link froze as small vibrations shook the branch, suppressing his sudden panic with a deep, measured breath. Footsteps. The creature inhabiting the branch was coming closer. Backing slowly down the branch until his back met the trunk, he wracked his mind for a creature he'd met in the forest capable of climbing trees or flying. The weight felt too heavy to be a crow. Fi had claimed not to sense any monsters in the area, so… Link sighed, running a hand through bangs that still hadn't dried properly. Of course. The flood must have driven at least a couple Kikwi into the trees for safety. One must have fallen down from a higher branch, knocking his supplies off in the process. Just his luck tonight.

"Hello?" he called, reaching an open hand out in a placating gesture. Even a startled Kikwi could be dangerous if it sent him plummeting, and it would take more than an almost empty bottle of potion to mend a broken bone. "Who's there? Do you need help?"

A delighted chuckle came in response, halting his hand mid-motion.

"What a generous offer, sky child! Yes, I do believe you are just the hero I need."

Horror coursed through him, the muggy sweat on his brow seeming to freeze all at once. Ghirahim. Unbidden, his last encounter with the Demon Lord spun up from the recesses of his mind. Had it been two weeks since Ghirahim's furious last words to him? More?

He didn't need Fi's percentages to know how this would end up, even if she had been around to give them. Blind and alone, stuck up a tree without a weapon… his best case scenario was that Ghirahim would choose to kill him quickly, and even that seemed unlikely if Ghirahim still intended to pull the location of the second gate of time out of him. No, his death would be slow, if it came at all.

"I understand that my presence can be breathtaking, but I need you to breathe." Ghirahim laughed, and Link realized that his breath was caught somewhere in his throat. A smooth, cool hand touched the back of his clammy neck, and he shuddered uncontrollably. "Breathe, Link."

He did, a rough intake of air that he instantly choked on. Coughing, he doubled over, noticing vaguely through his panicked haze that the hand on his neck followed him down, steadying his balance on the branch. His whole face burned with anger, and with shame. If only he could fight, if only he could see! It wasn't fair to have come so close, only to be taken off guard so easily. His face twisted, thinking of Zelda still asleep in the prison of her own creation. Who would keep back the Imprisoned now? The Water Dragon had been right to doubt him. Groose had been right to laugh. Someone else would have to take up the fallen mantle of the Hero, because he'd failed.

Zelda, I'm sorry …

"What a precarious perch to choose as a nest," Ghirahim said, for all the world as if Link's life wasn't crumbling to pieces. "You'll forgive me for taking the opportunity to separate you from your sword. It was the only way to ensure a civil conversation between the two of us—just the two of us," he added, the curl of a sneer entering his voice. "I assure you, your… companion will be returned in due time."

What? Disbelief welled up inside him, along with a thousand burning questions that itched to escape. However, as always seemed to happen around Ghirahim, the words became mired in his throat and refused to push past his lips. He settled instead on assuming what he hoped was a skeptical frown, craning his neck away from the intrusive touch.

"You doubt my word?" Ghirahim laughed, but the sound quickly turned into a snarl, his fingers digging painfully into Link's neck despite his feeble attempts to shake him off. "Or perhaps you think that someone of my position must now stoop to cornering blind, defenseless children in trees. I may have twice allowed you to escape with your life—allowed, I say—but do not think that I could not end it in a second if I so desired."

Link said nothing, waiting in confused silence until the demon's agitated breathing softened and his fingers loosened their grip. It made no sense, but… a small bubble of hope rose at the thought that maybe this wasn't the end of everything after all. Of course, "in due time" could mean almost anything. He couldn't trust Ghirahim as far as he could see, whatever he said. Still, that tiny hope burned…

"Ahh, but here I am, letting my anger run away with me again," Ghirahim sighed, stroking his fingers softly over Link's neck as if in apology. The action was almost as unnerving as the pain. It reminded Link of someone attempting to soothe a panicking Remlit. "What can I say? You inspire a full gamut of emotions in me, Link. If only your goddess did not inspire such foolhardy loyalty in you. If only you did not insist on stumbling beneath my feet at the most inopportune moments…"

He trailed off, and a strange silence descended between them that might have been companionable if he'd been with anyone else. Link's fingers tapped nervously against his thigh before he could stop them. He felt taut, stretched almost to the breaking point. In his experience, Ghirahim was quite adept at holding lengthy conversations by himself with no input from Link at all. What was he doing? Why was he here?

"Well," Ghirahim said finally, and Link's ears twitched in surprise. "That's beside the point, isn't it? I came here for a purpose after all, and if I leave you to quiver here any longer, you'll shake yourself to jelly."

Link's face twisted in indignation—he was not quivering!—but he was distracted by a sudden flurry of metallic 'clinks' as Ghirahim's weight disappeared from the branch. His startled relief was cut short as he reappeared, closer this time—much closer. Two hands wrapped around his own, and he jerked away instinctively, only for his back to hit rough bark. He was, quite literally, cornered.

"Self preservation," Ghirahim admonished, working his fingers beneath the leather of Link's gloves. Removing them, Link realized with a start. "You've never shown an aptitude for it in the past, but I must warn you that you are quite the proficient climber. A fall from this height would be… unpleasant. For you." Link craned his head back at the breath of a light chuckle against his face, and received a flick on the cheek for his effort. "I myself rather enjoy the sounds you make when you're in pain."

Ghirahim's fingers were thin and deft, and before long Link's gloves and gauntlets had been tossed aside, his wrists held firm in surprisingly strong hands. A thumb brushed ever so lightly across his palm, and he shivered at the touch.

"Sensitive," Ghirahim murmured with satisfaction. "Understandable, I suppose. I was certainly taken aback at learning of your—shall we say infirmity?—when last we met. It was quite the shock, I must admit! To think you managed to keep such a secret for so long…"

He had not kept it on purpose. Their first "battle" at Skyview Temple had barely deserved the name, with only a sharp warning from Fi and quick reflexes with the shield saving him from being impaled on his own sword. Even after he'd managed some semblance of competence in their duel—only because the demon was toying with him, he was sure—Ghirahim had been gleeful to point out Link's utter dependence on his sword. It hadn't even occurred to him then that Ghirahim didn't know. But later, at the Fire Sanctuary…

"Enough of this foolishness…"

Link crouched, sword at the ready, but he could tell from the strain in the other's voice, the quiet rasping of pained breaths, that his last strike had been the finishing blow. Their battle was over … for now. Not that he dared let his guard down while the demon's dark presence pervaded the room, nearly as suffocating to Link's senses as the ever oppressive heat. When facing Ghirahim, anything was possible, and the next attack could come from anywhere. The ease with which he always managed to sneak up on Link was enough to make him shiver, despite the heat.

"I am Ghirahim, Demon Lord! It shouldn't matter how powerful your sword is, you are still nothing… Not just a human… A human child! And yet you prevail!"

He scowled. Of course. It always came back to his sword. He may have been dependent on Fi's help, but he'd still learned since the last time they met. Ghirahim had expended much more of his effort in this battle than before, Link was sure, and he still had not managed to subdue him. At the very least, he was no longer someone to be toyed with.

"You filthy scamp!" The sudden rage in Ghirahim's voice made his ears stand up, and his grip on his sword tightened. There was something unstable in it now, something that set him on edge. "You disrespectful brat! LOOK AT ME when I'm speaking to you!"

Look at me when… Confused realization crashed over him, and the tip of his sword fell almost to the ground as he stood up straight.

"I… can't." He was so surprised, the words slipped out without thought—the first words he'd ever said to him. Concentrating, he turned his head to where he thought Ghirahim's eyes must be in relation to his voice. In this strange land of glowing heat, he could make out nothing but shadows.

"You can't?" Ghirahim spat out. "What do you mean you—"

He cut off in sudden comprehension. The air between them quivered as a dawning realization came over them both, humming and warping as it did whenever Ghirahim was particularly furious. Link's heart sank. He hadn't known.

"You can't," he said again, and his voice could have frozen the heart of the volcano. "You… Boy, you have awakened a wrath that will burn for eons! I swear to you, whatever it takes, I will drag you into an eternity of torment."

The promise came out as a hiss. Even later, when the air had lightened with Ghirahim's departure and the sacred flame retrieved, the chill of it remained in his heart.

"Of course, you can imagine how very irritating this affair has been for me," Ghirahim continued, and Link came immediately back to the present, stunned.

What?

"All that effort spent on presentation, all for naught!" Ghirahim sighed dramatically, the breath of it ruffling Link's hair. "You may not know it, Link, but appearances are everything. In truth, I once despaired over your continuing lack of respect, but now I understand completely. I had simply failed to make the impression I thought I had." He leaned forward until their foreheads touched, his smooth skin cold against Link's sweaty brow. "Allow me to remedy that failure."

He's upset that I didn't… appreciate him? It was too much. He was too close, the strange metallic scent of him overpowering, and Link still didn't understand what he wanted. Straining, he tried to make the words come out. He'd spoken to Ghirahim once—twice even, if tonight counted. He could do it again.

"I…" he managed finally, hating the way his voice shook. "I don't… understand…"

Ghirahim shushed him, moving Link's hands to rest against his face, and the rest of the words evaporated. He had thought Ghirahim's skin seemed smooth against him before, but with the more accurate sensitivity of his hands it felt almost unnaturally polished, like river rock, and cooler than human skin would be. Unlike stone, though, there was the slightest amount of give to his skin to prove that he was no statue—he was alive. Leaning back to allow better access, Ghirahim guided Link's hands carefully across his features, pausing every now and then so Link could finger the strange diamond seemingly etched into one of his cheeks, or the hard ridge where eyebrows should have been. Not that Ghirahim lacked for hair—a thin curtain of it swept across one side of his face, sleek and straight. The texture was so unlike his own rough tangles or even Zelda's well cared for hair that Link ran fascinated fingers through it, not noticing when Ghirahim's hands slipped away from his wrists and he was left to explore on his own.

Link's heart thudded hard in his chest, but not out of fear. He couldn't stop himself from tracing the angle of the other man's jaw, fingering the diamond-shaped gem that dangled from one ear, running his hands over the curves of those ears. He stopped in surprise at finding them mismatched—one was pointed like his own, while the other felt torn as if from a long-ago injury—but Ghirahim smoothly grabbed his wrists once more and led them away, resting Link's hands on his shoulders for just a moment before guiding them along hard, muscular arms.

"Lovely, aren't they?" Ghirahim said, and Link jerked, the strange spell broken along with the silence. Instinctively, he tried to pull his hands away, but the other's grip was firm. "You'll find the supple skin of my arms tougher than any armor. Doesn't their shape just leave you… breathless?" Strong fingers intertwined with his own, and Link could see how his sword might have failed to pierce that smooth, impenetrable skin.

Breath came rapidly now as his hands were led inward, towards Ghirahim's chest. A warm, heavy cloak was draped across it, fastened with a long metal chain. Link stroked it wonderingly—he'd never felt its like in Skyloft—yet even as he tried to grab a fistful of soft fabric, it disappeared from his hands with a metallic sigh. His brow furrowed in confusion, but before he could ask—if he'd been able to ask—his hands were instead pressed flat against Ghirahim's skin. It wasn't all skin, he realized. A thin layer of fabric stretched itself across some areas, but was mysteriously absent from others. After fingering the edges of fabric, Link soon realized that it too was cut to resemble a diamond. Even through the garment, whatever it was—Link couldn't imagine a practical purpose to the thing—his muscles were hard and defined, solid ridges across an unnaturally solid form. No heartbeat met his trembling fingers.

"Behold," Ghirahim whispered. "Such… beauty. Such an exquisite physique. Such stunning features."

Link's hands shook. He was light-headed, breathing too fast but unable to make himself stop. Whatever Ghirahim said about his appearance, surely that paled compared to this pure sensation. His hands moved lower, feeling the sash across his waist, the smooth diamond nestled at his side. Link's whole body trembled. Then Ghirahim started to lead his hands down again, down along slender hips, and it was too much.

"Ghirahim." The name slipped out of him like a plea, and he looked up to where Ghirahim's eyes must be, trying to meet his gaze. The hands stopped, and after an infinite moment of anticipation, disappeared from his wrists altogether.

"Yes," he said softly, drawing himself up, his weight shifting on the branch. "Perhaps that is enough for one meeting. I think I've made my point… quite thoroughly."

The metallic chime of Ghirahim's departure was familiar now, and Link slumped back against the tree in a daze, taking what felt like his first full breath in days. He barely stirred when Ghirahim's weight reappeared seconds later, further along the branch. It wasn't as if he'd expected him to leave just yet anyway.

"I believe… this accomplishes my goal for the evening." He sounded disconcerted for once, as if something had happened that even he was unsure of. "I once thought you would scurry to safety like any normal creature who values his own life, but now I think this is not the case. No, you are far too brave for that. Pah!" he growled, making it clear that he didn't mean the word as a compliment. "How incredibly vexing."

He paused as if waiting for a response, but Link had none. He was exhausted, yet his senses buzzed on high alert as his mind spun in frenzied circles. His skin itched fiercely wherever Ghirahim had touched him. The feel of Ghirahim was thick on his fingers, the scent caught in his nose. Had he ever touched anyone like… that? His parents, maybe, but he couldn't remember his parents. Zelda? No, not Zelda, not like that.

"Do not think my mercy extends beyond tonight," Ghirahim said finally, his weight shifting irritably on the branch. "Too much work has gone into this to allow your blundering to ruin things now. If you must continue on this path… one of us will bleed by the end of it, Link, and I do not bleed."

With a snap of his fingers, he was gone, and as the seconds stretched on, Link realized that this time he'd left for good. A familiar weight fell into his lap, and he stirred, feeling it carefully with his hands just to make sure.

"Fi?" he whispered, and a soft chime came in response.

"Master." Her musical voice was almost the same monotone as always, though he thought he caught a hint of… worry? Relief? But then, he might have imagined it. "Forgive me for allowing myself to be separated from you. I am pleased to find you physically unharmed, but concerned by your apparent state of mental and emotional upheaval. How may I best assist you, master?"

"Stay," he said quickly, clutching the sword to his chest. "Please… can you stay?"

"Of course." Her familiar weight settled beside him, a much more comforting presence than Ghirahim's had been. He tried to put off the thought that it was somehow colder, too. "Friendly company is an effective method of calming an anxious mind. I will stay."

Ghirahim had neglected to return the rest of his items, which meant there was nothing for it but to climb back down and retrieve them. Even after he'd gathered them all up, scaled the tree once more, and settled down for the night, he found that he had no desire to let go of his sword ever again. Instead, he spent the night planning with Fi, theorizing on the locations of the dragons and trying to ignore the feel of Ghirahim still pressed into his skin. His imagined laughter seemed to rise on the breeze, and Link wondered if the demon still watched him, somewhere in the distance. It seemed strange suddenly that Ghirahim had neglected to even mention the Gate of Time. Had he come up with some other plan to reach Zelda? The night dragged on in useless wondering.

When the sun finally rose, he was secretly grateful to have avoided sleep for at least one night. A stamina potion would set him right, and soon he'd be exploring the volcano, putting some distance between himself and thoughts of Ghirahim—a very great distance, if he could manage it.

Sleep would find him eventually, though, and he feared the nightmares that would come... although a part of him also feared that his dreams might be something else entirely.

Chapter Text

It was late afternoon, the low sun catching the mountain's smoky haze in an unnaturally orange glow, when a shimmering slash of light broke the tenuous calm of Eldin Volcano. The flash of motion that rent the air was almost too quick to see, though it left the impression of smooth metal and glittering diamonds and the sound of steel unsheathing itself. Before the heavy dust could eddy up in surprise, the light was gone, replaced by a tall pale figure wrapped in an extravagant red cloak.

The demon lord scowled, noting the volcanic heat that scorched his skin and dismissing it, just another irritating speck in the vast array of irritation that had filled these trying weeks. Too long had passed since the spirit maiden had slipped through his fingers and into the past, with too little to show for it. Long days were spent seeking out ancient murals in long forgotten temples, while nights had him poring over obscure texts and manuscripts, all in an attempt to find any connection between this decaying land and the ancient glory of its past that might prove useful. All of these efforts, and still he'd found nothing! The frustration was almost too great to bear!

Still, he reminded himself, this was all just a temporary setback. The infuriating girl might have escaped him for now, but it couldn't last forever. The goddess’s dog would not have spirited her away to the past only to leave her trapped there, separated from the needs of the present and her precious little… hero . There had to be something —another gate of time, perhaps? But all of his frantic searching had been in vain. If… if there truly was no way to reach the spirit maiden…

With great difficulty, Ghirahim tamped down on the furious despair that rose within him at the prospect. No. No, that scenario did not bear contemplating. He would find her, and take her, and the glorious might of the demon king would wield his true form once more.

It was only a slight stretch to say that this was what brought him here now.

Dust crunched against pavement as he stepped quickly behind a broken column to assess his surroundings. His agenda here was to observe and not be seen—not a difficult goal by any means as his quarry was remarkably unobservant. The number of times Ghirahim had managed to watch him from a distance… but still, it wouldn't do to be cocky.

At least the boy was easily located, which Ghirahim had halfway worried would not be the case. Link's presence at the edge of his senses, normally so strong and vibrant, felt strangely diluted—a peculiarity that Ghirahim had noticed once or twice before and finally decided to investigate. The demon's curiosity was heightened by the peculiar position the sky child had arranged himself in: bent over on one knee with his sword thrust into the stone as if it were soft soil and intricate floral patterns spiraling around him, he seemed entirely unconscious of his surroundings. Taking a few tentative steps forward, Ghirahim felt the beginnings of the itch across his skin that indicated divine protection. Belatedly, he realized how quiet the mountain air had become, with no monsters or malicious creatures nearby. Whatever was happening here, there were forces at work that did not want it disturbed.

Still, Ghirahim was hardly your everyday Moblin. Confident now that the boy would not see him, Ghirahim walked across the bridge to where Link was slumped over, ignoring the uncomfortable stirring of the Goddess's power around him as it grew in intensity. He doubted he would be able to touch the boy, but that didn't mean he couldn't try to puzzle out Link's purpose in coming here. From the little that Ghirahim had managed to see, the sky child had been just as busy as he was, flitting from place to place on that overgrown bird of his. He had assumed that the boy and his sword were running around as blindly as he was, but he wondered now if Link was privy to more information than he had initially guessed.

Which, of course, made it his responsibility to keep an eye on Link and find out whether he knew anything worthwhile. The fact that Ghirahim rather enjoyed keeping an eye on him… well, that was just an added bonus, wasn't it?

Ghirahim stopped just short of the sky child when the uncomfortable buzz on his skin became almost too much to handle, placing a hand on his hip and looking down with unfeigned interest. This so-called "Hero of the Goddess", barely more than a child and a human at that, never ceased to intrigue him, even as he insisted on making himself a nuisance. Even now, with his head bowed forward in… sleep? Unconsciousness? What could be happening behind those closed eyes? Even with that, those familiar lines of defiance were etched vividly across his expression. As Ghirahim watched, a single shudder ran through the boy's body, and his lips curled apart in a scowl of desperate determination. The demon's tongue flicked out from between his own lips. How fascinating. And still, the child felt so far away. It made no sense. Link's body was right here… so where was his spirit? His mind?

The sound of chimes startled him out of his reverie, and a graceful blue figure twirled into existence to float beside the boy. Ghirahim took an involuntary step back before catching himself, transforming the movement as best he could into a casual flourish. He surveyed the new arrival with mild distaste. Although he knew her as Link's weapon and constant companion, he had only caught glimpses of her until now.

"Fi."

"Ghirahim." Her voice was surprisingly toneless. He would have expected the Goddess to imbue her servant with a little more warmth. "You should not be here."

"Is that so?" He tossed his hair, allowing a bland smile to arrange itself on his face. "And yet, here I am. Pity your goddess never saw fit to grant you the power to stop me, hmm?"

"You should not be here," Fi repeated, her stern face unaltered. "I suggest you leave immediately."

"Suggestion noted," he said dryly. The sky child still showed no sign of noticing his presence. He had not intended to be drawn into confrontation today, but from his understanding, this creature was powerless to act without her master's hand guiding her—inferior, of course, to a weapon such as himself. Perhaps she could clear up this little mystery. "Just tell me where the hero’s spirit has wandered off to, and I will happily be on my way. There is magic at work here that I do not understand, and believe me when I say this is an uncomfortably strange position for me.”

"That is none of your concern. I suggest you leave immediately."

Ghirahim's eyelid twitched. It was hard to imagine that this was the hero's chosen companion, though he supposed they did share a certain… obtuseness.

"You are in no position to deny my questions," he said irritably, gesturing towards the kneeling boy beside her with an elegant gloved hand. "Not with your master so utterly vulnerable. I'll admit that I am still a bit cross with him, but I might allow him to stumble along for now if you'll indulge my idle curiosity."

"My master is protected from your interference," Fi responded. "You cannot touch his physical form, and his spirit has gone where you cannot follow."

"For now," Ghirahim parried, lips curling. She was right, of course. The Goddess's essence on his skin grew more uncomfortable by the second. "But what of when he wakes?"

A desperate snarl erupted from the hero's lips, punctuating his words. The two of them turned to stare at him, Fi impassive, Ghirahim intrigued. Sweat streamed down Link's face as he panted, eyes still closed. His hands gripped the hilt of his sword so tightly that they shook.

"I have detected your presence nearby before," Fi said suddenly, and Ghirahim grinned to himself. If cool chimes could sound uncertain, they did now. "Multiple times. But never with the intent to do immediate harm." She hesitated, then added, "I do not sense such an intent in you now."

"Oh?" Ghirahim spread his arms wide, the picture of innocence. "You are correct. I have only ever wished to observe. I had not even meant to make my presence known to the boy, though at that, I suppose, I have failed." It had never occurred to him that Link's companion would have powers similar to his own, though of course that seemed foolish in hindsight.

"I have never made your presence known to my master," Fi said, to Ghirahim's surprise. She didn't sound even remotely guilty. "As you have posed no immediate threat, I determined that knowledge of your surveillance would be detrimental to my master's well-being. Link's success in his quest is the entirety of my mission."

"How very… analytical of you," Ghirahim said, smirking. What a pity. The image of Link constantly looking over his shoulder in fear of Ghirahim's presence made an appealing picture. Perhaps he should take a more active hand in making himself known.

Fear touched the hero's face now, and Ghirahim drank it in, though it was so much sweeter when he himself was the cause.

"Where is he now?" Ghirahim asked again, and could almost hear the gears of her mind at work, choosing her words carefully. She would not tell him anything that might lead him to the spirit maiden, or endanger her master's quest… not on purpose, at least.

"His spirit fights in a... spiritual realm. It is place prepared where only he can reach."

"Does it?" Ghirahim considered this. He had never heard of its like, but it must be the work of the goddess. That was the only explanation for all of this filthy… divinity . "Then who does he fight? My master could have no enemies for him there."

This time, Fi remained silent, and a delicious thought occurred to Ghirahim. A deep chuckle bubbled up from out of him, low and delighted.

"It is not my master who he fights! It is your goddess ! Ahhh…" Ghirahim shook his head, wiping an eye ostentatiously. "What amazing gratitude you show your chosen hero! Shall I have my creatures stand back and allow yours to finish the poor boy off?"

"The trials of the hero are necessary for his growth, but they will not harm him. His form remains safe in the physical realm."

Her flat voice and expression were starting to annoy him. How tiresome. All of his best taunts and jabs fell flat on her. Not like Link, who was all fire and defiance, so easy to poke and prod… what must it be like for him, to be constantly saddled with her dreary presence?

"I see," he said, a sarcastic bite creeping into his words. "Well, far be it from me to question the actions of a loving goddess toward her devoted subjects. I'm sure it is only her perfect wisdom that demands such pointless sacrifice from the one she calls hero."

"No man who would not sacrifice all that he has could ever have the power necessary to save the world." Perhaps he'd finally gotten a rise out of her. Fi's voice… passion was too strong a word to describe it, but it smoldered with cool fire. Barely. "What of your master, Ghirahim? You state your loyalty to him, yet I detect your conflict. Will your master feel half so much for the acts you have done in his service? Will he value your sacrifice, should you succeed? From what I understand of Demise, I predict an 85% probability that he will not."

The flame of Ghirahim's temper ignited suddenly, weeks of frustration hitting a boiling point, and white hot rage consumed him.

"There is no conflict in me!" Ghirahim spat, stepping forward as his own dark energies wavered and writhed, clashing with the divine essence of the air around them. "When my master returns, he will wield me with a power befitting my blade! You think your hero is a man? He is a child compared to the forces of might surrounding him, forces that will sweep him away! The goddess herself at the height of her power could not fully conquer my master! What hope has any mere mortal of defeating him? What hope has Link?" With a final flare of fury, his dark energy waned, and he was forced to step back to keep from falling to his knees. The strength of his rage left him panting.

Fi stared at him, unwavering, her voice reduced once more to cool chimes. "You have met my master, Ghirahim. If anyone has a chance, it is Link, if only because he has the courage to try."

All at once, the anger flooded out of him, and Ghirahim laughed. This argument was ludicrous. His master's victory was already assured. The goddess was desperate, hiding in the past while she placed her final hope on a hopeless cause, but soon enough she and her hero would topple. It was a shame, in its way, though there was no helping it. The moment Link ceased his pointless striving, Ghirahim would certainly lose all interest in the boy… but still, a shame.

Ghirahim looked down at Link again, and blinked. The defiant lines had finally faded from his face, but what replaced it was too somber to be triumph. Around him, the air became less stifling, the divine protection receding as whatever strange works were afoot wound steadily to their conclusion.

"He… failed?" Ghirahim asked, surprised, but Fi shook her head.

"He was victorious." There was no joy in the statement, of course. "He simply delays his return. In the Silent Realm, his spirit is not bound by the… physical limitations that plague him here. It is both a blessing and a curse, for to return to the physical realm, he must willingly accept those limitations once more." Fi's voice lowered. "It is maybe the greatest trial he has been set, and I do not know whether the goddess intended it so or not."

“Physical limitations?” Fi glanced up at him, quick and cataloguing, and Ghirahim wished he had not spoken. Revealing his own ignorance was a mistake in itself, but he was more vexed by Fi’s unspoken implication that this was something he should already be aware of. The child kneeling before him seemed in perfectly good health. Was his own mortality really such a burden?

Link stirred, his face twisting with grief and… loss? Ghirahim was shocked to see a tear slip through his clenched eyes.

"My master will awaken soon. Unless you intend to confront him now, I suggest you leave." Fi stared at him, steady and without feeling. "Please."

Ghirahim left, of course, though not at her urging. It was never his intention to linger… but he did not go far.

Fi must have known that he hovered nearby, but he doubted that she'd be telling her master about it anytime soon. His mission to obtain information had been a mixed success, albeit a confusing one. The hero was obviously not as directionless as Ghirahim had assumed, but it was unclear whether these spiritual trials he faced would lead him to the spirit maiden. Perhaps there was a clue in his location? If memory served, there was an ancient sanctuary in this volcano somewhere that certainly bore investigating.

For the moment, however, Ghirahim simply listened.

He had imagined the hero's screams before, many times. Fulfilling his promise of pain to the boy was Ghirahim's favorite fantasy whenever the search for the spirit maiden became too frustrating to bear. He had imagined screams of terror, yells of rage, and yes, he had even imagined the tears of pain and humiliation he would inevitably shed. He had never imagined the soft, frustrated sobs of loss that echoed faintly over the mountain as the sun sank ever lower.

He stayed for a while, listening until Link finally called for his bird and took to the sky, thinking that perhaps the sound of it would cheer him up.

It didn't.

Chapter Text

Link leaned forward on his Loftwing, patting its neck and urging it to speed up. The bird obliged, tucking its wings and diving forward so fast that Link's teeth rattled, but it wasn’t enough. Worry gnawed at him, frustration heightened by a deep unease that he couldn’t shake. Once he had his boots on the ground, he’d be fine—Link always felt better with a goal to achieve, and searching for the Fire Dragon would keep his mind off… other things—but beginning that search was taking longer than he’d expected. Too long.

He should have left the woods early that morning. Link had been on his way out when he stumbled across a cowering Kikwi and fell flat on his face in the still drying mud, though his annoyance had vanished quickly when the poor thing burst into tears. Oolo the Kikwi was distraught beyond comfort, so upset by the monsters and flooding that Link had eventually suggested bringing the creature back with him to Skyloft, only realizing as he said it what a perfect solution it was. After all, Professor Owlan was constantly moping over the lack of new plants to study in the sky, and Kikwis were plants. In a way. He thought.

He'd forgotten that bringing back Oolo meant calling in Scrapper, along with all that Scrapper entailed. Noticing Link’s impatience, the robot had taken twice as long bringing the Kikwi up as he should have, needling “muddy Master Shortpants” with disparaging remarks that wouldn't have bothered him so much if he'd had more sleep. In the end, both Owlan and Oolo had been ecstatic, if a bit bewildered by each other, but the whole affair had taken up his entire morning. By the time Link had washed, stocked up on potions and stumbled his way through an awkward conversation with Peatrice, it was early afternoon. That left him less than half a day to explore the volcano if he wanted to make it back before dark, which he fully intended to do. Link didn’t know if he’d ever spend another night on the surface if he could help it, not after Ghirahim… not after the night before.

At least he’d remembered to pick up some stamina potion on his way out. The tart elixir had perked him up for now, but Link knew there was a mountain of exhaustion waiting to catch up with him when his head hit the pillow that night.

"We are approaching Eldin Volcano," Fi's voice said in his ear, and he snapped to attention, reigning in his Loftwing with a light touch. "Prepare to make your descent."

Unstrapping himself from the safety harness, Link checked to make sure his sailcloth was within easy reach, waiting for Fi's final signal before hurling himself off the Loftwing's back.

With the wind whipping his hair in freefall, Link finally let loose an exhilarated laugh as some of his tension evaporated. He had never been afraid of heights, though growing up blind on an island in the sky he maybe should have been, and with Fi here to warn him of the approaching ground he felt almost carefree. Warm air rose to meet him, sulfurous and full of ash, and Link’s laughter became a coughing fit. Stomach spasming against the force of his fall, he pulled up his tunic to cover his mouth as best he could. The stinging air felt worse than usual, but it usually cleared by the time he reached the surface.

Link counted slowly to ten before deploying his sailcloth, giving himself plenty of time to steer his descent. Everywhere on the surface was dangerous, he'd found, but this mountain most of all. Falling into a lava pit was the last thing he—

A strong gust of air pummeled him, hot to the point of scalding, and his entire body was jerked off its course. Link drew a sharp breath that he immediately regretted as hot ashy air stung his lungs, bringing tears to his eyes. Above the rush of wind, he could hear another sound—a low, ominous rumble emanating from the mountain itself that rose to a furious crescendo. He'd heard legends about this in Gaepora's tales of the surface, but could not have imagined their terrifying reality. The volcano below him was erupting.

Another wave of air hit him, and another, furious winds pelting him with heat and debris.

"Fi," he choked out, clinging to his sailcloth and praying that he even made it as far as the surface. "How far—"

Something large struck his head, and Link was out. His grip loosened on the sailcloth, and he fell, still buffeted by small rocks and rushing air. Vaguely, he heard Fi's urgent ringing, but the sound of it spiraled away into terrible rumbling and distant, imagined laughter until there was nothing left but dark silence.

Hours later Link awoke, sightless eyes fluttering open, and wondered why he wasn't dead.

Rough dirt scraped against his cheek as he shifted, a pained hiss escaping through clenched teeth. His skin radiated heat, tender and sore and covered in burns despite his Fireshield Earrings, which he realized had probably saved him from being torched to a hero-shaped crisp. He could feel them in his ears still, pulsing weakly.

Grunting, Link brought a hand to his head, wincing at his own light touch and fighting down a wave of nausea. Blood matted his hair where the blow that knocked him out cold had struck, already sticky and congealing. That would need cleaning to avoid infection. Wadding up his hat, which by some twist of fate had survived the fall with him, Link pressed it gingerly against the wound to soak up the remaining blood. Sharp pain throbbed wherever he'd struck rock on the way down, which in his estimation must have been… everywhere.

Overall, he was hurt, but alive, which was a miracle in itself. Who knew how far he'd fallen?

"Fi," he croaked, pausing to cough painfully. He didn't even recognize the rough sound of his own voice. His throat felt scarred from ash and heat. "Can't believe… we made it…"

No response. His heart thudded once, twice, three times, a hammer in his ears.

"…Fi?"

Nothing. Gritting his teeth, Link pushed himself up on his elbows, slipping a shaky hand toward his pouch to retrieve one of his newly-stocked vials of potion. It took a few moments of fumbling to realize that both pouch and potions were gone. With growing dread, Link searched frantically for any of his equipment, and found nothing but singed tunic.

Link heaved himself to his knees, feeling cautiously around for any fallen items. With luck, they had landed somewhere nearby. He found some dried up plants and scattered pots, all empty, but nothing that he recognized as his own. Crawling forward, still searching, Link's injured head thumped into something and he cried out in pain. Raising his hands to investigate, he found that he'd run headfirst into a crudely built wall curving in on itself—a circle, with him inside.

That didn't bode well.

Leaning heavily on the wall for support, he followed its curve, looking for an exit. Finally, his fingers found the end of the wall… and the beginning of bars. Heart sinking, he kept moving, shaking at the bars as he went to test their sturdiness. None of them budged an inch. He circled the whole place twice, just to be sure. This was a cell. A guarded cell, if the rough snorts of breath from outside were any indication. And he was trapped inside, injured, without potions or a weapon. Without Fi.

For the second time in as many days, he felt his world crumbling.

Stumbling towards the center of the cell, Link sat, taking long, deep breaths to calm the rising terror. He couldn’t fall prey to that again. Yesterday— Was it yesterday? How long was I out? —he had faced the certainty of his own failure and panicked, defeating himself before Ghirahim even had the chance. The fact that things had turned out well didn't change that. He couldn't afford to do the same thing here, not with Zelda and the world depending on him.

Something itched on the back of his hand in reaction to that thought, but with his whole body burning, he hardly noticed. Strength poured into him from some hidden reservoir, and he nodded firmly. This could still be fixed. As long as he was breathing, there was still hope.

Unfortunately, trapped as he was, all he could really do was wait, and hope.

Something caught Link's attention then, and he froze. He could feel more than hear the ground beneath him rumbling, and he wondered wildly whether his cell would provide any cover if the volcano erupted again. But no—the vibrations were too small, too focused. They grew louder, followed by the crumbling of dirt, and then—

"Ta-DAH! I'm here to save the day!"

Link's head whipped toward the source of the sound, blank eyes widening in surprise. He was taken so off-guard, it took him a moment to recognize the voice.

"Heyyy! Long time no see, pal, for you more than me, eh?" The voice came closer, then stopped. "Huh? Come on, don't tell me ya forgot my ugly mug. It's me, Plats!"

"I never saw your ugly mug a day in my life and you know it," Link found himself responding in a rasp, so relieved that he couldn't hold back a painful laugh. He liked the Mogmas. None of them had amazing eyesight—he'd been mistaken for a Bokoblin once just from the color of his tunic—so being blind around them felt pleasantly unremarkable. "It's good to hear your voice, though. But—what about the guard?" Link added, his own voice lowering.

"Oof, you don't sound too good." Link heard Plats rummaging around, and a juicy bulb was placed in is hands. Link recognized it as one of the water plants native to Eldin, and he immediately pierced the skin with his teeth and drank, repressing a whimper as the water hit his throat. It stung more than he’d expected, but he was too parched to care. "You don't look so good, either. What, you mean that creep outside?" Plats snorted. "None of them monsters can hear worth a rupee, the way they blast those horns of theirs all day long. Can't see in the dark much, either. They're all quakin' in their boots, catapulting everything that moves and waitin' for the mountain to burst again. I think they'da scrammed by now if it weren't for you. You must be reeeal important to someone."

"Maybe," Link mumbled, wiping his mouth and dropping the empty husk regretfully. The only person who came to mind was Ghirahim, but he couldn't imagine why the demon lord would allow him to leave the forest one day only to capture him on a volcano the next. Maybe it was time to stop assuming he understood any of his enemy’s actions. "What are you doing here?"

"Who, me?" Link could hear the Mogma rubbing his mitts together greedily. "I just heard a rumor that some bad guys were gettin' together on this mountain. Everyone knows that when bad guys get together, they'll be fightin' over some loot! Heh heh heh…"

Link shook his head. Of course.

"But what about you, eh?" Plats said. "Don't you gotta take care of your own business first? Haven't ya noticed? They swiped all your stuff!"

"Yeah, I noticed," Link said, exasperated. "First thing I noticed, actually."

"Yep. They shook you down good, pal! You're gonna want to get your stuff back soon before they carry it all off… but I can get you started," he added impishly.

Link's brow furrowed as something light hit the ground in front of him. It couldn't be his sword, but maybe Plats had salvaged some of his potions, or…

"My Mogma Mitts!" Link exclaimed, feeling the familiar fabric gloves with blades attached. This might be something he could work with. "How did you get these?"

"I stole 'em!" Plats said proudly. "And as luck would have it, there's an old tunnel leading right out of this cell! Trust a creep not to notice a thing like that, eh?"

Link nodded, his excitement growing. He'd have a hard time finding the Mogmas' warren of tunnels, not without Fi to point them out, but at least he could escape this room.

"I don't know how to thank you," he said, but Plats just laughed.

"Don't worry about it. Just get your stuff back from those creeps, ya hear?" Link thought he heard the Mogma scratching himself. "What're ya doin' around here, anyway?"

"Well…" Link hesitated. He needed to get Fi back before anything else, but he still had another mission to complete, too. "I'm looking for the Fire Dragon. Any idea where he is?" If he could find the dragon, maybe he would help Link find his sword.

"A-a dragon?" Plats stammered, sounding skeptical. "Uhh, yeah… I heard a rumor that a big dragon-god lives in this mountain, but I don't really go in for those fantasy stories, ya know?"

"Sure," Link sighed. He'd just have to do this the hard way.

"Listen, it's time for me to tunnel out, but I'll keep an eye on ya, alright? And be careful once ya get outside. Those creeps are crawlin' all over the place."

"Great." Link forced a smile. He'd deal with that obstacle when he came to it. "Thanks for everything, Plats. See you around."

"No you won't," Plats said, his voice already muffled by dirt.

Link was alone again, but having a course of action strengthened him, and he shoved aside his pain for later. He had a way to escape now, and even something resembling a plan: find the tunnel, escape through the tunnel, and then… improvise.

"Good plan," he muttered, searching for the tell-tale mound marking the tunnel's entrance and trying not to dwell on the fact that he still had to find his sword on an active volcano that was swarming with enemies (and hopefully, somewhere, a dragon).

The tunnel out was straight and easy to navigate, though the dirt scraped uncomfortably against his skin. Sooner than he expected, the space above his head cleared and he was digging his way out into… well, the goddess only knew.

Tugging off his mitts and slipping them in his belt, Link stood up, ears twitching from listening so hard. The air here was still and stale, and his tentative footsteps echoed. A few more cautious steps and the ground beneath his feet sloped downward, packed and worn by use—a path, unless he was wildly mistaken. Link followed it to his right, picking his way carefully with ears still pricked to points. One direction seemed as good as another for now. Unless Plats appeared to guide him further, all he could think to do was wander the mountain until he came close enough that Fi could speak to him—a task so incredibly futile, he wanted to laugh.

A warm breeze tickled his face, growing stronger, and he followed it, suppressing another cough as he emerged into what felt like open space. Here, the constant wind was hot and gritty, and stung whenever he blinked. He stopped, tearing a piece of fabric from his fraying tunic and wrapping it around his eyes for protection. He would have liked to cover his nose and mouth—the air stank of hot rock and sulfur—but he needed every available sense at his disposal. Somewhere out there, Bokoblins were keeping watch, though he couldn't hear them yet. Worse, he could just make out the telltale sound of low, steady bubbling. That meant lava, and he didn't have so much as a walking stick to check his path.

The weight of the task ahead hit him again, and he felt a wave of doubt. All it would take was one misplaced step to doom both him and Zelda. Maybe he should go back and wait in the cave. The Bokoblins had to clear out eventually… but who could say how long that would take? And what were the odds that they'd leave his sword behind when they left? Worse, every passing moment was another chance for the imprisoned form of Demise to break free of his seal again. Acting now might lead to his death, but inaction would be the death of them all.

Gritting his teeth, Link fell to his knees—easier to feel his path that way, with less chance of being seen—and started crawling forward. It wasn't dignified, but some things mattered more than dignity.

Link had only gone about fifty feet when a low chime rang in his ears. He stopped, certain he was hearing things. He couldn't be this lucky.

The note came again, still quiet but unmistakable this time, and hope flared up in him.

"…Fi?" he said, and after a moment's pause another note rang in confirmation, low enough that it must have been for his ears alone. "Where are you? Are you nearby?"

This time, two chimes rang. That probably meant no. Link deflated a little, but remained stubbornly hopeful. The fact that she could communicate at all was good news.

"Can you talk?" Two chimes. The sound was duller than he was used to, like steel compared to crystal. Wherever Fi was, she must have been barely able to reach him.

"But you can hear me." One chime. Obviously.

Link considered this. It opened up another option, but he was reluctant to take it.

"Okay Fi, I'm safe for now, but I'm going to try to find you. If things go bad, you might need to call Scrapper and ask him to find help. Not yet, though." The robot himself would be a disaster, but if he could find Pipit or the other knights, they might be able to come find him. None of them had ever set foot on the surface, though, much less faced actual combat. "I don't want to drag anyone else into this."

Fi chimed back impatiently, a flurry of notes that sounded insistent, and he frowned, trying to interpret.

"Am I… missing something? If you’re too far to see me then—" He was cut off by a strong chime.

"You… you can see me?" One chime.

"How?" he asked, though of course she couldn't tell him. The discordant tinkling of notes that answered him managed to sound irritated, though Link didn't think Fi was capable of the emotion. He was just starting to realize how little he knew or understood of what Fi could do.

"Sorry, stupid question," he said. One chime responded, and he laughed softly.

"So… can you lead me to you?" A long pause followed, until Link started to worry that he'd lost her. Then… one chime. He let out a long, slow breath.

"Will I have to pass the guards?" One chime.

"And the lava." Not a question, but he still received a very emphatic chime.

"Okay, then." Nodding, Link stood up, tightening the cloth around his eyes and steeling himself for the task ahead which had just become exponentially more possible. "Let's do this."

Traversing an active volcano with a guide who couldn't speak was complicated, to say the least. At the start, Link hummed out five different notes for Fi to match, assigning a different direction to each: forward, backward, left, right, and stop. It was a brutally simple set of commands that left no room for subtleties like "you're coming up on a bridge", or "stairs ahead", or "I am leading you off a ledge." Fi did her best to indicate these things nonverbally, trilling in his ear to let him know that an obstacle ahead required extra caution. Bridges he crossed on hands and knees, not trusting his balance on such uneven footing, and stairways were taken with painstaking slowness. With each passing second he waited anxiously for the volcano to erupt again, but he didn't dare go any faster.

Only once did Fi slip up, neglecting somehow to warn him of a small ledge directly in his path, and he tumbled painfully down the short drop. It was too shallow in the end to do more than bruise, but Link was wildly certain in that moment that he was falling directly into lava, or a deep pit, or a Bokoblin's line of sight. The chimes that rang out after were almost certainly apologetic, but they sounded like laughter to his burning ears.

He could hear the crunching footsteps of the first guard they met even before Fi chimed repeatedly for him to stop. Licking his cracked lips, Link waited for further direction, wondering if he should crouch or if even that would draw attention. The beast was so close, Link could hear it snuffling. Sweat slicked down the back of his neck as he wondered suddenly whether the monster could find him by smell. Even Fi couldn’t help with that. Best case scenario if they caught him was that they threw him back in his cell, and he had to do this all over again. Worst case… Plats had said something about a catapult.

If they did hunt by scent, the sulfurous smoke must have masked it, because no blaring horns split his ears. Instead, after a moment that stretched forever, he finally heard the guard's footsteps moving away, and almost collapsed with relief.

Forward. Forward. Right. Stop! Stop. Stop. Forward.

Fi sang, her instructions coming like a simple, urgent melody, and Link danced in response, moving as nimbly as his aching limbs could manage. It was a routine they repeated over and over, until Link wondered if his heart could stop from sheer anxiety. Through most of it, he stayed grimly silent, careful not to draw any unwanted attention. Whenever it was safe, though, he started babbling.

“I used to climb a lot,” Link found himself panting, wiping sweat off his face with a grimy hand as he rested against a stone outcropping, sheltered from view. Crossing the mountain wasn't physically exhausting on its own, but the injuries from his fall were beginning to catch up to him, and his nerves were taut. "Rocks… and trees. Wasn’t very good. Broke an arm once… and a leg." His throat was dry again, the smoke harsh on his lungs, but he couldn’t stop talking. "Used to run right off the island, too… or else Zelda would push me. She got in… so much trouble.” His laugh came out as a croak. “Everyone was… so relieved when my Loftwing finally came."

Fi didn't respond, but Link didn't expect or need her to. He really just wanted to distract himself.

“Zelda will never believe this, you know. She’ll think I’m… making it up. To impress her.” Resting his head on his knees, he tried to imagine Zelda's reaction if she could see him now. He hoped she’d be proud. She'd always been the one pushing him past what others expected of him, fighting with her father to let him try to become a knight. "I don't think I'll tell her… everything. She already feels… bad enough… as it is."

There was nothing for her to feel guilty about, but he hadn’t been able to tell her that. He couldn't tell her anything now until she woke up. For that, he needed the Triforce, and for that… he had to stand up.

"Okay," Link sighed eventually, trudging to his feet. "Have to keep going. If Demise breaks out again… Groose can't force him back on his own. I’m the one who… renews the seal." Still, Link didn't move right away. He was so tired.

In his exhaustion, it took him a minute to realize that something in the atmosphere had shifted. Link shivered, rubbing his arms and wondering worriedly if he was getting a fever. The wound on his head might be bad enough. The air wavered, warping without heat. It felt…

The ground beneath him rumbled, and the feeling vanished abruptly. Fi's metallic chimes jangled in alarm as the source of the rumbling moved past him, but Link just smiled. He recognized the sound this time.

"Hey!" Link said as Plats popped up, shaking off the strangeness from before and grinning in relief. "Where have you been?"

"Hey yourself," Plats said. Something hit Link's shoulder, and he stooped down quickly to catch it. Another water plant. Link immediately hoped that Plats found all the treasure he was searching for and more. "Can't believe you've been walkin' around in the open like this. This place is crawlin' with thugs!"

"You're telling me," Link said after a long drink from the plant. He wanted so badly to pour some over his head, but he needed every drop. "I don't know the tunnels like you do. Can't risk being dumped in the middle of a group of creeps." He wondered if Fi could tell where the tunnels would go. He'd have to ask—they might be able to find a shortcut.

"Eh, guess I can't say nothin', can I?" Plats said, sounding impressed. "You've been doin' okay so far, haven't you? Good thing you ran into your friend."

Link choked, spluttering on the last of the fruit.

"My… friend?" he managed to say. How could Plats know Fi was leading him?

"Sure. When I first saw him I thought maybe that was a guy you wouldn't want around. He's kinda… creepy, ya know?" Plats shivered. "He's got a vibe . But you never put up a fuss about him, so I figure, hey, what do I know? He's steerin' ya through those monsters okay, anyway. Where'd he go? I coulda sworn I just saw him!"

"I don't know," Link said slowly, the strange warping he'd felt just moments before clicking into place with dreadful familiarity. "Listen, my… friend, does he have…" Impossibly smooth skin that was hard, yet yielding? Hair that fell in a perfect curtain? 'Stunning features'? "…Diamonds?" he settled on weakly. "Kind of a diamond theme going?"

"Oh, he's got a thing for diamonds, alright. Got a nice sized one in his ear, too." His voice became greedy. "Look, I'm not asking for payment or anything, but if you're offering… well, I wouldn't say no, is all. That's all I'm sayin'."

His heart sank.

"Fi, did you know that Ghirahim was following me?" Link muttered under his breath. He couldn't see how she'd missed it when she'd been aware of everything else around him, but Ghirahim was tricky. Link only managed to keep track of him because of the chiming sound he made whenever he—

Link's thoughts came to a screeching halt.

"Fi," he said clearly this time, holding a hand up when Plats tried to interrupt in confusion. "If you're there, I need you to let me know right now."

There was no response. He hadn’t expected one.

Link breathed out slowly, trying not to throw up. He'd been an idiot. Fi had never been able to see him, or communicate. All this time, Ghirahim had been leading him around by the nose… and Link had followed him. Blindly.

Chapter Text

Ghirahim scowled, gloved fingers drumming against his arm as he wondered what Link and that filthy little creature could possibly be talking about. It galled that he'd been forced to retreat by a simple, dirt-dwelling Mogma, but one did as one must to achieve one’s ends. Link had actually greeted the thing with fondness, something he assuredly would not have done had he known how appallingly ugly it was. The smell alone should have dissuaded him.

If this nearsighted Mogma had caught him tailing the boy it would be an annoyance, but nothing he couldn't handle. Not a soul alive could interrupt his plans now, with every piece on the board moving as if he himself directed them. Even Link—especially Link—was playing right into Ghirahim's hands.

It had not been in his plans to revisit the child so soon after their last encounter. He intended to make an indelible impression on the boy, and only time could tend whatever seeds he might have planted. But when night fell and Link's presence remained on the surface… well, if Link died now, it would be more than inconvenient. Tracking him down had been all too easy, and his curiosity was rewarded with a delicious sight: battered and bleeding, bereft of all possessions, he had found his hero stumbling out of a cave into an apocalyptic nightmare he had no hope of crossing safely. He giggled again at the memory, relishing the cruel irony. The unfortunate boy had been caught in the eruption, an event that was almost certainly Eldin’s work. How the goddess’s servants continued to complicate life for their hero!

It would never do, of course. Ghirahim was certain he had deduced Link's plan, and he must be allowed to succeed, even if it meant destroying Demise in the present. The thought of it pained him, enraged him—even now, hearing Link speak so candidly of renewing his master's bonds had infuriated him to the point that he'd almost given himself away—but it would all be worth it when he revived his master in the past, snatching victory from Link's unsuspecting fingers.

But how to reunite him with his sword? He dismissed out of hand the thought that Link might find it on his own. It still lay where it had fallen on the other side of the mountain, untouched by the Bokoblins but entirely out of reach. A snap of his fingers would retrieve it in seconds and the boy could be on his way, but if he interfered too openly Link might begin to suspect his motives. He considered ordering the Bokoblins to retreat—he couldn't imagine why the brainless creatures remained, aside from perhaps some misguided attempt to curry favor with him—but that still left the trouble of the volcano. A tricky tangle to figure out, but a delightful one.

As he stood considering his options, Link came to a stop, flinching at the ash and heat. Ghirahim clicked his tongue in exasperation. It was no use. He would have to retrieve the sword himself. Fi might even be convinced to hold her tongue on the matter, if she thought it in her master's best interest. Link could fly home to his nest in the sky, and this whole little incident would be behind them…

His thoughts trailed off as Link fell to his knees. At first he thought the hero overcome with despair—understandable, given the circumstances—but then he… crawled. Moving forward on all fours, Link pressed on, and it came to Ghirahim slowly that he actually intended to search for his sword. He watched in stunned silence, repulsed and amused and intrigued in that peculiar blend of emotions that only Link had ever incited. This was past the point of courage, it was idiocy. It was suicide. It lacked dignity, it defied all common sense, it—

It gave Ghirahim an idea.

Had Link possessed even a child's understanding of the workings of his own weapon it would never have worked, but such knowledge was lost to this age. As it was, convincing the poor, bereft child that his trusted companion guided him had been laughably easy, and avoiding his notice equally so. As long as he steered clear of the Bokoblin's lights and Link’s pestersome pet Mogma, no creature on this mountain would ever know he was here. Link was oblivious to his presence, and Ghirahim was left to his fun.

And oh, what fun it was.

The Mogma finally left, burrowing away through its hidden warren of tunnels and tearing Ghirahim from his thoughts. Eyes alight, the demon lord snapped, emerging to loom unseen over the hero. The metallic chime of reality crashing in on his transported form might have given him away under other circumstances, but here it played into his ruse. Humans heard what they expected to, and were remarkably clever at explaining away inconsistencies on their own.

Link inclined his head, but said nothing. His tight, slumped shoulders spoke of weariness and tension, but that silly scrap of cloth protecting his eyes masked most of his expression.

Ghirahim scowled. Perhaps he could arrange for it to… blow away. That blindfold was an unsettling reminder of everything Ghirahim had ever failed to notice about Link in the past. All the signs had been there, now that he considered it, but the idea of a hero damaged in such a way was just too absurd. Surely, this hadn't been the Goddess's original plan… though then again, she could not have designed a companion more suited to aid Link than the one he had.

For a long moment they stood in silence, Link occasionally opening his mouth as if to say something before changing his mind. Perhaps his well of words had finally run dry, a well Ghirahim would never have suspected Link even possessed from the silent encounters he’d been treated to before. Finally, Ghirahim flicked a finger, allowing an impatiently inquisitive note to chime in Link's ear, and he twitched.

"Sorry," he said finally, pausing to cough, and Ghirahim relaxed. Perhaps he had not been seen after all. "You're right. We have to keep going."

A pity the sky child couldn't see his anticipatory grin.

Guiding Link through the Bokoblin's crude attempts at surveillance was a slow, painstaking process, but Ghirahim reveled in every second. What a delightful twist of fate that this ever-defiant child now danced at his command, obedient and responsive and utterly at his mercy. He could guide the boy wherever he wanted—into the lava, off a cliff, or straight in the path of his master's minions—and Link would follow and obey, never knowing the ultimate cause of his own demise. Not that Ghirahim intended him to die that way, of course. Link would die, eventually—a strangely disappointing thought, given how often this gadfly had been a nuisance to him—but it would be at his own hands, or else on his blade as wielded by his master, and Link would know Ghirahim as the cause.

Still, even as he guided Link safely through the volcano, the possibility left him quivering. If Link stumbled a little more often than necessary at his direction, gathering bruises that might otherwise have been avoided, Ghirahim still thought he exercised remarkable restraint… aside from perhaps one instance when it failed him, and Link went wandering off a ledge. That had been an indulgence, though well worth it in his opinion. It was always a pleasure to hear Link scream.

The second half of their journey was different, though, his amusement tempered with frustration. The boy stayed persistently silent now, only speaking when prompted and trudging forward otherwise in wordless exhaustion. Ghirahim almost missed the misplaced intimacy of his chatter, even if a great portion had been inane reminiscing about Zelda. He had hardly bothered to learn the spirit maiden's name, her identity as the goddess reborn superseding all else, but she seemed to be all Link thought about. It was as if he still didn't comprehend the true nature of his childhood friend. With grim satisfaction, Ghirahim thought that even if the boy somehow managed to win (ridiculous though the thought was) his return home would not be nearly as simple as he believed. Divinity could not be so seamlessly contained in mortal skin.

Link's injuries were also starting to take their toll, just as the terrain grew more treacherous. The hero gained new scrapes and bruises, ones that Ghirahim hadn't intended, although he bore it all in silence. Still, they were making good process. The Bokoblins were no real threat when Ghirahim could easily kill any who seemed close to glancing at Link, and their outposts had become fewer and farther between. Link might have even made it to the end mostly unscathed, were it not for the wildlife.

The hero was catching his breath against the side of the mountain as Ghirahim kept silent watch. These breaks came often now—a sign of Link's exhaustion, as if he needed any. Neither noticed the slow seep of red slime gathering at Link's feet until it was too late. The fiery Chu Jelly emerged from the ground with a massive schlump, trapping Link within its burning mass, and he screamed. Jumping and shaking frantically, Link eventually managed to break away, but not before blistering burns had erupted painfully across most of his skin. He didn't even notice as Ghirahim quickly disposed of the thing with three well-placed daggers. His breathing came in short, pained gasps that would have brought the demon more pleasure had he not been faced with the frustrating realization that, with the sword's resting place almost in sight, Link still might not make it there in his condition.

"Are we… almost there?" Link panted finally, the first words he'd said that even approached a complaint, and Ghirahim signaled the affirmative. Sweat dripped down Link's forehead into his blindfold, and he wondered what hid in those unseen eyes. Ghirahim wanted to see the pain there, and the fear. He wanted to know the inner workings of the chosen hero’s mind.

"…Which way?"

Link stumbled more than walked now, and Ghirahim abandoned any pretense of sneaking around Bokoblins, disposing of the beasts with silent daggers that the boy never saw. Twice, a Chu Jelly tried to sneak up on Link as before, but Ghirahim was not the type to be fooled twice. Chiming urgently for the boy to move, he waited for them to form before striking them down, grinning maliciously as they writhed and dissolved. It was hard to see the sky through the veil of smoke, but he thought it was almost dawn by the time they finally found the cave that fell the sword—and the final obstacle in their way.

Ghirahim signaled Link to halt, weighing their options. Winding around the cave's entrance was a shallow crack in the earth, not quite deep enough to be deadly were it not for the stream of lava running sluggishly along the bottom. Their saving grace was that it was narrow. Link could probably clear it with a jump… if he were in any condition for such things. If Ghirahim could even communicate what needed to be done.

"What's wrong?" Link asked when he remained silent. Even slumped forward in weary pain, his ears twitched at every noise.

Ghirahim scowled, irritated at how needlessly complicated their situation had become and ready for it to end. He was not used to being silent for so long, and could not say he enjoyed the experience. At last, he settled on a single note that fell in pitch, imitating the terrain in front of them. Link frowned in confusion, and he tried again. Forward forward forward forward… falling.

"A… drop?" Link guessed, and Ghirahim wiggled his fingers triumphantly to chime yes . "Can it be crossed?" Yes. "Is there a bridge?" No. "Can I climb down?" NO. "Can I… jump?"

Ghirahim hesitated. …Yes.

"You want me to jump." His voice was flat, but shaking with… exhaustion? Anger? He'd clenched his fists—almost certainly anger. "You're sure there's… no other way?"

Ghirahim didn't respond, a slow smile creeping across his face despite the situation. Link had been almost unnervingly calm until now, but even he must have a shattering point. Inconvenient if he'd reached it now, after all that sneaking about, but Ghirahim was certainly here for the show.

"Okay." Link blew out forcefully, rubbing his hands in agitation. "Okay, fine. I'm guessing if I don't make this jump, I'm dead? No, don't answer. Just position me. I need to take a running start."

Eying the distance across the chasm, Ghirahim directed Link so that he had plenty of space to gain momentum. If anything, the anger seemed to strengthen him—his stride was steadier than Ghirahim had seen it all night.

"You know the drill. Signal once three seconds before the jump, and again when it's time to jump. Like we always do.” Then, with a shake of his head he was off, running towards the chasm.

Ghirahim signaled him perfectly, and Link reacted as if he'd done this dozens of times before, which Ghirahim supposed he had. He sailed over the chasm, landing in a smooth roll despite his injuries. No part of the maneuver could have been planned or executed with more precision, and Ghirahim exulted inwardly at his success even as a reluctant grin spread across Link's face. They had practically made it.

Then, with a rumbling crack, the edge of the cliff collapsed.

Time stopped. Stunned, Link grabbed at the falling rocks as they crumbled around him, lunging desperately for something to hold on to. Nothing held. In a motion both slow and impossibly fast, Link fell, opening his mouth to scream.

"Ghirahim!"

He reacted without thought. In less than a human's heartbeat he was leaning over the ledge, grasping Link's arm moments before it fell out of reach, the blindfold finally slipping from his eyes. The heat of the lava enveloped them like an embrace. Link dangled there, staring blindly up at him in anger, fear, and pure defiance, and Ghirahim laughed out loud.

“You knew," he said, relieved to hear his own voice again as amusement warred with outrage in his mind. Oh, he should have been furious to have played the fool for so long… but on the other hand, it meant that Link had followed him willingly, which was just so much better.

Link glared. "And you sent me off that ledge on purpose."

"I'm saving you now, though." Ghirahim snapped and the two of them transported, Link collapsing to the ground while Ghirahim stood surveying him, both a safe distance from the cliff. "I think that makes us even, don't you?"

"Why?" Link struggled to his feet, gritting his teeth and turning to face the demon. "If you could have just…" he snapped his own fingers in demonstration, "…all this time, then why pretend? Why are you helping me in the first place?"

"I'm not sure you have any room to complain, given the alternative." Ghirahim spoke teasingly, though his mind raced. All that subterfuge for nothing… but this could still be turned to his advantage. If he pushed Link in just the right way, fueled that confusion, unnerved and unhinged him enough, then maybe this could still be salvaged. Fortunately, getting under Link's skin was Ghirahim’s specialty. "Of course, if you'd rather, I can leave you to find your sword on your own. Good bye, sky child." He snapped as if leaving, and Link's eyes widened.

"Wait!"

Ghirahim laughed, and Link growled under his breath. Bloody, bruised, and burned, Link had to know that the first enemy he came across would likely kill him. Not that anything stood between him and the sword now—they were a mere minute's walk from the cave—but he didn't need to know that yet.

"So you are… leading me to my sword?" he asked warily.

"If you doubted me, why did you follow?"

Link laughed, a rough sound without humor. All of his exhaustion seemed to settle on him at once. "What choice do you think I had? I can't just… snap myself anywhere I want. I can't see. I have no sword. Another day on this mountain and I'll probably be dead. All I could do was follow your lead, and hope that whatever you had planned for me wouldn't kill me faster."

"A roundabout way of thanking me, but you're welcome." He grinned secretly, awaiting the explosion. "Now—"

"Thanking you?" he spat, his temper ignited once more. How terribly predictable. "You think—after everything—you think you can do anything you want to me, lead me, push me, hurt me—" even in the warm light, Link's red cheeks somehow burned redder—"and I'm supposed to take it all and thank you because I'm not dead? Or do you think I'll hold back in the end because you helped me? You said yourself that there can't be any mercy between us, so why did you have to start? All you've done is given me a debt that I can't meet!"

Ghirahim could remember a time just the night before when Link had barely been able to stutter in his presence. It had been one of his more endearing qualities—Ghirahim always loved an attentive audience. Now it was like a dam had burst, and words were pouring out.

"Nothing's changed between us. You know that, right?" It was almost as though he were trying to convince himself. "This is too important. Zelda—"

"That's enough,” Ghirahim interrupted him, irritated. In an instant he was behind Link, one hand wrapped around his mouth to silence him, the other digging into his shoulder. Link grunted, gritting his teeth against his hand, but wisely refrained from biting down—the skin that could hold back the force of a sword would break those fragile teeth. "I've heard quite enough about your adorable friend for one day. You think you owe me?" Link actually sounded pained over it, ridiculous though it was. He had no way of knowing how self-serving Ghirahim's mercy really was, but if this supposed debt weighed on his conscience, so much the better. "Well, there's more than one way to repay a debt. You might think of something that surprises us both."

“Don’t touch me,” Link growled, voice muffled beneath Ghirahim’s fingers, and his grin deepened. He had been forced to keep his distance all night, but now he could feel every tremor of those exhausted muscles. A slow trickle of blood ran along the line of Link's jaw, and Ghirahim's tongue flicked out almost of its own accord, tracing it up to its source. Link shuddered in a most satisfactory manner, straining to move his head.

"If you wish to know why I do what I do... well, boredom happens to the best of us. Not all of my actions relate to some scheme. Then again, I might have plans for your death that go beyond this mountain. Or perhaps…" He moved the hand from Link's mouth to caress the path his tongue had traced. "…I've simply grown to enjoy your company, Link." He blew lightly on Link's ear, and was rewarded with another shiver.

"You… I…"

"Now there's the stuttering sky child I know and love," Ghirahim murmured, and Link's eyes blazed.

"Stop it!" Breaking free, Link whirled to face him with a clenched fist he saw coming from miles away. Ghirahim caught it, and the one after that, stretching his fists apart until they were nose to nose with each other.

"You want me to stop hurting you? To stop touching you?" he asked. Link spat in his face, and Ghirahim hissed. "Then stop me."

A kick to Link's abdomen sent him flying back with a breathless gasp. Before he could hit the ground, he had dissolved in a flurry of diamonds that carried him away, taking him out of Ghirahim's presence and reuniting him with his precious sword. He would survive, and it was less than he deserved. With more calm than he felt, Ghirahim wiped his face. Ingrateful brat.

Still, the night had gone well, if not in the way he'd expected. Granted, he'd expended a lot of pointless effort, but the perks had been more than worth the trouble. If anything, he'd cemented his work from the night before. After tonight, Link would never stand comfortably on the surface again.

Even better, he thought as he transported away from the mountain, leaving its occupants to fend for themselves—no matter what passed between them in the future, or how much he said he hated him, Link would always remember that when the cliff had fallen and his life had been in danger, he had called out Ghirahim's name.

Chapter Text

With the last note of the Song of the Hero still thrumming in the air, Link lowered his harp and slipped it carefully back in its pouch. In the same smooth motion, he placed both hands on the hilt of his sword, drawing it out with the soft whisper of metal on leather. He felt honed, sharp and ready like the weapon he carried. In the back of his mind a battle raged, eagerness warring with trepidation in a dizzying spiral that had begun the moment he suspected where this final trial might take place, but he let none of it show on the outside. This couldn't affect him, not the way it had the last time he'd visited the Silent Realm. No, he was strong enough to face this trial, even now. Even here.

He had no way of knowing if his face gave away the lie. He felt numb.

"Before you on the ground is a mark." Fi spoke, and Link forced himself to focus on her words. "Thrust your sword into the center of the mark and open the way to the final Silent Realm."

Nodding, Link set the point of his sword on the ground in front of him, then hesitated. A light breeze ruffled his hair, thin and cool and smelling of home. The air on the surface was heavier than here, and always spoke of its surroundings, whether the salty damp of ocean wind or the pervasive smell of moss and dirt that permeated the forest. In Skyloft, every scent was a light caress, just a fleeting touch on his senses—old stone one moment, freshly-cut grass the next, and always, wafting from somewhere in the distance, the spicy aroma of pumpkin soup.

The Silent Realms smelled like nothing.

According to Fi, the Realms were mere echoes of reality, imperfect copies of the vibrant world the Goddesses had created. Sounds were wrong there, as well, his footfalls on the ground soft and wavering even when they should have sounded firm. As for the… colors… Link had no frame of reference. He couldn't have said whether they differed from the real world or not, except that even to his inexperienced eyes they looked ethereal and soft, as if the world might fade away at any second. As long as the Guardians slept, at least. Once they awoke, both sound and sight became jarringly loud and discordant, though somehow no less otherwordly and strange. He wanted to see his home so badly it ached, but how close could this pale imitation possibly come? And did he want to see peaceful Skyloft as the setting of another disquieting trial?

Fi chimed, a gentle reminder, and Link berated himself for getting caught in this line of thought once more. It didn't matter what he wanted. This was his trial and he would face it, just like all the others.

With a grunt, he thrust his sword into the ground. It entered smoothly, though Link knew the surface had been hard cobblestone only moments before, and his breath caught as the world became light. He felt the now familiar sensation of his spirit rising… rising…

He opened his eyes, and saw.

Link had thought he was ready. He'd done this before, seen three times before. Now, as tears sprang to his eyes (which he wiped away quickly because he wanted to see), he realized this was something he could never have prepared for.

Turbulent clouds pushed each other across an impossibly vast sky, though he felt no wind. A soft light in a color he couldn't name touched everything in sight, immersing the world in a unifying glow that came from everywhere and nowhere at once. The tightly packed stones of the plaza he had played on as a child spread out before him, worn by age but clean and well cared for, and beyond that… beyond the well-beaten paths and the proud pennants, and the winding stairs carved into the island itself, he could just see the roofs of buildings peeking out. It was familiar and strange, and achingly beautiful. Somewhere among those tiny little houses was the academy he had grown up in, chasing Zelda through the hallways, sneaking into lectures and pestering the older students into teaching him everything they could about becoming a knight. His home.

Except that this was more than just his home now. It was also a trial. Hovering silently around him were masked apparitions that did not belong in this quiet little town, grim and unknowable in their stillness. Floating specters lit the sky with their balls of light as they deliberately went about their patrols, as mysterious as they were threatening. Even as he took it all in, a shimmering ball of light tore away from his chest, transforming with a flash into something small and delicate—a pale, thin flower. His spirit vessel. Catching it in cupped hands, Link tucked the flower carefully inside his tunic. It might have been only a representation of his spirit, but he still felt instinctively that he should protect it.

"When you have filled the Spirit Vessel once more, you shall finally be recognized as the true hero of legend." Fi's words echoed around him, lighting a deep unease in his heart. What did he have left to prove? Was there still some small possibility that he was not the chosen hero? "Only then will you be shown the door that will lead you to the Triforce. Master…" Fi hesitated. "This will be different from previous trials. You have been presented with obstacles to test your power, puzzles to measure your wisdom, and ordeals to prove your courage. You will find these here, as well. However, this trial is built from your very heart. Your worthiness to hold the Triforce will be proved here, along with the worthiness of your heart's greatest wish. Do not allow past success to make you complacent."

Link almost laughed. Complacent? In a Silent Realm?

"I understand," he said, shifting on his feet and missing the comforting familiarity of his sword. At least his wish would be judged worthy. What could be more pure than ridding the world of Demise's evil forever?

"Very well. I await your return in the outside world. Master… you will do well." With those words, her presence faded, and Link knew he was alone.

Still, he delayed. Turning in a slow circle, Link drank in the sight of his home. Behind him was the wooden platform he'd taken at a running leap so many times, and where Zelda had pushed him off almost as often. And there above him was the light tower, soaring further into the sky than he could have imagined, though he'd always known when he scaled it that he was climbing dangerously high. And off in the distance, barely visible but rising over even the light tower, stood the statue of the Goddess, stone face serene. He took it all in, pressing it desperately in his memory to keep with him when the world inevitably vanished from sight. He knew from experience that stepping beyond the bounds of the spiraling seal would begin the trial, awakening the Guardians' wrath until he claimed his first tear, and then there would be no time for savoring while he searched for the next. He wanted this to stretch a moment longer, always a moment longer… but there was no avoiding his task forever.

With a deep sigh, he turned, planning his first move. A tear sparkled nearby within sprinting distance, but with the Guardians behind it poised to attack, he'd have to run fast. Once he reached the first tear, he could climb the light tower for a better view of the others.

Bracing himself, Link stepped outside the circle, and the world awoke. The strangely serene glow gave way to something hostile and hot, and ominous life shone in the Guardians' eyes as their heads and weapons raised, focusing on Link. He ran, ignoring the urgent thrumming and discordant clanks that sent his heart pounding. This place was like a nightmare, designed to draw out fear, and the only way to beat it was to push through. The nearest Guardian met him as he arrived, raising his scything sword as Link reached for the tear, and—

A dark stone chamber surrounded him. Link whirled in surprise, looking for either tear or Guardian, but both had vanished from sight—or rather, Link realized, he had. Before him were steps leading up to a raised dais, above which a strange, reflective stone hung unsupported. It all felt more solid than the realm he'd just left, less likely to dissolve around him. Had he been pulled from the Silent Realm somehow? Then why could he still see?

He ascended the steps slowly, head turning in case something unfriendly inhabited this chamber, but he found his gaze drawn continually back to the stone. It was big, larger than him, and beginning to pulse with a steady glow. Link squinted, trying to see inside even as the light grew brighter. He almost thought he could make out a figure—

Without warning, the stone exploded with a final blaze of light, and Link threw up a hand to shield himself. Gleaming rubble scattered around him, sparkling like tiny jewels, but he barely noticed. There was somebody trapped in there, a woman who was now free. As the radiance surrounding her form faded, he started to make out her features—light, shimmering hair that cascaded down her back, delicately pointed ears, fair skin, and a simple white dress flowing gently as if in a breeze. Link stared, mouth agape. He'd never seen another person before, but he thought she must be beautiful.

Then she opened her eyes, and they shone with a divine warmth that was beyond human. She smiled.

"Hey there, sleepyhead."

The scene vanished, and Link staggered, barely noticing as the Tear became a spark that flitted around, sinking into the flower tucked against his chest and returning the world to its still tranquility. The Guardian had vanished, transported back to its silent sentinel. He knew that voice, though he hadn't heard it in too long.

"Zelda?" he whispered. There was no answer. The Silent Realm shimmered around him once more, quiet and sinister, and time was counting down. There were still tears to collect. Shaking his head, he ran to the light tower where and started to climb, still trying to make sense of what he'd seen. Unless something had changed, Zelda was still sealed away in the Temple—sealed, he was suddenly sure, in a room and stone exactly like the one he had seen. Was she somehow free? Or was this just a vision of sorts, of things that might someday be?

One of the Watchers circled the level above, but he avoided its lantern easily, climbing rung after rung until he'd made it to the top. From here, he had a breathtaking view of all of Skyloft, which diverted his attention momentarily. It was a small town, especially compared to the vastness of the world below, but there was something comforting about its steady, rustic presence. Scattered below were twinkling tears, easy to pick out in the stillness. Even better, he realized, a tear hung suspended in the tower's center, right in front of a motionless Guardian. Shying away from the hulking masked figure—he knew it would stay motionless unless he delayed for too long or set off a Watcher's cry, but they still made him uneasy—Link reached a hand out for the tear.

Tall trees surrounded him, strong and proud as if they'd been growing for centuries. He recognized this place as Faron Woods, though the light was not so cool and peculiar as he remembered from the Silent Realm. Warm sun trickled through leaves— green leaves, he remembered having learned once, green like his tunic, green like the grass—painting mottled patterns on the earth below, and floating motes in the air caught that sun and spun its light hypnotically.

A head rested on his shoulder, and he saw with a start that he wasn't alone. It was the girl from before— Zelda? Could it be? —staring up at him with those warm, brilliant eyes.

Blue, he thought, unthinkingly putting an arm around her. She had told him once that both of their eyes were blue. Surely his own eyes weren't this blue. He'd never thought to ask what color her hair was.

"Where are we?" he asked, surrounded by beauty but unable to look away from those eyes. There was so much else he needed to know, but that would do for a start.

"On the surface, silly," she laughed, squeezing him back before ducking away, running down the path in front of them. "Follow me!" She'd changed from that dress into a knight's uniform like his own, more suitable for exploring a dense forest. Her Wing Ceremony was another year away, though—when had she earned the tunic?

With everything that surrounded him, Link found that he didn’t care.

Running after her, Link marveled at how bright and lush the forest was. The air was sweet with the scent of flowers and growth, and curiously carried hints of wood smoke. Mushrooms gathered like glowing gems at the base of enormous trees, and small birds chirped and flitted away as they ran past. One of the birds was blue.

Finally, Zelda stopped at a clearing, and Link realized they were standing in front of a small group of cottages, with the framework for others under construction. Smoke curled comfortably out of chimneys, and he caught the mouthwatering smell of food roasting in ovens. There were people on the surface, chatting in small groups, chopping at wooden logs, and leaning over plans in excited discussion.

"With Demise's evil gone for good, the surface is safe to live on again," Zelda explained as Link stared at the scene in front of them. "Some people still prefer the sky, of course, but most of the younger folk have chosen to settle here. We're turning it into a home, Link."

"Is this… this can't be real," Link said wonderingly. With the trees cleared away, he could finally see the sky—a perfect, crystalline blue, just like he'd always been told.

"It can be," Zelda said, slim hand wrapping around his own. "Once you get the Triforce, of course. You just need to make the right wish."

The tear dissolved into liquid light, joining its partner in the spirit vessel. Link half raised his hand, a sound of loss escaping him. What else would he possibly wish for? He wanted that future! Shaking his head, Link chose his next tear and set off with excited determination. Only now that he'd seen the true vividness of the world did he understand what a pale reflection this place really was.

The third tear hovered near the bazaar, across a walkway guarded by a Watcher. The intricate weaving of the rugs in the windows caught his eye—the world had more details and patterns to it than he ever could have known—but the shining tear and the possibilities it held drew him back. With barely contained impatience, Link waited for the Watcher to pass before sprinting forward, grabbing the blue light with eager hands.

Skyloft rose up around him, but this was Skyloft as it was meant to be—colorful, cozy, and bustling with life. A group of women holding laundry baskets passed him by, chatting and laughing together, and a small boy dodged around his ankles in pursuit of a shiny black beetle. A familiar cry drew Link's gaze up, and his throat tightened as an enormous Loftwing flapped its wings above, soaring into the sky. Running along beneath it, Link came to the edge of a wooden pier and stopped, breath catching at the sight. He'd always heard that a layer of clouds lay draped beneath the islands like a blanket, blocking any view of the land below, but nothing like that existed now. The full extent of the surface extended far beneath him, trees and rivers and streams melding into rocks and mountains, with the desert barely visible in the distance. In the middle of it all, nestled in a steadily growing clearing, a proud village had advanced far beyond the modest group of cottages he'd seen before. Houses, shops, farms, and the foundation for something bigger dotted the landscape, all built up in a matter of minutes to Link's eyes, though it must have taken years of work. His heart swelled with pride at the sight. If this was the result of everything he'd been put through, it was all worth it.

Footsteps behind him made him smile, and he half turned, though he couldn't quite tear his eyes away from the scene below. Then a familiar laugh froze the blood in Link's body, growing in volume before cutting off suddenly.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" the same voice whispered in his ear as a pair of hands gripped his shoulders, holding him in place. Struggling, Link looked sideways at the hands that held him. They were so dark they must be black. "A perfect future, with the defeat of my master. You've certainly paved the way for an industrious little society. You should be proud! But it is not your future… or have you forgotten?" The colorful world around him faded, became darker, disappeared, and Link gripped his eyes in silent protest as if doing so could keep it all from slipping away. "This is all you will ever see of your future."

Those gripping hands pushed him over the edge, and he fell with a scream, whistling for a bird that didn't come, plummeting towards a land he could no longer see…

Link gasped as the third tear swirled around him, joining the others. Relief swelled as he saw he had his sight back, even if he was back in the muted world of the Silent Realm. What was Ghirahim doing there? It couldn't really be him, any more than it could really be Zelda in those visions, but why him at all? A pang of sadness hit him as he realized that Ghirahim, or whoever it was, was right—Link would never see that world again. But as long as it happened and the world was at peace, did it matter whether Link bore witness or not?

He still had a trial to complete, and the spirit vessel was less than half full. Still, he was grimly apprehensive as he rounded the bazaar, spotting the telltale sparkle of a tear in the scaffolding below. Lowering himself carefully onto a slim wooden plank, Link inched out, grabbing a beam for support as he leaned forward. Straining, Link reached, his fingers barely brushing the tear.

Burning air filled his lungs, heavy with the scent of sulfur. Grimacing in recognition, Link looked up to find the sky cloaked in dark smoke and ash, the mountain's peak towering over him. Liquid light fell from the summit in slender streams that gathered in pools at its rocky base—lava, he assumed, thick and hot and dangerous.

Dismayed, he stared across the treacherous landscape in awe. How had he ever managed to cross this dismal wasteland alive?

"Can you imagine?" Link looked up to find what could only be the demon lord Ghirahim surveying him from a cliff above, arms folded and head quirked in clear amusement. "I stood—" he snapped his fingers, appearing mere feet away from Link in a cloud of cascading diamonds, "—this close to you, followed you for hours, directed your every move… and yet, were it not for that interfering Mogma, you would never have even known it. Remarkably unobservant of you, don't you think? But then, you were dealt a rather cruel hand, given the task you were born to fulfill."

Scowling, Link looked away, if only because he didn't want to give even this fake Ghirahim the satisfaction of seeing him stare. Everything about the demon was sharp, from the cut of his hair to the points of the diamonds that adorned his… everything. Even the voluminous mantle he wore ended in sharp points, richly dyed in a color he couldn't name.

"It's red, my dear child," Ghirahim said with a roll of his visible eye, and Link started at hearing his thoughts addressed so directly. "Crimson, if you want to be technical, but I doubt your unseasoned eyes can tell the difference. Crimson like the thread of fate you tie like a noose around your own neck."

"What do you mean?" he asked, backing away slowly. Ghirahim wasn't visibly armed, but that could change at any second, and Link didn't know if these visions could harm him or not. Smirking, Ghirahim matched his retreat step for step.

"What I mean, boy, is that you run headfirst into a future that offers you nothing. You offer your life on the line, again and again and again, and the payment you accept in return is that other people will be happy?" Link's back hit the wall, and Ghirahim's grin deepened as he advanced ever closer. "Even for a hero like yourself, it's almost too selfless to be believed. One would think that working for the Goddess would come with a few perks, hmm?"

"I am the way I am," Link said grimly, neck craning to meet Ghirahim's dark eyes with a glare. "Why waste time worrying about what can't be fixed?"

"Why indeed?" he murmured, placing his hands to either side of Link's head. Their faces were inches away now, and Link could smell the depths of a forge on his breath. "But forget about Zelda, if only for a moment. Maybe this time it's about what you want… or what you wish."

Link blanched. Only his death grip on the scaffolding kept him from plummeting as the fourth tear sank into the spirit vessel. He pulled himself up with watery limbs, trying to ignore the crushing realization that beat at him like a hammer. His denial before had been so absolute that he'd even managed to fool himself, but now it was out in the open, impossible to ignore. There was a second wish, one that rivaled even his wish to defeat Demise, one that shamed him to the depths of his soul.

He wanted to see. Goddess above, he wanted to see.

Link ran mindlessly as this new war waged within. Zelda had tasked him with retrieving the Triforce in order to defeat Demise. It wasn't his to use on a whim. If anything, he'd already been rewarded for his quest beyond his wildest imaginations. After all, if he hadn't completed these trials, he would never have seen Zelda, or Skyloft, or the surface, or any of the bright visions of the future he'd been given. But what if it wasn't even a choice? What if he took hold of the Triforce and it answered whichever wish was strongest? Link assailed this new desire mercilessly, beating it until it was just a whisper in his mind, but still it remained, whispering.

Without noticing, his feet had carried him to the Sparring Hall, and he smiled grimly when he saw the tear shining above him in midair, just out of reach. This was the perfect place to fight his temptation away for good. Working in spurts to avoid the circling Watcher, Link pulled at a crate nearby until he was beneath the tear, then climbed atop it and clenched the light in his fist.

A sword flashed for Link's face and he reacted on instinct, only realizing he held a shield when Ghirahim's rapier bounced harmlessly away. He had only a moment to marvel at the fact that he held a sword as well—wasn't he supposed to be defenseless?—before Ghirahim attacked again, and he was forced to defend.

They fought in silence for many minutes, the clash of sword on sword the only conversation between them. The demon had dispensed with the bulky cloak, clad only in the strange pale garment that clung tightly to his muscled frame. At first Link felt vulnerable without Fi there for guidance, but he found to his growing satisfaction that he didn't need it here. Everything Fi had ever had to indicate to him through subtle vibrations or chimes or her cool monotonous voice, he could now determine with a mere glance. Eventually, he even grew confident enough in his abilities to go on the offense. Snaking his sword behind Ghirahim's—experience had taught that the demon was especially skilled in parrying a misplaced strike with brute force—Link managed a scraping blow to Ghirahim's side that sparked a flurry of diamonds. Eyes widening, Ghirahim snapped his fingers, disappearing, and Link sprinted forward. He'd faced this trick before. Ghirahim landed from the ceiling mere inches behind him, sword driving into the ground, and Link rounded on him before he could pull free, landing a flurry of blows that sent more diamonds flying. Wrenching the sword up at last, Ghirahim skipped backwards… and smiled.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" he purred, lunging forward once more, and Link caught the blow on his shield.

"What does?" he grunted. The last thing he wanted was to engage the demon in conversation, but if it managed to distract his opponent it would be worth it.

"Fighting under your own power." A line of daggers appeared before Ghirahim with a snap, and went shooting towards Link. With a precise arc of his sword, Link sent them flying back, and Ghirahim grunted as they met their mark. "No voices or intermediaries in the way. Just you and me, and our skill with the sword."

It did feel good, but Link refused to admit it. Ghirahim took a bracing step back, and was suddenly barreling down on Link, moving impossibly fast, sword raised for an attack. Link waited for just the right moment before raising his shield to meet the blow, pushing forward and knocking Ghirahim off balance with the force of his own attack. He managed to land several hits before Ghirahim was able to retreat, stumbling back warily.

Link's memories of his previous battles with Ghirahim were of nicks and scrapes and bare escapes, and blows that were only half a second from missing. Fi did the best she could guide his attacks and Link's own honed senses and nimble reflexes made up the rest, but this was almost easy. He'd never felt so sure of himself with a sword, and to feel that way against Ghirahim of all people… it was intoxicating.

"It would be worth it, wouldn't it?" Ghirahim asked, circling him. Link circled right along with him, not allowing Ghirahim a chance at his back or sides. "To be able to fight like this?"

"Worth what? Allowing Demise to revive or the seal to fail? Letting Zelda die?" Link retorted. "What's the point of seeing if all you can do is watch your world burn?"

"Are those the only two paths you're capable of seeing? The Triforce or death?" Ghirahim struck out suddenly with his sword, sneaking beneath Link's defenses, and Link jumped back with a grunt as the blow nicked the top of his leg. Real or not, it hurt. "There's more than one way to defeat an enemy, child, and more than one enemy to face. Or do you think I'll take the death of my master quietly?"

"I…" Link hadn't thought much beyond the Triforce, and Demise's defeat. That was enough for any one person to deal with. He supposed Ghirahim would be after revenge once he realized what Link had done. "I'll deal with it when it happens."

"You'll die when it happens," Ghirahim said flatly, lashing out again, but this time Link blocked it. "You have some skill with that sword, boy, but I think you know how easily I can surprise you when the need arises."

"I've beaten you before," Link growled, pressing his advantage by striking with his own sword, but Ghirahim caught it between his fingers and thrust it to the side, and it was all Link could do to maintain his grip on the hilt. "Besides, you're not the type to fight dirty. You may be a demon, but you have some sense of honor."

"You think me so predictable, do you?" Ghirahim laughed, disappearing in a flood of diamonds, and Link took off sprinting. However, rather than attacking behind him, Ghirahim appeared right in front of him, sword raised, and Link had to reel back to avoid running into him, barely raising his shield in time. "I prefer not to rely on my enemy's mercy, but maybe that's just me."

"This is pointless!" Link said, backing up angrily. "I'm done arguing. I'm using my wish to defeat Demise, and that's the end of it!"

"Fine," Ghirahim shrugged, snapping to produce another line of daggers that circled lazily in the air. "It's no real concern to me how you choose to throw away your life. But don't fool yourself into thinking that defeating Demise with the Triforce will be an end to the violence. There will be fighting either way, boy. I'm simply offering you a way to survive." Without warning, the daggers shot in a straight line aimed directly at his heart.

He drew a breath. Five tears down. Over halfway there. Rounding the bridge that took him behind the bazaar, he found an arc of stepping stones across a pond that glimmered blue and red, with a shining tear at the end. Link took extra care as he jumped from stone to stone, even though he'd done this over a hundred times before. One drop of that water against his skin would awaken the Guardians as surely as if a Watcher had spotted him. He might be able to outrun them, at least for a little while, but if he fell in the water itself he'd never outswim the ones that could fly.

Finally, his feet landed on firm soil. The tear sparkled within reach, and Link reluctantly bent to grab it. Could he defeat Demise on his own, if it came down to it?

Skyloft was on fire. Reeling from the unexpected chaos, Link turned helplessly, watching clouds of black smoke rise above flames that licked the air, devouring the only home he'd ever known. In the distance he heard a scream, but from where he stood there was nobody to be seen. Where were the townsfolk? How many had escaped on their Loftwings, and how many were…

"Link." In the midst of all this chaos he had expected to see Ghirahim, but it was Zelda who met him, face cold and otherworldly in the harsh light of the flames. She stood tall, impervious to the fire that raged around her, blue eyes lit like an avenging goddess. Not a speck of ash or dirt marred her pristine visage.

"What is this?" Link asked nervously, taken aback by the foreign gaze in his best friend's eyes. He knew on some level that Zelda had awoken the memories of the goddess within her… but how much of who he faced now was goddess, and how much Zelda?

"A world where you fail, and Demise wins." Link flinched, not sure if he had imagined the note of accusation in her voice. "If Demise is allowed to succeed, he will show no mercy for any of the goddess’s children. He is a creature of darkness and cruelty, and delights only in pain. Some will survive, and envy the dead." She eyed him appraisingly. "I do not know which group you will fall into. The blade could fall either way."

"So…" Link licked his lips. "So this is the only way? Either I wish for the end of Demise… or the world ends?"

"Does it matter?" Zelda asked, a hint of incredulity breaking through her cool mask. "There's always a chance that you could defeat Demise, but what measure of risk would be acceptable to you, when the alternative to victory is this?" The building nearest them collapsed in a shower of smoke and debris, emphasizing her point.

Link flushed at her response, part anger, part shame. She was right, of course. It wasn't fair, but life never was. Still, he hated himself for wishing she could give him some of Fi's percentages to make his choice. Did Demise have an eighty percent chance of victory, or five? What level of risk would tip the balance in his mind?

"Maybe I did choose wrong," Zelda said, and Link froze. It was 'Father, I don't think he can do it' all over again, but worse now that the words carried divine condemnation. "The Link I thought I knew would not hesitate so."

"How many times," Link growled, glaring at Zelda—no, not Zelda, just a vision that wore her face and stole her voice, though that was increasingly hard to remember. "How many times do I have to prove myself before it's enough for you? Do you have any idea what I've gone through, trying to save you? While you've been sleeping? I'll do what needs to be done, but don't you dare condemn me for wishing there was another way."

"It is not my condemnation you need fear, but his." Zelda gestured, and Link noticed the darkness gathering behind her, taking form. Two red slits of flame opened from the depths of it, narrowing at the sight of him, and a terrible laughter had him clutching his ears even as darkness enveloped all.

The tear sank into the vessel, though it brought him no joy. He felt sick with anger. It's not Zelda, he reminded himself… but it was the goddess, in some form or another. It was the goddess who had set this trial for him, who forced him to prove again and again that he was the appointed hero. The goddess who had given him this choice to make in the first place. He had never resented his destiny so much as he did in that moment. Was Zelda right? Had he changed?

Two tears remained. Giving the pond a wide berth, Link ran along the edge until he found what he was looking for—a blue tear surrounded by four Watchers, diving in and out in an intricate, unvarying pattern. The light of their lanterns gathered and spread across the ground, leaving momentary gaps that quickly filled in again. He would have only a second to run across, and another second to get out. That was the most crucial part. If he was caught leaving, it would be a race to the graveyard and the final tear. Whatever this vision held in store, he had to be ready to vault into motion if he hoped to avoid the lights.

Watching the Watchers to make sure he had their pattern down, Link waited for the perfect moment and jumped, grabbing the tear, preparing his momentum for the leap out, and—

He stood at the edge of a cliff, vast expanses of sand spreading before him. It took only a moment to recognize the land as Lanayru, the desert that had once held an ocean. It was with an odd sense of relief that he saw Ghirahim perched before him instead of Zelda, glancing back at his arrival. Odd and disconcerting—he had never once felt relief as a result of Ghirahim's presence. However, both demon and desert faded in importance when he finally caught sight of the sky.

"Wha…"

"I thought you'd say that," Ghirahim said, gesturing elegantly at the ground beside him. "Sit before you fall on your face. I promise not to bite. For now."

Link sat without thinking, too caught up in staring to consider his own safety. The sun hovered on the edge of the horizon, a blazing ball of fire so red that he could barely tear his eyes away. Streaks of vivid color slashed across the sky, rich hues weaving and mixing in so many combinations they couldn't possibly all have names. How could there be so many colors in the world? How did people talk about anything else, when colors like these existed?

"Lanayru has the most exquisite sunsets," Ghirahim remarked, though he barely paid the sky a glance in favor of staring at Link. "The dust in the air scatters the light, and… ah, it's too complicated for you to understand. I thought I would show this to you at least once, since I think you will not see it again."

"I thought you were supposed to be convincing me otherwise?" Link said, staring steadily ahead. He refused to cry over this again. It seemed that he'd shed enough tears over the Silent Realms to refill this ocean.

"Do you want me to convince you otherwise?"

"Could you promise me that everything would turn out okay if you did?" He knew the answer, of course, even before Ghirahim threw back his head and laughed.

"Oh, sky child," he chortled fondly. "Even the spirit maiden can't promise you that."

A comfortable silence fell over them, with Link enraptured by the sky's subtly shifting gradients and the ever sinking sun. He'd heard enough stories to know that watching the sunset with someone was supposed to be romantic. Strange that he should share the experience with a manifestation of Ghirahim, of all people. The real demon would likely run him through with a sword if he ever heard about it.

"Who are you?" Link asked finally. The sun had fallen even lower, a mere bump above the horizon, and he knew his time was almost up. A strange calm had fallen over him, and he was ready to face the end of this trial. "This can't all have come from my mind. I don't know that much."

"A relief to hear you admit it," Ghirahim quipped. "The trials draw from your mind and heart, but also from reality and the physical realm, and the knowledge of the goddess herself. As for who I am… temptation is perhaps a good way to describe myself, and I'll leave it to you to figure out why that is." He smirked. "I suppose if any good has come of this, it's that you can finally see me in all my exquisite glory." The demon gestured dramatically, preening, and Link's mouth quirked despite himself.

"So no more self-indulgent visits at night to allow me to… appreciate you?"

"Well now," the demon said as the sun disappeared below the horizon. "That's something I simply cannot guarantee."

Link was ready. Vaulting forward, he slipped between the Watcher's lights with less than a second to spare, and the blue light of the tear followed his flight. Enough of this. He could see the necessity of these trials now—even he hadn't known how strongly tempted he would be—but it was time to bury them once and for all.

A Watcher paced the entry to the graveyard, and Link knew he'd have no chance but to pass beneath its light. He readied himself to run once more, mentally saying farewell to his home. Regret welled up inside him—he still hadn't seen the halls of the school, or the floating falls, or the Statue of the Goddess up close—but if he had to accept his limitations, he would do it wholeheartedly. Memories of sight always faded with the trials, as if his mind was incapable of holding any image within, but he could remember the feel of what he saw. That would have to be enough.

He stepped into the Watcher's light, and it let out a terrifying screech, waking the world with its cry. Link didn't stand around to watch. Ignoring the sudden pounding of his heart, he ran forward, not looking back, dodging rocks and gravestones and reaching out his hand for the final tear of light.

Link stood in darkness, not as if he couldn't see the world around him, but more that there was nothing to see. To his right stood Zelda, smiling but sad, clad in the simple white dress of the Goddess. In her hands was a blindfold, held aloft for him to take. Turning to his left he found Ghirahim, the ever-present quirk of his lips absent. Wordlessly, he offered him a sword. The choice could not have been clearer: to see and fight, and put his trust in strength… or to accept.

Finally, the last of his resistance faded, and Link made the only possible choice. With a wry smile, he walked towards Zelda. The figure of Ghirahim faded from sight, vanishing completely as he stood in front of his old friend.

"Is it necessary?" he asked. Her eyes shone with unshed tears, which struck him as funny. His were completely dry.

"I would not ask this of you if it were not," she promised, and he bowed his head, falling to one knee. With trembling hands, she affixed the blindfold around his eyes, cutting off the sight of her forever. When she finished, her hands stayed on his head. "In exchange for your sacrifice, I bless you with aid when you need it most. I cannot fight your battles for you, but if the worst comes to pass, you will not be left sightless."

Link didn't understand, but he nodded anyway. He thought he felt her lips press against his forehead, and then her presence vanished. The final tear hummed as it entered the vessel of his spirit, and Link rose one final time, swallowed in the light.

"Congratulations master. You have passed all of the trials." Fi's silvery voice and the return of the breeze and ambient noise of Skyloft told him he was back. After everything he'd just been through, it felt too mundane to be real.

The world was dark once more, as he knew it would remain.

Link shifted to stand, his muscles stiff and protesting after sitting for so long, and paused as he felt something pressed against his eyes. The blindfold. He deliberated for a moment, but decided to keep it on. If it had carried over into the physical realm, there had to be a reason. Besides, wearing it reminded him that his blindness was now a personal choice, and not just something fate had thrust upon him. It made a difference, thinking of it like that.

There was something else he'd received from the trial, he realized, passing the small object between his hands.

"Fi, what's this?"

"The stone of trials. The item you just obtained is actually one of a pair, Master. Another similar object with a mark just like the one you hold exists somewhere on this island. Combining the two should open the way to the Triforce." She paused. "I suggest you enlist the help of somebody more visually inclined to search for that matching stone."

Link couldn't help himself—he threw back his head and laughed. It felt good.

Chapter Text

Ghirahim felt the moment of his master's death like a reverberation through his soul.

Eyes narrowing, he couldn't quite suppress a distressed twitch of his fingers as the enormous statue that had fallen through the ever-present clouds finally settled, reforming the courtyard of the ancient temple as he remembered it from so many centuries ago. It was a terrible, disquieting necessity, but also a crucial step in the larger scheme of events. Even as he watched, the last threads of the goddess's seal unraveled and faded, along with the divine shield that had barred him from Hylia’s temple and the Gate of Time hidden within. 

Link had succeeded in his quest, it seemed, and with that success Demise's return was nearly assured.

With a stab of amusement, Ghirahim noticed said hero sprawled before the shining manifestation of the Triforce, knocked off his feet by the force of the impact as the spirit of his sword floated serenely beside him. It was ridiculous that this clumsy near-child had claimed such immense power almost incidentally, when that power had so enthralled Demise that he'd stormed the surface in search of it, and had its image emblazoned on his sword. Snapping his fingers, Ghirahim wondered idly whether Link had any concept of just how many had died before him seeking out those holy shards. Probably not. Knowledge was its own form of power, and Hylia was never one to share any of that when it could be helped.

The interior of the large temple snapped into place around him, and Ghirahim peered down from his new perch among the dusty rafters, examining the vast, crumbling interior below. True to his expectations—though no less relieving because of them—the Gate of Time stood before him, massive and solemn in its presence. Equally vital, he could feel the spirit maiden's presence nearby, stirring as she awakened from her self-imposed slumber. Excitement verging on ecstasy rose inside him as he realized that all was lying neatly in place, everything that he had sacrificed and searched for needing only his skillful touch to set events in motion. The air nearly hummed with the weight of that expectation, and Ghirahim had the sudden, fleeting thought that perhaps even he didn’t yet understand the full import of what would happen here today.

Sweeping the strangely unsettling notion aside—he’d worked too hard to turn back now, even if he was willing or able to—Ghirahim transported himself behind one of the room’s massive columns, hidden from the hulking brute and aged Sheikah huddled expectantly together before the gate. They would pose no threat, of course. Almost, he considered taking the spirit maiden now and being doing with it all, but sweet anticipation stayed his hand. Link had earned this victory, after all, and it was only fair that the hero be allowed to enjoy the fruits of his labors before Ghirahim snatched them away. The higher the pedestal Link fell from, the more delectable his own triumph would be.

Sure enough, it was only minutes later that the doors to the temple opened and the hero appeared, his outline etched in pure light. For once, Ghirahim had to give him points for presentation as he paused there, head raised expectantly as though listening for something, though a strange blue cloth tied inexplicably around his eyes masked the most telling part of his expression. Then a door creaked open further in the temple, and a smile that could only be described as radiant split Link’s usually fierce face.

The spirit maiden entered then, stumbling, and Link was there to catch her, holding her close in a way that made Ghirahim's lip curl. The two clasped hands for short, tender moments, and were pulled away, rejoining again over and over like a choreographed dance while the Sheikah woman smiled and the red-haired buffoon flitted like a fool around them, laughing and crying in turns. Link laughed easily at his antics, laughed even when the excited idiot shook Link with enormous meaty hands that had no business gripping his shoulders like that. Ghirahim would never have imagined that Link had such light-hearted laughter in him, his shoulders unfurling slowly as if all his long held burdens were gradually lifting away, and though he watched it all in dark amusement, a part of Ghirahim rankled at the realization that he’d been so swiftly forgotten after all that had passed between them. Did the sky child really find him that easy to dismiss with the “defeat” of his master? He would learn soon enough, to both his and his goddess’s detriment.

It was the spirit maiden’s laughter that irked the most, though, filled with an innocence ill-suited to someone in full possession of Hylia's memories. Every bright glance she sent Link’s way was pure hypocrisy after all her previous incarnation had demanded of him… but then, it was always she who withdrew first, slipping her hand away to speak with a friend or adjust her hair before allowing him to claim it once more. At least she had removed the blindfold the boy had taken to wearing, pulling it down to peer into his sightless, smiling eyes. For that alone, Ghirahim thought he could spare her any unnecessary pain during the ritual she would soon endure. He looked forward to watching that sparkling joy drain from the boy's eyes as his world was finally, irrevocably torn to pieces. Whether Link screamed himself deaf or not, that moment alone would more than make up for all the frustration the stubborn sky child had put him through.

…And then, with the hero's inevitable defeat, life itself would drain from those eyes. The thought should have made Ghirahim giddy with excitement, but to his own surprise he found that he would rather not dwell on the prospect. For all the annoyance he had caused due to sheer stubbornness, Link had still been his most satisfying opponent yet. The demon king would quell all resistance, of course, but… if he could be kept from the battlefield, Link might not have to die after all. Some humans would live on under his master’s dominion, once they learned their proper place. Perhaps when all else was lost, Link would finally learn the value of his own skin.

Link still had not stopped laughing. To Ghirahim's disgust, his hand was stretched out yet again for the spirit maiden's, and he decided in an instant to put an end to this happy little reunion. He snapped, and with a crack and a calculated flurry of sharp diamonds, the two were flung apart.

Time itself seemed to stop. Every face wore the same comical expression of shock, as if the implications of what had taken place refused to sink in, and Ghirahim couldn't help himself. His laughter rang out wildly even to his own ears as he stepped dramatically into view, drinking in the way Link tensed at his voice. The spirit maiden looked up at him in distress, weakened from taking the brunt of the blow, but as thrilling as it was to finally, finally have her within reach, her soul had always been a means to an end. It was Link who Ghirahim watched closely, and Link who he chose to address.

"This is all very touching, but I'm afraid I have to cut this emotional moment short,” he sneered. The two of them were still closer to each other than Ghirahim cared for. In an instant, he stood between them, leering down at the fallen hero. "It's best for everyone if you forget about your friend, Link. The little goddess is mine now!"

With a wave of his hand, the girl lifted in the air, and her small moan of protest finally stirred Link to action. Snarling, he started to rise, only to fall once more with a startled gasp of pain. Ghirahim's smirk deepened, and he bent down to grasp the boy's hair in a tight fist, stretching his head back. Mere theatrics would not be enough here. Link required something more… physical.

"You've been so adorably dogged in your quest to get in my way, but as much as it has delighted me, I can no longer tolerate you nipping at my heels." Link would not be standing on that ankle for some time. He could not be allowed to follow, not when things could still go so very wrong. "Wait here like a good boy, and perhaps you'll survive to see the end."

"Demise… is dead," Link panted, struggling against his grip. "It's over, Ghirahim. You don't need her anymore. Just… take me. I'm the one who… who killed him."

He closed his eyes in acceptance, and Ghirahim realized suddenly that Link hadn't forgotten about him after all. He had already resigned himself to this possibility, had perhaps even been expecting it. Could he really care so much for this simple girl who served only as a vessel for something greater?

Still, he clearly didn't grasp the full extent of Ghirahim's plan.

"Do you think," Ghirahim said slowly, as if talking to somebody very stupid, "that Demise could disappear from this world, and I would not know it?"

Link's brow furrowed. "But—"

"My master may have perished in this age, but in the past he lives yet!" he hissed, and Link's eyes flew open in realization.

"No," he whispered hoarsely.

"I'm taking the girl back through that gate to help me revive the demon king!"

" No! "

Link bucked. Tearing his head from Ghirahim's grasp and losing more than a few hairs in the process, Link reached his hand back to draw his sword, aiming it shakily at Ghirahim's throat.

"Demise is dead!" he repeated forcefully, gripping the blindfold that still hung around his neck. "That’s what I chose. This isn't supposed to happen! She should have warned me!" Incomprehensible gibberish, from Ghirahim’s point of view.

"If you meant to kill me there, you shouldn’t have hesitated." Grasping the tip of Link's sword as he'd done so long ago, he moved it away from his throat with a pitying expression. "I don't even have the time to grind my heel into a worm like you. Not now."

With a snap, he and the girl vanished. This time, he allowed a long moment for anxiety to set in before reappearing directly in front of the Gate of Time, with the spirit maiden draped over his shoulder.

"…Link…" The girl's breathing was labored. Either she was still weak from the long sleep, or he'd damaged her more than he'd intended to. It was easy to forget how breakable most humans were.

"No!" It was not Link who spoke this time, but the fool with the red hair. Jumping up, he stood between Ghirahim and the Gate of Time with arms spread wide as if to bar his way, and Ghirahim felt a stab of annoyance. Did every human intend to throw their measly strength against him today? This one wasn't even armed.

"Stand down," he growled. "You're in my way, and the sight of your appalling hair makes my gorge rise." What was the point of making a statement with your appearance when you had nothing to say?

The boy shook his head frantically, spreading his arms out wider, and Ghirahim's patience abruptly ran out. A single kick sent the human sprawling, and he walked through unhindered, glancing back as he entered.

"You've done a fine job of spoiling my plans to revive the demon king in this age, so I see no point in dawdling here. But the past… oh, the past… so full of possibilities!" Link had finally managed to stand, but the pain of it was clear on his face. A single step would crumple him, and they both knew it. Ghirahim's grin widened as he felt the Gate activate. "I shall resurrect him there with the divine soul of this golden-haired girl!"

The helpless fury on Link's face lingered with him long after the sight of him faded away, his presence cut off completely by centuries of time. Perfect.

He had expected the Sheikah dog standing guard on the other side, though to her misfortune she had not expected him. Ghirahim took particularly vicious satisfaction in subduing her, remembering how she had helped to foil his plans at the first Gate of Time, but he didn't waste the precious moments it would take to kill her. He was focused now, intent on the completion of his mission. He was so close now, so close! The girl in his arms groaned, protesting weakly as they left the Sheikah lying face down on the stone floor, and Ghirahim smiled to himself.

"There, there," he said with mock concern, snapping his fingers to transport them to the spiraling grounds outside. "Please try to relax, your Grace. I promise not to hurt you… more than necessary."

A touch of his magic put her all the way out, the smallest mercy he was willing to extend, and Ghirahim arranged the girl almost gently on the ground near the spike her previous incarnation had used to seal his master away. He could feel his master's dark energy there, straining against its bonds for release. It had been so long. The ritual required was emblazoned upon his very soul, his entire purpose for existing. He had been created of steel and flames, forged from the sword to defend his master, given life eternal to serve his master. He breathed in deeply, feeling the divine power coming off the girl in waves and fanning it higher, his feet moving in the patterns that would dictate the flow of energy and channel it through to his master.

"Yes," he breathed as he felt his master pulse in response, the sky darkening as the sun itself hid from his presence. The girl twitched in discomfort, straining her head away, and it was hard in that moment not to be reminded of Link. They had their similarities in appearance, even if her hair was a paler yellow, his eyes a brighter blue. Just so, he had struggled the first day they met, when Ghirahim snuck up so easily behind him. Even then, there had been defiance beneath his fear, and…

Ghirahim dismissed the trailing thought with a scowl, looking purposefully away from her face. He had a ritual to compete. This was no time to be reminiscing about— Link!

A presence that should not have been there was suddenly at the edge of his senses, nearby and coming closer. How had Link followed so quickly? The little brat was going to ruin everything!

Glancing around the spiraling pit, Ghirahim came up with a plan. He couldn't split his strength too far without compromising the ritual, but he was sure he could delay the boy long enough to get it well underway. His master had hordes of minions at his disposal, waiting beneath the earth. All Ghirahim had to do was call them forth.

Even without looking, he knew the moment Link walked through the door above, and snapped. Barriers fell from the heavens, barring Link from jumping to the rescue with that flimsy little sailcloth of his. The boy would be forced to take the long way down—and Ghirahim would make sure that he did not go unhindered.

Finishing the last few steps of the ritual and humming loudly for Link's benefit, he finally looked up at the hero and grinned. Link had bound his eyes again, an irritating habit Ghirahim intended to break him of, but he faced the pit with a furious snarl as if he knew exactly where the demon lord was and what he was doing. Unfortunately for him, all that anger would get him nowhere. The girl hovered before him now, twisting and moaning as her powerful soul was siphoned away. Soon the spell would become self-sustaining, requiring only Ghirahim's presence to maintain itself. His task was nearly complete.

"Hear me, my hordes," he called, near manic now with anticipation. "The spell is nearly complete. The demon king returns! Until then, you WILL keep that whelp from interfering with my ritual. I don't care if the whole lot of you get lodged on the end of his blade. You will buy me the time I need! Do not fear him… Fear my wrath if you fail me!"

Demons appeared, dozens of them, hundreds. So many that the path would run with blood before Link made it to the end, if Link made it to the end. They ran, brutish and primitive but powerful in their numbers, shaking the ground with the force of their steps. Ghirahim watched as Link stepped back uncertainly before his resolve hardened. Reaching a hand back to draw his blade, Link faced the oncoming horde… and one by one, his demon army died.

The sight was beautiful to behold, and Ghirahim's tongue flicked out subconsciously. Somehow, without him even noticing, this stumbling swordsman had become precise and deadly: an exquisite executioner. Link was fury made flesh. Inch by inch he gained and kept his ground, dancing from foe to foe with stunning ferocity. The level of destruction he left in his wake was breathtaking. He was breathtaking.

He was also too fast.

Hastily, Ghirahim threw up another barrier, tying it to the life force of one of his stronger bokoblins. Link would bypass it soon enough, but he didn't have the energy to maintain it and complete the ritual at the same time. The girl's struggles were more frantic now, and Link surged forward as if those little gasps of pain spurred him on. With a merciless slash, the bokoblin he'd chosen died, and the barrier fell. Too fast!

He erected another barrier, and another. Still, Link showed no signs of tiring. The hero was a relentless avalanche, barreling through every obstacle Ghirahim could throw in front of him… but already, the girl's struggles were weakening. The spell was gaining momentum, and Ghirahim sped it along as quickly as he dared. Nothing could go wrong now, not during his moment!

"You are far too quick, boy," he growled. Link had reached the bottom of the pit, and Ghirahim released his other barriers in favor of maintaining a circular enclosure around himself and the goddess. "I realize a simple child like you knows nothing of magic, but spells like this take time and a steady hand! Can't you wait quietly like a good boy? Hmm?" Link didn't answer, too busy slaughtering his remaining hordes with single-minded focus. Such great effort Ghirahim had gone through to spare his life, and this boy didn't even have the decency to—

He froze. Spare his life?

That had been his foolish motivation, trying to delay Link without outright killing him. When had his guilty little habit become… something more? All those times he had played with the boy, watched him, teased and toyed with him… he had considered them innocent pleasures, little diversions after the centuries of boredom he'd endured in endless waiting. Only now did he see it for what it truly was: weakness. Somehow, Link had wormed under his skin, intruding on his thoughts at the most inopportune moments and eliciting a fondness that Ghirahim had not known the full extent of until this moment. Not a gadfly, this boy, but a parasite, weakening his resolve from within.

With icy dread, he realized that Link was equally dangerous with or without that sword he carried. He had made Demon Lord Ghirahim, the fearsome sword and trusted servant of Demon King Demise… soft.

And his master would have no use for a soft sword.

"You know what? Fine!" he hissed, releasing the barrier and sending the spirit maiden up and out of reach with a wave of his arms, ignoring her distress. The spell was finally running unaided now. All he needed was time. "If you're so intent on hurrying to your grave, I'll be happy to show you the way!"

The boy obviously had no such softness. He approached Ghirahim silently, sword at the ready. No mercy, as he had promised—as they both had promised. Who would have thought that Link would prove the stronger of them after all?

But that was about to change. It was time to reveal his true power, as he should have done all along.

"This time there will be no heroic escape. I was a fool to toy with you and let you walk away with your life before, but I won't make that mistake again." It had been so long, but he felt it now, rising up within him, an avalanche of darkness that he sent hurtling toward the sky. It consumed him, overwhelmed him, and he laughed recklessly at the feeling of sheer power. "That, I promise!"

If Link was a weakness, then Ghirahim would crush him here once and for all. His dead and broken body would make fine sustenance for the demon king.

Rage pulsed through Link, fueling him in his desperate race against time. There were moments when he almost thought he could see it, like a sinuous red line spiraling into darkness, and he followed that blood-soaked thread down its grisly path. If Ghirahim intended to defile these sacred grounds with the blood of his own demons, then so be it. Link would pay the price in nightmares when it was all over, but for now the memory of a world on fire spurred him on, blade flashing as he claimed his ground. He lost count of how many monsters fell beneath his sword.

It was all so obvious in hindsight. Of course Ghirahim's motivations for saving him had not been born of generosity, or goddess forbid some misplaced affection. He'd been planning this all along. Worse, he'd tangled himself in Link's thoughts so thoroughly that he'd been too distracted to see it coming. He could blame the goddess for not foreseeing this, or Ghirahim for causing it in the first place, or Impa or Fi or anyone else who might have realized the glaring flaw in their plan to defeat Demise, but in the end it had been his responsibility.

It was still his responsibility, assuming he wasn't too late. He moved on instinct, following the feather light vibrations of his sword, Fi's crystalline voice, and his own keen senses, cutting flesh like grass with as little thought. Every cry from Zelda's lips was condemnation in his ears, and every step down the path a small act of redemption. Please, let it not be too late!

As he finally slew the last of the demons, turning to face Ghirahim for what he knew would be their final encounter, Link found to his surprise that the imagined red thread that had drawn him along did not fade away. If anything it pulsed brighter now, pulling him further towards the center of the pit. Following the line curiously to its origin, he was shocked to see the other end buried in his chest, anchored to his heart with a radiant, pulsing glow. He blinked, then clenched his eyes shut, but the red light remained.

"You know what? Fine! If you're so intent on hurrying to your grave, I'll be happy to show you the way!"

The words came out in a hiss, and Link looked up in dismay as Zelda cried out, a sharp sound that faded as she was sent up and out of his reach. To his wonder, he found that a thin golden thread now stretched between them as well, trembling as if it might snap at any moment. Even as he watched, another long thread appeared, thin and quivering but steadily growing thicker. It glowed dully, a crimson so dark it was almost black, tying Zelda to the pit that Link knew with clenching horror must contain Demise. With each passing second he saw a new line of light, connecting people and places and things he could only guess at until an incomprehensible web formed around him, multicolored and gleaming.

Link raised a bewildered hand to his eyes, and his fingers brushed the soft cloth of the blindfold Zelda had given him. He'd been careful to retie it before downing a potion and following after her, thinking bitterly that if any situation could be considered "the worst," this was it. Experimentally, he tugged at the cloth and the tangle of threads blinked out of existence, only to reappear as he pulled it back over his eyes. You will not be left sightless. The Goddess's blessing… but what did it all mean?

"This time there will be no heroic escape. I was a fool to toy with you and let you walk away with your life before, but I won't make that mistake again."

Ignoring what he could not understand, Link turned his attention to the thread that mattered most: the bright crimson line connecting him and Ghirahim, a red thread of fate more vivid and real than either of them could have imagined. There was something wild in Ghirahim’s voice now, the air warping strangely between them, and Link shifted to the balls of his feet, readying himself for an attack that felt imminent. Then—

"That, I promise!"

The writhing air ignited, erupting in a wave that sent the red light between them dancing frantically. Link was forced back as Ghirahim roared, a frenzied crescendo underscored by a dull, terrible thrumming noise. The earth beneath him trembled, and he fought to keep his balance as he felt himself rising in the air, the ground itself pushing him skyward. Terror gripped his heart as he looked up in search of Zelda's thread, the other end still frustratingly out of reach.

"What's happening?" Link whispered frantically to Fi. "The ritual… is it…?"

"No," she assured him, and the vice around his chest eased slightly as she explained the platform Ghirahim had created. There was still time to stop this, then, and Link was more than happy to distract Ghirahim from the ritual for as long as it took. If the demon lord thought that fighting in the air would give him the advantage, he would soon come to regret taking their battle to the sky.

As quickly as it hit its peak, the dark thundering ceased, and Link tilted his head warily. Ghirahim's footsteps… clanked. The red light between them had finally settled, coalescing now on Ghirahim's end in a large red diamond that pulsed with something almost like a heartbeat.

"Be cautious, Master," Fi said. "There is a 90% change in outward appearance compared to previous encounters with him. Ghirahim has become extremely dangerous and is likely to fell you with a single blow."

"If only I'd put you in your place from the very beginning," Ghirahim growled, and his voice reverberated, reminding Link inexplicably of Fi. "Show a human a little mercy and next thing you know, he thinks himself your equal!"

Link forced his face into a hard mask, if only to hide his unease. He was just now realizing what a small sliver of his true self Ghirahim had ever revealed to Link. It shouldn't have felt like a betrayal, but it did.

"Given my station, I had to maintain some semblance of dignity, so I let you run with your life. Twice, even. Such a guilty pleasure…" His voice faded, for a moment sounding like the man Link had thought he'd known, but then it hardened once more. "But instead of scurrying away like any creature with a basic instinct to survive, you just kept coming back. Again… and again… and again."

He was advancing now. Link took a step back, and Fi gave a warning chime.

"Master, you are approaching the edge of the platform."

"I've let a mere boy make a fool of me for the last time. You stand before a demon… or should I say, a weapon without mercy!"

The thread of light between them spasmed and contracted, the red diamond rushing to hover right in front of Link, and for once he didn't need the telltale chimes to know what had happened. Ghirahim's fingers clasped Link's free hand, and before he could react, they… shifted. The red diamond shrank to nestle at the base of something cylindrical and heavy now grasped in his hand, something that almost felt like… a hilt.

Link gasped as he understood, eyes wide beneath the blindfold. In one hand he still held the Master Sword, but in the other, what felt like an enormous sword weighed him down, too heavy for him to lift single handed. Dark energy emanated from the blade, a perfect counterpoint to the Master Sword's holy light, and Link didn't need the red thread to know that this was Ghirahim. He could feel it.

The weapon dissolved, red light darting to reform the diamond a safe distance away, but Link was still reeling. Little observations he had made fell into place—the way Ghirahim had so easily passed as Link's sword before, or his unswerving devotion to one he called his master. Those fingers catching Link's blade as if steel meant nothing… like Fi, he was a living, breathing weapon.

"We don't have to do this," Link pleaded, though he knew now more than ever that it was pointless. Ghirahim might not be a perfect mirror of Fi, but his actions must be in service to the demon king as surely as if Demise directed them himself. He would no more turn from aiding his master than Fi would pull herself from Link’s hands in battle.

Sure enough, Ghirahim laughed, and the impossible hope withered inside him.

"For you, sky child , I've prepared a most appropriate and humiliating death. I even have a pet name for it. I call it the endless plunge!"

Link took another step back as Ghirahim approached, and Fi chimed again in warning.

"First, I will take my time bludgeoning you." Link could hear the rising excitement in Ghirahim's voice. There would be no holding back on his side. "Then, when I grow bored of it, I will drive you to the edge and deliver a last strike to send you falling to your doom!"

"Should he succeed in this endeavor, I calculate that you will not have time to deploy your sailcloth effectively," Fi said, and for the first time Link considered the platform's edge with a flicker of fear. Ghirahim had set this up perfectly.

"Make no mistake, boy," Ghirahim hissed, and Link gripped his sword tighter. "I'll delight in casting your body into this pit and snuffing out the flame of your life." The red diamond dipped in a mocking sort of bow. "Shall we?"

He advanced. Link stepped sideways, circling to avoid the platform's edge.

"What's the situation?" he said quietly, keeping a close eye on the approaching demon. At least he had sight, in a way, even if he didn't understand what or how. If Ghirahim tried to teleport, Link could find him easily.

"For the moment, Ghirahim is unarmed," Fi reported, her voice soothing in its familiar calm. "Although I am detecting a significant increase in muscular strength. Unfortunately, I must also conclude that none of your weapons will be effective against him."

"Then… what should I do?" Had he stumbled into a fight he couldn't win?

"Master, I advise—"

"None of that!" Ghirahim sang, snapping his fingers. "Your sword will not win the battle for you this time!"

To Link's horror, a loud chime started to ring, drowning out the sound of Fi's voice even as she tried to continue. It was something like what Ghirahim had done at the volcano, except this was unending, a long, piercing note that swallowed the sounds of the world around him.

Link forced himself to keep moving, unable to hear even the quick, fearful thumps of his own heart. The sound was constant, penetrating… deafening. He couldn't hear.

It hadn't occurred to him until now that every other time they'd fought, Ghirahim had been unaware of Link's greatest weakness. Now he knew, and was targeting that weakness ruthlessly. Link's sharp ears were how he navigated life without sight, his only method of placing himself and others in the world around him. Losing that was like its own kind of darkness aside from the one he already knew—although…

That red string of fate still danced, the red diamond on the other end steadily approaching. Ghirahim didn't know that Link could see him coming, and Link realized that he couldn't let him find out.

It was his only advantage.

"Fi, can you hear me?" Link whispered, tuning out the din even as a lifetime of experience screamed at him to listen. The sword in his hand pulsed in response—a very small comfort. "I need you to alert me as I get close to the edge of the platform. When he's about to knock me off, let me know." Fi pulsed once more in confirmation, then took up a low-level vibration that Link interpreted to mean the edge was still a distance away. A wave of helplessness washed over Link—any number of things could go wrong and then all would be lost—but he forced it down, taking a few clumsy swipes with his sword even though Ghirahim was still too far away to hit. A vague sort of plan was forming in his mind, and it depended on Ghirahim's ignorance.

The single note playing in his ears morphed into loud, mocking laughter. Link gritted his teeth, striking out once more. This time his sword glanced off something hard, but to no observable effect. Fi had said that none of his weapons would work against Ghirahim. Even if Link survived this round, how was he supposed to beat him? How did you kill a sword?

"Is this really the best the hero of Hylia has to offer?" Ghirahim asked in reverberating tones, and Fi twitched sharply in Link’s hands a second before something hard collided with his face. His head rang forcefully in pain as he went sprawling.

"Don't warn me when he's attacking," Link mumbled so Ghirahim couldn't hear, scrambling back up. His jaw ached, and he tasted blood. "Only when he's about to knock me off." If Link had to let himself be knocked around a bit to maintain the illusion of blindness, so be it. After a small pause, Fi pulsed in acknowledgment.

Still, there was no need to act completely helpless. Their old battles together had engraved themselves in his memory, and he could imagine Ghirahim approaching, hand outstretched. Using the same quick strike that had allowed Link to get a hit in before, Link slipped past Ghirahim's outstretched hand to slice at the demon, but this time there was no grunt of pain. His blow bounced off harmlessly as if striking metal, and Ghirahim laughed again.

"Do you see your limitations now, boy?" A kick caught him right in the gut. Link doubled over, fighting for breath, and was knocked to the side by a sharp blow to his ribs. Dazed, Link tried to rise, but cried out as a foot stepped on his shield, crushing the arm beneath it. Not his sword hand, a part of Link thought with relief, even as he struggled to escape his pinned position.

"After seeing you demolish my hordes, I had expected more from you, but I suppose it was simply your sword you relied on all this time,” Ghirahim mused, and Link scowled. It wasn't fair that he could effectively deafen Link and still have the chance to gloat. "How… disappointing."

Link said nothing, bracing himself for the next strike. Every breath hurt. If Fi was correct, which she usually was, even a single blow from Ghirahim in this form could be fatal, but he had been sure that Ghirahim would want to draw things out. So far, he'd been right.

"I find I have lost my appetite for this after all," Ghirahim said abruptly, sounding dissatisfied. "Hold still, whelp. I intend to at least see the light leave your eyes as you die."

The red diamond hovering above him lowered, and Link realized with horror that he was reaching for the blindfold. He reacted without thought, bringing the hilt of his sword slamming forward. By some miracle, it hit Ghirahim square in the face.

For one blessed moment, the ever present noise stopped. Ghirahim grunted, more out of surprise than pain, but it was enough. Yanking as if his life depended on it—which it very much did at the moment—Link freed his arm and rolled. Ignoring the jolting pain in his muscles, he leapt to his feet, sword raised to keep the demon at bay.

"Not broken after all, I see." Ghirahim's laughter rang in his ears once more, turning suddenly into a snarl. " Good. "

On instinct, Link hopped back, dodging another strike so narrowly he felt the wind of it brush his face. His sword vibrated more urgently as he approached the edge. The golden thread still connecting him to Zelda was a small ray of hope, but he had to get her away soon. Maybe he could goad Ghirahim into ending this quickly.

"I always thought you'd prefer a fair fight," Link yelled, unable to hear his own voice. "Scared to face me without your magic tricks?"

He has hoped to get a rise the demon, but Ghirahim just laughed derisively. It had been an admittedly poor attempt. Link didn't imagine that he looked threatening at all right then.

"This is a fair fight, child. The best of my abilities against the best of yours. If the match is uneven, it's no fault of mine."

Another hit to his head sent him sprawling, and the world went hazy. Shaking his head with a wince, he rolled stubbornly to his feet, blood oozing down his forehead. If this went on for much longer, he'd be in no condition to stand, much less fight. Link took another swipe with his sword, and Ghirahim caught the blow with his fingers. He barely managed to wrench his blade free.

"You're afraid of my sword, then?" Link tried again desperately. Ghirahim was always so adept at eliciting a reaction from him, but he had no idea how to do the same. "You mention it every time we fight."

"Your sword is useless against me," Ghirahim said, his voice an amplified roar in Link's ears, and this time he sounded irritated. Link wasn't quite there yet, but he'd touched on something. "She is as inferior as her master. Face it, Link, you've lost. Whatever you're trying to do won't—"

"Not afraid," Link interrupted in sudden realization. "Jealous."

The red diamond stopped its advance. "What?"

Link licked his lips, taking a final step back. Fi reverberated so strongly his whole arm shook. It was a shot in the dark, but… "Will Demise even notice what you’ve done for him?"

He knew he'd struck a hit. The temperature dropped, the air pulsating with Ghirahim's fury. The ever-present noise ceased abruptly, and the silence it left behind was equally deafening.

"That doesn’t matter," Ghirahim seethed into the stillness, "because he is a soon-to-be living master, whereas you are a soon-to-be dead one."

Link didn't need Fi's signal to know what was about to happen. As Ghirahim rushed forward to drive him over the edge, Link dropped to the ground, rolling nimbly behind the red diamond and pushing as hard as he could from behind. It almost didn't work—Ghirahim was heavier than he’d expected in this new form—but he had momentum on his side, and the demon was already off balance. With a startled shout, Ghirahim fell, and Link watched the red thread between them expand breathlessly. Link's weapons might not be able to touch him, but maybe a fall from this height…

Ghirahim's descent halted sooner than Link had expected, and his heart dropped. He must have erected another platform to suspend his fall. This had all been for nothing, then… except that red diamond still pulsed on Ghirahim’s end, reminding Link again of a heartbeat. He thought of his own end of the thread, tethered tightly to his own heart. Fi had said that none of Link's weapons would be effective, but…

Before the thought had fully formed in his mind, Link jumped. With all the fearlessness of someone who had been leaping off cliffs his entire life, Link fell after him, sword poised beneath him to strike. He landed, holy blade piercing the center of that fluttering diamond, and there was a resounding crack .

Ghirahim shrieked.

The platform beneath them dissolved, and the two fell the rest of the way down together, Link twisting in the air to avoid impaling himself on his own sword. The impact knocked the breath out of him, and Link moaned as fresh pain flooded his worn and beaten body. Eventually he stumbled back to his feet, but by then he'd lost the advantage. Ghirahim had already recovered, though his breathing was ragged.

"You wretched brat!" he screamed. Link had never heard him so undone, and he wondered when Ghirahim had last experienced pain like this.

"Well done, master." Fi's cool voice was a relief, even to his ringing ears. He hoped there was no permanent damage, but it was too early to tell. "I predict an 80% chance that he is too weakened from your attack to maintain his aural assault." Link nodded, raising his blade to point at Ghirahim's chest.

"I don't want to kill you," he said, shocked at the truth of his own unsteady words even as he spoke them. Why did he keep trying to spare Ghirahim's life? "Just… let me have Zelda, and I'll leave you alone." They could destroy the Gate of Time, and Demise would never be revived. Nobody else had to die.

Ghirahim chuckled in response, the sound devolving quickly into hysterical laughter.

"I may have become soft," he rasped, "but at least I am not the only one. Let's finish this."

Link's heart sank.

"Master, Ghirahim is now armed," Fi reported. "I recommend further assault on the area you struck previously."

Link nodded grimly, shifting into a fighting stance. Crossing swords with Ghirahim was never easy, but at least it was familiar. He'd been training for this battle ever since their first encounter in Skyview temple.

Ghirahim fought with a frenzy Link had never seen from him before, intent this time on seeing him dead, and at first Link could barely keep up. His armor softened a cut across his chest that would otherwise have been fatal, and a dagger that he didn't dodge fast enough sliced across his thigh, burning fiercely. What saved his life was that, to Ghirahim's growing frustration, the demon lord could no longer sneak up on him. Wherever he went, a red thread pointed him out like an arrow, and the diamond on his chest was a glowing target that Link sought out mercilessly.

With a growl of fury as his line of daggers was knocked aside, Ghirahim snapped to appear directly behind Link, who wasted no time. In one smooth motion he pivoted, thrusting his blade into that diamond once more, and Ghirahim screamed again.

"How?" he demanded, falling back and deflecting Link's attempts to pursue. He disappeared again, the thread between them pulling straight up, and Link dove forward as Ghirahim came crashing down from above inches behind his heels. Another stab as Ghirahim wrenched his sword from the earth, and another scream. "This is preposterous!"

Zelda's golden thread was dwindling quickly. He had to end this fast. Deflecting Ghirahim's strike with his shield, and gritting his teeth at the pain of his injured arm, Link sliced once more across the demon's chest, and when Ghirahim could do nothing but scream in pain he sliced again. Again... and again... and again.

The corners of his eyes burned with tears that he didn't understand.

"ENOUGH!" Ghirahim boomed, flickering away from Link's strikes, but not to mount his own assault this time. His breath came in short gasps, and Link realized grimly that he’d won.

"Driven to my knees by a simple child of man," Ghirahim groaned. "Laughable! No matter how many times we clash, I can't prevail! You think I can't defeat you? You think I can't win?" He growled, but it came out as a wheeze. "Boy… what are you?"

Link didn't answer, preparing to snap their thread of fate once and for all. He stepped forward, but was halted by Ghirahim's sudden laughter, painful and grotesque. A chill ran down his spine. It sounded… triumphant.

"Ahhh… but never mind that. Victory is still mine to savor." His voice grew steadily in strength, and a deep foreboding fell over Link. "While we fought, the ritual I started continued… and at last, it's complete! The demon king shall devour the soul of the goddess and resurrect in his full glory!"

"No!" Link yelled, shaking his head in denial. The golden thread—she was still alive! But he could feel it now, the earth beginning to rumble as Zelda's pained cries grew in volume. Link may have won the battle, but Ghirahim had won the war.

A wave of dark energy erupted from the pit's center, and Link sheltered behind his shield, panicking as it washed over him. He had to get her down from there. He had to—

There was nothing he could do.

An ear-splitting roar shook Link to his core. He knew that sound. It was the Imprisoned beast he'd worked so many times to subdue. Zelda's cries above him rose in pitch and volume until they were a single unending shriek of agony. The sound of it tore Link in two.

"Don't you see?" Ghirahim cried as air and dark energy whipped around them in a frenzy, and Link had to fight to keep his feet. "It's all over! You and your kind have lost! This world and everything in it now belong to darkness! They belong to my master!"

His manic laughter rose to a crescendo, matching the forces of earth and magic that raged around them.

Demise was going to be revived. Link had lost.

In the space of a heartbeat, the world went still. Ghirahim's laughter cut off as the wind and darkness vanished, leaving a hush broken only by Link's harsh breathing. That golden thread still arced above him, thinner than ever and dwindling still, and Link felt a spark of hope. The ritual had failed… Yet even as he thought those words, two burning eyes emerged from the darkness, eyes that he recognized from a terrible future he'd hoped never to see again. Fear and despair clamped over his heart.

"Welcome back to us, Master." Ghirahim's red diamond bobbed low in a bow, and Link felt a rush of pure hatred for this man who had stolen everything from him.

For a long moment, Demise did not respond. Then Link felt a surge of dark power, and there was a terrible choking gasp.

Zelda? No… no.

Ghirahim's red diamond flickered, arcing down, and he fell to the earth with a thud.

Chapter Text

This was wrong.

Link wished Ghirahim would snap his fingers and bring back that ceaseless, deafening chime. He wanted to cover his own ears, to scream and yell himself if it would drown out that terrible excuse for laughter, those howls of euphoric despair.

Instead, Link stood helplessly, sword clenched in his shaking fist, as Ghirahim's red diamond splintered and the demon was undone. So this was the truth Link had unknowingly stumbled upon during their duel, though even then he hadn’t understood the depth of it—that Ghirahim craved the approval of a master who would only ever see him as a tool, callously disregarding all that he otherwise was. That Ghirahim took what pleasure he could from the little he received because the alternative was unbearable.

It made Link's stomach twist with disgust, and resentment. Zelda was dying or dead, and unless he could stop it, everyone he knew and loved would soon follow. He couldn't spare any more of himself to pity the demonic creature who had caused it all, not when he was already so drained. He didn't have it left in him to give.

Still, as Ghirahim vanished with a final gasp of hopeless mirth, slipping into the sword that his master wrenched ruthlessly out of him, Link found that he gave that last piece of himself anyway.

"This is Demise, the source of all monsters," Fi said as Demise’s flaming eyes focused on him. "According to tales passed down through generations, it appears differently to each person who lays eyes on it."

Those eyes narrowed in a grin.

"So, you are the chosen knight of the goddess." No mention of the demon who had served him so devotedly, as if such things were far beneath his notice. Link didn't respond. In the endless darkness, there was nothing but gleaming lines of light arcing through the air, and those eyes. "How intriguing."

His fiery gaze shifted up to where Zelda still hung, suspended.

"The goddess lowered herself to a mortal existence to keep me imprisoned," Demise scoffed, his deep voice a disdainful rumble that nearly shook the earth with its force. "Pathetic. This bag of flesh pales in comparison to the magnificence of her previous form."

And with a wave of dark power, Zelda's thin golden thread twitched wildly as a rush of wind sent her flying. Link's heart stuttered and he took a step forward, but there was nothing he could do.

"ZELDA!"

Link woke with a start, falling off his bed with a thud and landing in a tangle of limbs and sweaty sheets. It took a moment to realize that he was in his own bedroom, battling his blanket and not the demon king, but eventually his breathing slowed to a pant. The Academy was silent aside from Fledge's soft snores, barely audible through the thin partition separating their rooms, and the chill draft seeping through his window smelled of early morning. As always, Link was the first one awake.

Hauling himself up and peeling off his damp shirt, Link hurled it irritably at his mattress. Pausing only to pull on the worn shoes he left by the door each night, he slipped quietly out of his room. Opening the wide, wooden doors of the Academy, Link started to run, ignoring how the cool air made his bare skin pebble. He'd warm up soon enough.

"Hey there, Link!" Pipit called from his patrol route as Link passed. He was the only other person awake at this hour. Not for the first time, Link wondered when he slept. "Up early again, eh? Good man! Keep up the hard work!"

Link nodded, but didn't stop to talk. If he just kept moving, the nightmares that plagued his sleep would fade like the bad memories they were. His feet against the ground beat out a steady rhythm that he fought to maintain, and his breathing fell naturally into place, deep and even. Slowly, the sweat and exertion burned away his agitation, until nothing remained. It wouldn't last. He could never outrun his dreams entirely… but it was enough for now.

By the time Link made it back to the Academy, he could hear creaks from the school's ancient floorboards and the soft murmur of conversation as the other students began to wake up. Still, Link wasn't finished. Retreating to his room, he dropped to the floor and began the same routine he heard Fledge grunting his way through each night: sit ups, pull ups, and a steadily lengthening sequence of push ups. Link's arms shook from the effort when he finished, but not as badly as they used to. Maybe if he asked, Groose would let him borrow his weight set. He didn't have the constant exertion from exploring the surface to stay in shape anymore, and he needed to be ready… just in case. 

Just as he was finishing up, Link heard familiar footsteps approaching the door. Slipping into his sleep shirt again and grimacing at the uncomfortable way it clung, he dove back into bed, wrapping himself in the covers. Seconds later, there was a knock at the door.

"Link?" a soft voice called, and the door creaked open. "Aren't you up yet?"

Grunting in response, he raised his head a fraction to show he was awake, and Zelda laughed. Link didn't have to see to know she was dressed and ready for the day.

"Did you fall asleep in your boots again?" she asked fondly, and he shrugged, managing a sheepish grin. "Some things never change, I guess. Did you sleep alright? You’re all sweaty."

"I slept fine," he said, stretching ostentatiously as he sat up to hide the lie in his voice. She'd been almost sleepless with worry herself at first, when he'd been more forthcoming about the visions that haunted his sleep, so now he just… didn't tell her. Zelda was happiest when she thought that nothing had changed. "What about you?"

"Hmm? Oh, I slept well." Link couldn't quite read her voice, which was unusual for him. "You're coming down to the forest after training today, right?"

Link shrugged again, then nodded. He had no reason not to.

"Great! I'm about to head down there now. I need to discuss a few things with Faron." Link hid a grimace behind his pile of blankets. At least he'd be missing that particular meeting. "Eat some breakfast before you join me, okay? Oh, and make sure to take Pipit or somebody along with you. You don't have Fi to look after you anymore."

"Sure," Link said, face still hidden. Zelda stayed in the doorway for a moment as though expecting more, but eventually he heard the door click shut and her footsteps retreated down the hall. Slowly, he extracted himself from his sheets, smoothing them over his bed until he could feel no evidence of his restless night. Gathering his knight's uniform to change into once he'd washed up, Link paused as his hands found the blindfold hanging neatly in his wardrobe. Link stroked the soft fabric, half-raising it as if to put it on… but then hung it back up as he did every morning, slamming the closet doors in sudden haste. Soon. He'd wear it again soon. Just not yet.

Link bathed quickly, barely allowing the hot water to take the edge off his aches before he toweled off and dressed, cinching his belt another notch tighter than he had the day before. Settling his Academy-issued sword over his back with a grimace—it was a poor substitute for what he'd grown used to, but it was all he had—he considered skipping breakfast again no matter what Zelda had said. The thought of food these days made his stomach churn, but he forced himself to grab a piece of fruit from the dining hall, dodging conversation with an apologetic smile. He might even eat it, if it would make Zelda happy.

And she was happy, as far as he could tell. That's what this had all been for, wasn't it? It was what he reminded himself of, on those nights when sleep seemed far away. This was the peace he had fought for, even if he couldn't seem to find it himself.

The world was safe. Zelda was happy. Most importantly, Zelda was alive.

Zelda was alive.

Link's heart soared as Groose's words reached him. If the old Sheikah woman was right, then he hadn't failed yet. It wasn't too late to save her.

All he had to do was defeat Demise, a being that Hylia had abandoned her immortal form just to imprison .

"So you humans would stand before obliteration to aid the goddess, would you?" Demise said, and Link realized that he'd taken a step forward, readying himself to fight. "How curious. The humans I've known were weak things, hardly more than insects, shivering under rocks and ready to flee at a mere glimpse of me. When last I walked this world, they did little more than scream and cling to their goddess, counting on her to protect them." He laughed, a short, cruel sound, as he looked Link up and down. "How amusing to think those cowards begot something like you."

Link's face heated, though he could hardly fault Demise for his amusement. The blindfold over his eyes made it clear what he was. It must have seemed like sheer audacity to be challenged by someone like him, although to his surprise, Link found that he wasn't afraid. A strange calm had fallen over him, and with it came warm waves of power, soothing his aches and injuries until he was fully restored—a gift, he somehow knew, in exchange for his courage. The back of his right hand burned with that same holy power, and Demise's eyes bored into him.

"You grow more fascinating by the second, human," he said. "I never imagined I'd meet one of your kind who wished to stand against me in battle. Are you certain you have the courage to face me?"

Link nodded steadily, and Demise laughed again.

"Very well, then. I shall prepare a place for us where we will not be bothered by distractions. If you fear for your life, do not follow me… but if you truly desire to raise your blade against the world I would build, come for me. I've waited eons to return. I can spare a few more moments to let you decide."

The darkness surged in a spiral around Demise, and Link raised a hand to shield himself. When he lowered it, those flaming eyes were gone, and a dark crimson thread led to where they had been.

Link didn't hesitate. There was no time. With a deep breath, he ran forward, once more following the thread as Groose shouted encouragement after him. Darkness encased him, dragged at him… and the world and all its arcs of bright light disappeared.

"Master Link… good luck."

Link's days in Skyloft were busy, but they never felt full.

In the mornings he pestered Eagus to let him train in the Sparring Hall, leading the younger students in exercises that went beyond the old practice logs and sparring against any of the older ones who would face him. Pipit was always good for a round or two, though even he tired sooner than Link would have liked. Skyloft was a peaceful place, and despite all their training, most of the students weren't anywhere near ready for the surface—or at least, they weren't ready for the surface as he remembered it, although things had settled down since the defeat of Demise. There was hardly a monster to be found in the forest these days. Maybe that was why nobody understood his urgency.

Eventually, Eagus sent him off with a fond pat on the shoulder and a hearty admonition to relax. "We're not fighting a war, Link! You did a good job bringing Zelda back to us, but nobody needs you wearing yourself out over nothing."

As far as Link could tell, nobody needed much of anything from him anymore.

Still, the time he spent on the surface with Zelda wasn't so bad. Fi had always reported on his surroundings with an analytical eye, intent on keeping him alive for at least one more day. She was a weapon, after all, and her concerns were invariably practical. Now the world was at peace, and Zelda was showing him a side to the surface that he'd never had time to discover.

Hours passed to the sound of her voice explaining which trees would build the strongest houses or which herbs were good for healing, always pausing to let him feel the bark himself or smell the herbs so he could identify them later. She cared for the vast land below with the intimacy of someone who remembered its creation, and was eager to share what she knew. One day she greeted Link with a basket full of flowers and had him feel and smell each one, explaining which were medicinal, which were poisonous, and which could even be used for flavor. Another time she excitedly handed him an odd mushroom with a slash through its cap that she informed him had mild strengthening properties when eaten, although it could also be used to make a crimson dye.

"Cooking makes it more effective, and certainly improves the taste," she told him, laughing when he bit into it and made a face. "They're pretty common here in the forest, but you'll occasionally find them in colder climates, too."

"You should write all this down," Link told her, forcing himself to finish the mushroom under the feel of her watchful gaze and ignoring the solid lump it left in his stomach. He did feel a bit stronger, as if some of his weariness had washed away. "I never realized how much food was just lying around down here."

"Oh, I will." Zelda picked at his collar, smoothing it flat. "This used to be common knowledge before the war. The goddesses always intended us to live on the land, you know. Skyloft was only meant to be temporary." She hesitated. "Did you… go hungry on the surface very often?"

Link stiffened, not believing her casual tone for a second.

"No," he lied easily. "I brought food with me. It was never a problem." He'd had a lot of gear to pack, especially by the end, and when it was a choice between soup and potion in his bottle, the potion almost always won out. Still, a bit of hunger was hardly the worst of what he'd faced. "I usually made it home in time for dinner."

The muddy earth sucked and pulled at his boots, his tunic still dripping with water, and each monster the flood had destroyed had been replaced by a hundred buzzing insects. Even the air was moist, clinging to his skin and coating his mouth with the sticky taste of decay. At this rate, he wouldn't make it to the sky until dark. He was stranded after a hard day's work without so much as cold soup for— no!

With an effort, Link wrenched his mind free. That was in the past now.

"Good." The relief in her voice was clear. "Hylia… well, I didn't realize how much knowledge would be lost over time. I would have given it to Fi if I'd known, but…”

"Don't worry about it." Link shook his head to clear it, trying to smile reassuringly. "I'm definitely not hungry now." That much was true, at least.

"Well, I guess a part of me is glad that I get to be the one to show it all to you." Her hand drifted to his cheek. "This is the world you helped save. I just thought you deserved to be the first to experience it… you know?"

Link nodded, and after a long pause, Zelda's fingers withdrew. The moment passed.

"Come on, Link. There's something else I wanted to show you."

Zelda took his hand to lead him, and Link followed, stomach souring. Every time they came to that point, he hesitated. She was still his Zelda… but she was somebody else, too, and the weight of that invisible being hung over them both.

The acrid scent of steel still burned Link's nose, but he ignored it. It wasn't really there, anyway.

In the evenings, while everyone else was at dinner, Link flew. With the sharp wind rustling his hair and the warm, steady rhythm of his Loftwing's muscles moving beneath him, he felt the kind of exhilaration that his everyday life seemed less and less capable of reaching. He could remember wanting this kind of easy life, back before fate and prophecy and his love for his friend had sent him careening in another direction. Now it felt small, almost suffocating, like the depths of the cloud barrier that had once blanketed the surface.

"What about you, Link? What will you do now?"

Link had heard stories about heroes growing up, knights of old who had done brave and important things. None of those legends mentioned what happened to the heroes when their adventure was over, once prophecy released its grip on them and they were left to their own devices. Were those stories too boring to tell, or too sad, or a bit of both? Did anybody really care what happened to a hero once the world was safe?

It wasn't just the setting sun that eventually had Link throwing himself from his Loftwing's back. Flying gave him too much time to think, and the thought that he always arrived at was that this wasn't enough anymore.

It wasn't enough, but it was all he had… and the clouds inside advanced a little further.

Link’s footsteps splashed as he advanced, echoing endlessly into the unseen abyss. Everywhere he walked, there seemed to be a thin layer of water coating the flat earth beneath him, a fact that Fi confirmed as he subtly tested the ground's traction with his boot. It felt firm, but he'd still have to mind his footing. At least it would be easy to hear Demise coming.

He could hear the beast now, circling him slowly, and Link turned to face him.

"So you've decided to meet your end in battle after all," Demise said, and Link could hear the anticipatory grin in his voice. "It pleases me greatly to see such misplaced valor, human. Take a moment to appreciate your surroundings, for where we stand shall serve as your tomb for eternity."

There wasn't much to see. Wherever Demise had taken him, the threads of light spanning the landscape had vanished. All that was left was the dark crimson line connecting him to Demise—and the brighter crimson, thinner now, attaching him to the spirit of his sword. Even Zelda's delicate thread had vanished completely, and Link spared a moment to hope that she was still alive. He no longer had any way of knowing.

"The hate for the gods that has boiled in my veins…" Demise's voice darkened, his sword slicing the air with a hiss to punctuate his words. "You will taste it all in the bite of my blade. The only question left is how long you will manage to remain standing before I take your life. Try to keep it interesting for me, would you?" Link almost imagined he could hear the ghost of Ghirahim's laughter with those words, and he wondered how much the demon could see and hear from his sword. If he was like Fi, then everything. "When you do fall, know that your world and everything in it is mine to dominate… mine to subjugate… mine to rule!"

The hair on the back of Link's neck tried to stand up, but not out of fear. The air had turned electric, prickling with power, and Link heard the crashing roar of thunder overhead.

"It won't be long now. At last, the almighty power I've sought for millennia is in my grasp. I will take the Triforce for my own, and the world shall be under my foot for eternity!"

Demise swung his enormous sword with a roar, and Link's shield deflected the strike with a gong-like peal. He gritted his teeth at the force of the blow, but raised his shield again to defend against another blow, and another one. Demise was powerful and fast, a dangerous combination, but Link would tire himself out quickly it he was constantly defending, and his enchanted shield could only take so much. His only chance was to use Demise's own strength against him, and overwhelm him when he was off balance—a difficult task, but with the power of the Triforce still thrumming through him, he thought he just might succeed.

Grunting at the strength of Demise's next blow, Link parried his strike, and attacked.

It was Zelda who reminded him of the carvings he used to make when they were younger, reminiscing over the childhood they'd spent together long before a tornado sent from the surface changed the course of their lives forever.

People had always been astonished by the accuracy of his little statuettes, but that was because most of them only looked with their eyes. If he could feel a thing, he could sculpt it, and Link had spent hours with a piece of wood and a carving knife, working steadily to make sense of the unseen world around him. Zelda had loved to watch him work, even appointing herself to the task of painting the little figurines when he was done with them. He couldn't see the finishing splash of color, of course, but he’d appreciated the effort nonetheless.

In a desperate attempt to fill the hours with anything other than his own thoughts, Link took up the hobby once more. The level of concentration required was just enough that he could work for hours without thinking. Most of what he'd come across on his journeys couldn't be carved—he'd never fully examined a kikwi, for instance, or goddess forbid a bokoblin—so instead he found himself replicating the things that Zelda showed him. Little wooden mushroom caps and flower blossoms gathered in piles on his desk until it must have looked like a tiny piece of the forest had taken over, and he started to wonder what he would do with them all.

Zelda clapped her hands the first time she saw them.

"Oh, Link, they're so pretty!" she exclaimed, then hesitated. "Would you… let me paint them for you?"

"Are you sure you’re not too busy?" he asked. The plans for expansion were coming together quickly now, and Zelda was the driving force behind it all. Link helped out as best he could, telling the other knights what he'd learned of the creatures and monsters already inhabiting the surface, but some tasks were best left to others and he knew it.

"Of course," she insisted. "It'll be just like old times."

And so they began a new routine. Every morning when she came to wake him up, Zelda would bring him a freshly painted figure, and he would give her his newest creation. Sometimes she sat with him as he worked, watching him with a silence he couldn't begin to interpret, but usually he worked alone, carving late into the night until he became too tired and clumsy to hold a knife. Darkness was no hindrance to him, and he preferred it to the hours that would have been spent tossing sleeplessly in bed.

Still, it was weeks before he finally confronted the figure that had haunted his fingertips since the first time he considered a block of wood.

Link was exhausted. Even Fledge had fallen asleep, softly snoring in the room next door after his grueling nightly workout, but somehow Link couldn't manage to do the same. Every time he almost nodded off, his head jolted up with a feeling of dread, unwilling to face another night of troubled dreams. It was humiliating after all he'd already faced. He'd been sure that time would fix things eventually, but the nightmares still hadn't gone away. If anything, they’d gotten worse.

In a fit of frustration, Link threw his pillow across the room, and heard the crash of falling wood. Fledge's snores subsided for a moment before resuming their steady rhythm, and Link sighed, hauling himself out of bed to retrieve it. Feeling around for where it had fallen, he came across an uncarved block of wood and paused, turning it over in his hands. Abruptly he stood, forgetting the fallen pillow and stumbling to the desk where he kept his carving knife. Running from his memories wasn't helping. It was time to confront them.

For the first time, Link forced himself to remember that strange night in the forest without shrinking away, his knife moving in short, broad strokes. He would never know why Ghirahim had decided to corner him that night. Maybe Link really was his guilty pleasure, as he'd told him once before, or more likely the demon just wanted to scare him. If so, it had worked—Link's heart beat faster just at the memory. He'd been sure he was about to be captured and tortured, or killed, but instead…

Link sculpted his face as he remembered it, and felt again the smooth ridge of his brow under his trembling fingers, those thin, smirking lips, the mismatched ears and sleek sweep of hair, all unnaturally cold and hard compared to a human's features. By contrast, his breath had been hot and steely on Link's face, as if the fire that forged his sword still burned at his core. Link had never asked to know Ghirahim so intimately, hadn't wanted it, but now the feel of the demon was embedded on his skin. Everything he'd experienced since the war's end felt lost in a sea of clouds compared to those few, heart-pounding moments of life. It was ridiculous to miss the strength of his fear, his terror, and yet…

He carved in a trance, not noticing the passing of time.

It was the eerie hour between morning and night when he finished, the final product crude and rushed but with all the important details in place. Clearing the last of the wooden shavings away with his thumb, Link traced the sharp cut of its hair, and sighed. He had hoped he would feel better, that acknowledging what had happened would bring some kind of closure, but it wasn’t enough. Maybe nothing would be enough, so long as that blindfold still hung in his closet.

"You're dead," Link said wearily to the figure in his hands. He had to be. He would have come for Link by now if he wasn't. "Just let me go."

But as he finally drifted off into his first dreamless sleep in weeks, head settling against the desk, Link imagined he could hear distant, disbelieving laughter. Of course it wouldn't be that easy.

Link had not expected an easy victory, of course, but for the battle’s first intense minutes, he seemed a constant half-step away from catastrophic failure.

Panting, Link glared at his opponent as droplets of water streaked down his face, his blindfold long since soaked. The thin layer of water they battled on had at first been an annoyance, splashing up at him with every jump or pivoting step and slowly drenching him through. Then the lightning started to fall, and Link realized that it had become more than just a nuisance. With electricity arcing through the air around him, this water was potentially deadly.

"Master, I can confirm it is possible for Demise to store the electrical energy of a lightning strike in his sword and use it to his advantage," Fi told him, and Link grunted wearily. He had felt the force of the strike, and could hear Demise's sword crackling with power. "It is essential that you time your attacks carefully. Very carefully."

Demise moved suddenly with quick force, and Link barely raised his shield in time to catch the blow. The electrified sword stung the air against his face, prickling as it inched closer, but as he struggled beneath it, the energy slowly dissipated into Link's shield. With an effort, Link shrugged to the side, and Demise blocked his returning strike with a short laugh. They both knew that if that shield failed before their battle ended, Link was as good as dead.

Link struck again and again, using all of the swift agility he'd learned from battling Ghirahim, but Demise blocked his attacks with brutal efficiency. It seemed impossible for someone so large to move so fast, but he showed no signs of exertion. Demise was the stronger and faster of them, and he knew it. No doubt he considered defeating Link nothing more than a diversion—a small way to spit in the goddess's face before destroying the rest of her people.

One of Link's failed attacks left him exposed, and he cried out as the tip of Demise's sword cut easily through his chainmail, scoring him down the side. Gritting his teeth, Link caught the next strike on his shield, pushing through the pain. If they continued like this, Link would lose. There had to be a way to tip the scales, to turn things to his advantage…

… And as his skin tingled and the air pulsed once more with building energy, he realized that maybe there was.

Link gripped the hilt of his sword, readying himself to jump. This could either turn things around or kill him, but the way things were going, he’d be dead soon anyway. It had worked for Demise. It should work for him, as well.

As the charge in the air reached its tipping point, Demise raised his sword to gather it in… and Link jumped, thrusting his sword higher. Lightning struck, charging the Master Sword with its fierce power, and Link swung triumphantly before Demise could react, slicing him across his chest.

Demise roared, driven to one knee by the lightning's force, but brought his sword up to block when Link tried to finish him off. Ghirahim would have said something then, a curse or a quip, but Demise just glared with burning hatred. He was angry now, those eyes intent on murder, but Link felt new hope surging through him. Demise was not invincible after all, and he was going to prove it.

With a defiant yell, Link raised his sword, and the lightning fell once more.

"I think we should settle closer to the temple," Groose said to the small group of knights assembled in a cluster. A makeshift table had been assembled in Hylia's ancient temple, and it served as a hub of sorts as plans for expansion on the surface were finalized. "There's plenty of wood for building here, and a good source of water."

"There are so many trees, though," Karane interjected. "It would take forever to clear it all out. If we just move a little further to the south—" there was the rustling of paper as maps were jostled around, "—then the land opens up into an enormous field. I think that's our best bet."

"That would be easier for farming…" Pipit mused, and Link heard his fingers drum against the table. "But we'd have to haul in our supplies."

"Karane has a good point, but we can't go too far from the temple," Zelda said firmly, and everyone stopped talking to listen. "There are things here that require protection. I've already spoken with Faron, and she agrees. We can have the land we need, so long as we do not take more than is fair away from the Kikwis."

"Zelda's right," Groose said, surprising no one. "I say we start out in the forest, see how it goes, and expand from there. We're not afraid of a little hard work, right Link?" Link gave him an absent thumbs up. "Kina might be interested in taking some of that farmland once we're all settled in."

"We'll want to get those crops in the ground sooner rather than later, though," Karane said. "Unless you intend to live on mushrooms. If only…"

Link leaned against the temple wall nearby to give those at the table space to see, trying to at least appear to be paying attention. It should have been exciting to see these plans coming so close to fruition, but like most things these days the emotion felt dim, wrapped up in that sea of clouds. He sometimes thought that life had become a silent realm, only a pale imitation of what it once was… or else maybe he was the hazy reflection in a world that had no place for him anymore. Maybe this was all just a dream, and Link would wake up high in a tree somewhere, still with Fi, still on his quest for the Triforce while Ghirahim lurked unseen on the surface.

…The prospect should not have been so appealing.

"Could you really build something like that?" Link heard Pipit ask, and Groose flared up at the doubt in his voice.

"Of course I could! Didn’t you see the Groosenator out there? Threw Link up on that big old beast he fought like he was nothing!"

"Fine, I believe you! That still leaves us the problem of…"

Maybe it was time to admit that the war had changed him more than he would have liked. He didn't miss the violence, or the blood—he'd woken up more times than he could count with the scent of so much blood heavy in his nostrils, from battles already past and battles yet to come—but at least he'd had a sense of purpose. He had wielded Fi, it was true, strengthening her blade until it was strong enough to do what was required, but in a similar way the goddess had wielded him as well. He had become Hylia's weapon, forged in the fires of his trials to retrieve the Triforce and vanquish Demise. Now that was over, and he felt as useful as any weapon must in times of peace.

When Fi had fulfilled her task, she'd been allowed to quietly fade away. Now, Link thought, he was starting to do the same.

"…two settlements? I don't know, it doesn't seem…"

Link gave up on pretending and closed his eyes.

Fi's mission had been the entirety of her world, her sole purpose for existing, but Link didn't think she'd wanted it the way humans wanted things. The goddess hadn't left much room in her for any emotions, including desire. It had simply been something she needed to do. Maybe that was why she'd had to leave in the end, and why Link had to stay. He was a human, and not a creation of metal. Eventually, he might readapt to his old life. The clouds would lift, and he would learn to feel things that weren't so… sharp.

Ghirahim, though… he had craved his own use. His disturbing ecstasy at the hands of Demise made that much clear. Had it been the goddess's mercy that compelled her to save Fi from becoming so human? Or had Demise's love of power and subjugation been so great that he'd created his own servant specifically to be used and controlled in such a way, knowing that a weapon's desires would be a terrible thing?

Either way, Link could no longer hate Ghirahim, even if his malignant presence still lingered like a hovering knife. He understood him too well for that.

"No… not safe…"

Link frowned as a fragment of conversation reached him. Their voices had lowered so that most people wouldn't be able to hear them, but his ears were sharp.

"…with the bokoblin problem… shouldn't risk it…"

"What bokoblin problem?" Link asked, and conversation ceased. He couldn't understand why the silence felt so awkward.

"I thought you'd fallen asleep standing," Zelda said eventually with a laugh. "You were so exhausted this morning, I almost couldn't wake you."

"What bokoblin problem?" Link repeated, unconsciously gripping the hilt of his sword before catching himself. The clouds were lifting. He felt like he was taking his first breath in weeks. "You said there hadn't been any monster sightings."

"'Problem' is kind of a strong word for it." Zelda sounded the same as she had years before, when she'd tried to hide his broken toy Loftwing. She hadn't been a good liar then, either. "We've started to see a couple here or there, but it's nothing to worry about."

"If it's nothing to worry about, why would it threaten the settlers?" he asked, frowning.

She didn't answer.

"Just tell him, Zelda," Groose said, and Link stiffened.

"Groose, don’t—"

"No," he said firmly, defying Zelda for the first time in Link's memory. "It's been long enough. He deserves to know."

"Tell me what?" Link asked, his heartbeat loud in his own ears.

"…Monster activity has actually been increasing over the past month or so," Karane said when Zelda remained quiet. "Just a few rogue bands of bokoblins is all. We're holding them off okay, but they took a good slice out of Pipit the other day. At least they haven't had the guts to attack the temple yet."

"I might not have made it at all if you hadn't been pushing me to train so often, Link, so I guess I should thank you for that," Pipit said, aiming for his usual hearty tone and missing it completely. "We didn’t realize they had archers, so they caught us by surprise."

"I could have told you that," Link said, and Pipit had no response. Turning to face Zelda, Link tried to look her in the eye. He had to ask, even if the prospect filled him with an inexpressible dread. "I should have been fighting with them. Why did you hide it?"

"Link…" Zelda hesitated. "I was going to tell you soon, if the problem persisted. I just wanted to give you a chance to recover without having to worry about all this. You deserve a little peace after all you’ve been through."

"It’s been months," Link argued, voice rising. "I've had plenty of time. If there's something threatening the settlement, I think I deserve to know."

Zelda came closer, and at a murmured word from Groose, the other knights retreated.

"Listen," she said quietly, toying with his collar as she'd recently taken to doing. "I worry about you. Pipit says you've been training hard, and I do appreciate it, but you don't have Fi to help you anymore—"

A sudden white roar filled his ears.

"—and if anything happened to you, I don't think I could bear it—"

Like Ghirahim, like everyone else, she'd decided that he was useless without his sword. Without Fi.

"—I couldn't ask anything more of you, not after what I've already required—"

How many people knew, and hadn't told him? The other knights must have laughed to see him training so hard, knowing that Zelda didn't trust him with so much as a bokoblin now… only Link knew they hadn't been laughing, and that made it even worse.

"—and I know it's probably selfish of me to pass the burden on to others, but I just want you to be safe."

No, the worst part was that she didn't even realize what she'd done. Hylia had made him into a weapon, and now Zelda had decided he was too broken to use. What if he was? Had Pipit and the others been going easy on him all this time?

"Could you do that for me, Link? Please?"

Her voice trembled. Link's heartbeat thundered.

He almost said yes, so ingrained was his desire to keep Zelda happy, but the sting of betrayal was still too strong. Fury and shame pierced the clouds surrounding him, razor-sharp after the numb detachment he'd been drowning in, and he lashed out. Link had forgiven the goddess for her manipulations and would forgive Zelda for doing the same, but she couldn't have it both ways. If she wasn't his friend, if they weren't equals, then she was the goddess, plain and simple.

Removing her hands and stepping back, Link sank into a low bow, hand over heart.

"In this, as in all things," he said, cold anger belying his words, "I am the goddess's servant."

Zelda’s breath caught painfully, but Link was already storming out of the temple, calling for his Loftwing without waiting for her response. The great bird descended with a cry of its own, sensing Link’s mood as he vaulted onto its back, and with a gentle kick to its sides, they were off. Link let out a sigh that seemed unending, and felt the goddess and the surface and all of its demons fall away until, finally, there was nothing left.

Link knew when he had struck the finishing blow.

He could feel it in the way Demise went rigid, stiffening beneath him as Link's sword pierced his chest. A final bolt of lightning struck the ground nearby, and at last the sky fell still. Pulling his sword free, Link vaulted back as Demise shifted to face the beast warily.

With labored breath, Demise pulled himself up, driving his sword into the ground for support… and with a metallic sigh, the red thread between Link and the sword snapped, rebounding into him with a force more spiritual than physical. Link's mouth fell open in horror as realization hit him, and he took a bracing step back. Just like that, without so much as a laugh or a whisper, Ghirahim was gone.

"Extraordinary. You stand as a paragon of your kind, human." Link's attention riveted back on Demise. His voice was low and painful, but his eyes stayed fixated on Link. "You fight like no man or demon I have ever known… but this is not the end."

"It is," Link found himself saying, triumph unfurling inside him. Against all odds, he'd done it. "You've lost, demon king." Finally, the world was safe. He and Zelda could settle down together, in peace, and everything would go back to the way it was before. Link wanted to laugh at the thought.

Demise did laugh then, the barest breath of a mocking chuckle, and the reckless joy rising inside him dimmed.

"Perhaps. But my hate… never perishes. It is born anew in a cycle with no end. I will rise again."

The dark thread connecting them firmed, pulsing steadily brighter. Even as Link watched with uneasy fascination, the thread grew, thickening until it was the size of a rope. No, not a single thread, now. It was hundreds of threads, thousands of them, growing ever brighter, binding Link and the monster together with unbreakable strength.

He should have torn off the blindfold then, but he didn't know.

"Those like you… those who share the blood of the goddess and the spirit of the hero… they are eternally bound to this curse."

More lines of light connected them, so many that Link didn't know how his vision could contain them all. Demise intoned the words with dark promise, speaking with a strength he should not have had, as if his curse directed the very weave of fate… and suddenly, Link realized that it did. These were the threads of destiny itself, forming a great, unknowable tapestry of life that went far beyond Link's sight, encompassing gods and goddesses and those who had created them… only now, Link could feel the weave shifting. The fabric of time warped to form a perfect triangle at its center, setting the base for a new pattern: Hylia and Demise and the chosen Hero, bound in combat for eternity. The gleaming threads shone, burned with the light of a small sun, and Link threw up a hand that did nothing to block its light.

Demise's voice raged on.

"An incarnation of my hatred shall ever follow your kind, dooming them to wander a blood-soaked sea of darkness for all time!"

And in that moment Link saw them all, each of their clashes, all at once. In some of their fights Demise was almost human, while in others he was a raging beast. Link and Zelda knew each other, loved each other, or they didn't. Sometimes Link won, and the darkness was kept at bay for hundreds of years… but when he lost, the world paid the price. Always, the blight of Demise threatened the world, and always Link rose to meet it, still young but with the blood of a hundred battles behind him.

It was too much. Brandishing his sword and yelling as if he could fight off the onslaught of sight, Link clawed at the blindfold with his only free hand as Demise's laughter rang around him, engulfing him. Finally, Link managed to clench the fabric in his fist and tear it free, and merciful darkness descended. Never had his blindness felt like such a refuge.

Demise died laughing, and Link shuddered as the remainder of his essence was absorbed into his sword. Already, the details of what he'd seen were fading, but he remembered enough. He had struck a powerful blow, containing the darkness at a crucial moment and saving the world from destruction, but this was just the first of many battles that would make up an incomprehensibly long war. Would it ever be truly over?

"I have confirmed the eradication of the demon king,” Fi said, her lilting voice as crystal calm as always. Link nodded, and desperately wished it was true.

Late that night, there was a knock on Link's door, though for once the person on the other side didn't immediately let herself in.

"Come in," Link called after a moment, not bothering to turn around. He knew Zelda's walk as well as he knew her voice. The door opened slowly.

"Hey there," she said, shutting the door behind her with a heavy 'click' and coming to stand beside him. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Link said truthfully. He sat on the edge of his bed where he'd been since the sun went down, running his silken blindfold through his hands over and over again. He knew Zelda had to notice, but she didn't mention it. Instead, he heard the scrape of wood on his desk.

"Link," she said, sounding more than a little unnerved. She had found the carving. "Did you make this?"

Link nodded shortly, slipping the long piece of cloth into his pocket.

"This… this is a very good likeness."

"Thank you," he said, and she let out a short, irritated breath.

"No, what I'm trying to say is, when… how did you…?" Even then she couldn't get the words out, but he knew what she meant. He should never have known Ghirahim’s face well enough to carve it.

"Does it matter?" Link asked, the weight of exhaustion drawing his shoulders down. "I killed him. Nothing happened, anyway." Nothing but the permanent feel of the demon on his fingers, like a thin, metallic slick of oil.

Zelda stayed quiet for so long, Link almost thought she might let it go. Then she sighed.

"When are you going to start telling me the truth?"

He blinked.

"What?" he said incredulously. "You're here to lecture me on honesty?"

"No. I'm here to apologize for what I said about Fi." Link tensed. It wasn't what he'd expected. "I don't doubt your abilities and I never have… and I know how much her loss must have hurt you. I'm sorry she couldn't stay."

Link nodded, throat tight.

"And… the other?" he asked, and Zelda hesitated.

"No," she said finally, to his surprise. "I'm sorry that I tried to deceive you, but I think I made the right decision."

"It wasn't your call to make," Link said, his voice tinged with bitterness. "If you really believe I can fight, then why try to stop me?"

"Link… you can't see yourself." Suddenly, she sounded as exhausted as he felt, and she sank onto the bed next to him, the stiff mattress barely indenting under her weight. "You've grown so thin that people ask me every day if you're okay, and I don't know what to tell them. You have permanent shadows under your eyes, and though you pretend that you’re not, I hear that you're up before the sun every morning." Link started, then grimaced. Pipit . "I don't think you eat and I don't think you sleep, but you work yourself to the bone. Sometimes I talk to you, and it's like you're not even there. Maybe you can't feel it, but you're sick, Link. As the goddess, I would never have sent a man out to battle in your condition."

Link flinched. There was no blame in her voice, but he felt it anyway, if only from himself. Was he really so obvious? Everything he'd been trying to hide or deny was now laid unavoidably bare. Link had won his battle, but was failing at peace.

"It still should have been my choice," Link muttered. "I'm not made of glass."

Zelda's laugh was despairing.

"Neither am I! I want to help, but I can't if you keep trying to protect me. The way you tell it, you took a nice little stroll across the surface, and then Demise tripped and fell on his own sword. It's like dragging a Loftwing around trying to get anything else out of you. Would… would you rather talk to Pipit? Or Groose? My father, maybe?" Her voice shook, and Link realized how close she was to tears. "I don't have to be the one to help you, I guess. I just want you to be happy."

Link almost laughed. It was his own wish for her, reflected back. He hadn't realized how much strain and worry had hidden behind her light-hearted facade. All this time, they'd both been pretending for the other's sake. She was just better at it than he was.

But this was something he didn't know how to fix. Maybe he was sick, sick in his mind. He had to be. Why else would he rather fall to the surface and attack all those bokoblins himself than sit here and talk to his best friend about what he'd been through? He did miss Fi, but not only for the reasons Zelda thought. He'd never had to put things into words with Fi. She'd been with him for almost all of his journeys, and what she hadn't seen, she just… knew.

Link reached for Zelda's hand, and found the little carving still clutched tightly in her fingers. Even now, Ghirahim stood between them. Maybe there was a way to banish the demon’s presence… for good.

Hesitantly, Link raised his hands and, when Zelda made no move to stop him, placed them gently on her face.

Her skin was warm, like he'd expected it to be, and softly yielding. Link traced his thumbs tenderly along her rounded cheekbones before running his fingers through her trimmed bangs, not sleek and impossibly smooth but thick and full. Fingering the gentle point of her ears, he followed them back around to the curving slope of her jaw. Her lips trembled almost imperceptibly under his fingers, and her warm breath exhaled lightly through her nose. A hot tear fell from her eye, landing on Link's hand, and his heart ached.

Zelda was familiar and soft. She was home… but it wasn't enough. His nose was still full of the sharp scent of steel, his hands roaming across skin too hard and smooth to be human. Someone grabbed his wrists and he froze, forgetting for a moment where he was.

"Stop," Zelda whispered, and Link took a deep, shuddering breath, leaning forward to rest his forehead on hers. He hadn't realized how desperate his grip had become.

"I need some time," he said, and she gave a small, wavering laugh.

"Of course. As much as you need. I'll be here waiting."

He waited for Zelda to leave before unfolding the blindfold once more, smoothing it out across his lap. There had never been a body, not even a broken sword. Nothing Link could point to besides scars on his body to show that Ghirahim had even existed, much less that he was dead. Link had said it often enough, had told himself and others that the demon had perished in the fight against Demise, all while avoiding the only way he had of finding out for sure.

As time passed and the demon lord never resurfaced, Link had thought that maybe it didn't matter. If Ghirahim was alive and wanted to leave him alone, Link should be more than happy to let him… except that in a way, he had never left. In all the vast land below, there was not a single place left untainted by his presence. The forest, where they had fought their first battle, and where for reasons unknown Ghirahim had let him live… the desert, where Link finally managed to thwart him at the Gate of Time… and the volcano, with all that had transpired there. In the sealed temple, Ghirahim had stolen Zelda away just when Link thought his quest was over, and reveled in Link's despair. Buried now beneath immovable tons of stone and dirt was the site where they had fought their final, ruthless battle centuries in the past.

Link wrapped the soft cloth around his eyes, tying it off with shaking hands. If Ghirahim was dead, then at least he'd know. He could move on, make peace with this quiet life, and wait until the next one called him to battle once more.

And if he wasn't…

Link watched, barely breathing, as one by one the old lights appeared. Arcing across the sky, unhindered by stone and mortar, those threads of fate promised meetings and events Link could only guess at, though they weren’t what he wanted to see. Gold blossomed from his own chest, his fated connection to Zelda shining and sure—they were tied through the ages as surely as he and Demise, a small blessing to counter the curse—but still he waited. Long moments passed as no new threads appeared.

Then a familiar crimson thread shimmered to life, anchored to his heart, and Link took in a long, deep breath as if he’d forgotten how. It stretched off far into the distance as he watched, too far to see where it ended… but somehow, he already knew that he was going to follow. Maybe he had always known.

Chapter Text

Early the next morning, Link woke up hungry.

It was an effort not to take double helpings at breakfast, though he restrained himself to some bread and a piece of fruit, with another slipped into his pocket for later. He’d grown accustomed to too little food over the last, hazy months, he knew, but if the day's events led to a fight, he couldn't afford to be sick or weighed down. There was no way of knowing where that red thread would lead him, or how the demon holding the other end would react to being found. It could be that he’d discover soon enough whether he was any good at all without Fi’s guidance… though he and Ghirahim had managed to part ways without crossing swords before. Link only hoped they could do so again.

Still, the possibility of finding monsters below was more than enough to make him wary, as was the treacherous surface itself. As soon as the first tents opened, Link was scouring the bazaar for supplies, handing his shield over for Gondo to inspect and restocking his potions with Luv for the first time in ages. The impatient shopkeeper wasn't nearly as brusque as she had been before, filling his bottles for half the normal price with a firm admonition to take care of himself, and Link uncomfortably recalled Zelda's words from the night before as he thanked her. Could he really look so ill? Peatrice, on the other hand, greeted him with the same determined disinterest she'd had for him since the night he rebuffed her affections, which he found oddly reassuring.

"Here's your item," she droned, handing over the small, mechanical beetle he’d asked for. In Fi's absence, he thought it might be a handy little tool for exploring the terrain. "Come back any time you want to remember all that you're missing out on.

Link took it, the hint of a smile touching his lips.

Settling his newly filled pouches around his waist and tightly securing his blindfold, Link suddenly found no more reason to delay. He'd halfway expected—hoped, even—that someone would try to stop him by now. For the first time in weeks, Zelda hadn't come by to wake him, and Link didn't seek her out, a part of him knowing how little it would take to dissuade him from this course. He had hardly dared to acknowledge his plans even to himself, afraid that prodding them with conscious thought would pierce that fragile bubble of anticipation building up inside him. Only now that his preparations were complete did he start to consider the consequences of today's expedition.

Then he imagined life continuing on as it had, each day like the one before… and sprinted to the edge of the island, pushing off the wooden planks into the open sky and whistling for his Loftwing.

The two of them traveled swiftly together, following the crimson thread at Link’s direction like an arrow through the sky, and Link thought that maybe they both enjoyed having a destination in mind after so many days of aimless flight. His Loftwing sent impressions as they flew, simple thoughts and feelings that Link's mind translated into words. Sunny weather. Clear skies. A scattering of small islands to the left, growing sparser the further they flew from Skyloft. A large island, far to the right. Affection. Concern.

Patting the bird's neck to reassure him, Link suppressed the unease that his Loftwing had picked up on. He had wandered this way before, but never to visit the surface, and he had no idea what lay beneath. For all he knew, Ghirahim had hidden himself away in a fortress, or a river of lava. He could have surrounded himself with armies of Bokoblins, and Link would never know until it was too late.

This was a foolish risk, and he knew it. He should have brought Zelda or Groose with him… though on second thought, maybe Pipit or Fledge would be better if he hoped for a peaceful resolution. Either way, it was perfectly stupid of him to take his first solo trip to the surface without Fi in an unfamiliar area. He should turn back.

He urged the bird on.

Finally, after what felt like ages or maybe minutes but couldn't have been longer than an hour, Link reined in his Loftwing. The other end of the thread lay directly beneath them now. If he aimed his descent well, he would land mere paces away.

"This is it," Link muttered. He hadn't left a note to explain where he'd gone, worried that someone would find it too soon and follow. If he got into trouble down there, Zelda would never know anything other than that he'd disappeared without a word. "Stay nearby, okay? I'll need you to take me home."

His Loftwing responded with a low cry, and Link gave him another pat, undoing the belt on his safety harness. Then, before he could change his mind, Link jumped, something like hope welling up painfully inside him as he plunged to the surface with a wild yell. No turning back now.

The air that whipped around him was thin, and grew colder by the second. Painful tears sprang from his eyes as it cut across his exposed skin like a bitterly sharp knife. This was nothing like the warm embrace of Lanayru Desert or Eldin Volcano, or even the more temperate Faron Woods. This was cold like he'd never felt in his life.

Link deployed his sailcloth early, unnerved to find this part of the surface already so different from what he knew, and was shocked when his boots made contact only seconds later. He stumbled forward at the unexpected impact, but lurched back again in surprise when he landed on something wet and cold that crunched beneath his weight. His heart hammered as he realized just how close he'd come to unknowingly crashing into the earth. Exhilarated laughter erupted from his lips, and he clamped a hand around his mouth in dismay. For once, the clouds in his mind had scattered, replaced by icy clarity.

He tilted his head, listening.

Only his own ragged breathing broke the silence of what must have been a mountain peak, to jut up so high into the air. The pile of something he'd landed in made no move, and Link decided after a moment that it was probably harmless, though very cold. A handful of it fell down his shirt as he stood, and Link shuddered as it melted against his skin, leaving damp patches on his undershirt. Zelda had mentioned something like this during their hours together, and he’d heard the old tales of the surface, though he’d never experienced it himself. Was this what they called… snow?

Shivering uncontrollably now in the buffeting wind, Link wrapped himself in Zelda's sailcloth for an added layer of warmth. The adrenaline from his near-fatal fall was already draining away, leaving him shaky and uncertain. He had thought he'd prepared for everything, but he'd never expected anything like this. The uncovered tips of his fingers had already gone numb.

The red thread still beckoned, ending only fifty paces away, and Link followed it with a growing sense of disquiet, unsheathing his sword to feel ahead of him as he walked. He might as well try to accomplish what he’d set out to do. Had Ghirahim seen him fall from the sky? Was he watching him now… waiting?

Climbing up the mountain was slow work, with the crumbling snow beneath him threatening to undo all his progress. Despite all his efforts at caution, his foot slipped twice, and he had to scramble on all fours to avoid sliding back further than where he’d started. Then, with the thread's end still paces away, Link's sword clanged against something hard, and he groaned. Groping forward blindly, he found a sheer face of rock barring his path. Ghirahim was on the other side, then, or maybe even inside the mountain, possibly hidden inside a cave. It made more sense than him standing outside in this icy wind. Why had he picked such a goddess forsaken place to hide, anyway?

Either way, Ghirahim had probably missed Link’s descent, which meant that he could leave now without being noticed. The smart thing to do would be to go back to Skyloft and return when he was better prepared, preferably with a warm, thick coat and shoes with a bit more grip to them.

Instead, Link walked sideways along the rock face, searching carefully with stiff hands for an opening. The icy wind cut through his clothes like they were nothing, and he knew he didn't have long before he'd have to admit defeat, but he couldn't leave without trying. He had nothing but momentum driving him forward now, and if he stopped or went back for any reason—worse, if anyone else caught even an inkling of where he’d been and why—he couldn’t shake the fear that one way or another, he would never be back here again. Somehow, this felt like his only chance

Still, he was just about to give up when the rock wall finally opened beneath his fingers, and Link stepped with cautious triumph into what sounded like a cave, testing the ground in front of him with a string of echoing taps from his sword. The air still stung his uncovered face, but his shivering died down now that the wind couldn't reach him. A series of familiar squeaks made him stop, tracking the sounds warily with his ears before striking out three times with quick precision. His sword made contact with three small creatures that squealed shrilly before they died, and he made a mental note to remember that this shelter might have attracted more than just Keese.

His eyes fixed on the thread's end, and he walked slowly forward, still tapping, until the ground beneath his sword fell away and he was forced to a halt. That red light was so tantalizingly close now, only a few paces away.

"Ghirahim," Link said hoarsely, licking his lips as the name echoed back to him in the enclosed space. His heart fluttered uncertainly. Now that he'd made it this far, he was less certain than ever why he'd come. "I know you're here."

Not so much as light laughter met his ears. Link's brow furrowed.

"Well?" he demanded, nerves and annoyance straining his voice now. "Is that it? Every other time we've met, you wouldn't shut up."

Nothing. Link gritted his teeth. Out of everything he'd thought might happen, he hadn't expected to be ignored. Could he be mistaken about the thread’s meaning, or was there some further barrier between them? He couldn't hear Ghirahim, but that didn't mean anything. The demon could expertly avoid his detection when he wanted to.

"Answer me!" Link demanded, chest heaving with something close to panic now, but only his own crashing echo responded.

Link shivered again, rubbing his hands together.

"This was a bad idea," he muttered, turning to leave. He couldn't be wrong. That thread had led him here, which meant that there must be someone else in this cavern.

Someone… or something?

He stopped. Turning back again slowly, Link stooped low to the ground, fingers scrabbling along the stone floor for a few loose pebbles. Straightening and trying not to feel foolish, he threw the first rock at waist height, listening intently, and heard it strike something that sounded like stone. He threw the second rock slightly higher and heard the same noise, but the third flew for longer before skittering across a flat surface, eventually coming to a stop with a metallic clink as it hit something—a sword, he thought with hitched breath.

Link readjusted his mental map of the place. Ghirahim was not standing across from him as he'd originally imagined. Instead, Link faced a raised stone outcropping with the demon's sword lying atop it, either sleeping or…

"Ghirahim," he said again, not expecting a response this time, though his voice rang through the cavern. Even in this form, the demon must know he was there. If he could still respond, why didn't he?

Unbidden, the memory of Demise wrenching the sword from Ghirahim's chest resurfaced, and again Link thought to wonder why the demon lord would have sequestered himself away on this lonely mountain top if he could have chosen to reside anywhere else. Fi had never been able to move her own sword, even with a treacherous volcano separating her from her master. Maybe Ghirahim was the same now, trapped in this cave by his large, lifeless weapon. Maybe…

The frosty air bit at his face. This kind of speculation was pointless. Zelda might have understood the magic involved, but Link certainly didn't. Either way, Ghirahim seemed unlikely to bother him or anyone else. Link could fly home now if he wanted to, maybe warm up by a fire, and forget about this cold, desolate cavern.

Instead, he knelt down and pulled out his beetle.

A quick check with his hands confirmed that he stood on a ledge of undetermined depth. He released the beetle forward, timing its flight carefully in his mind until it crashed into the other side. It wasn't a long jump, but it would be an awkward one. He'd have to catch onto the ledge and pull himself up. At the press of a button the beetle zipped back, and this time he aimed it down, straight into the crevice. With any luck, he would find it was just a short drop… but the receiver in his hands began to shake before it hit the bottom, and he was forced to recall the small contraption. A long way to fall, then, and no saying whether his sailcloth would work in such a narrow area.

Link stored the beetle again, heart thumping. Ignoring the more rational part of his mind that spoke in Fi’s voice and offered up dismal percentages, he backed up carefully, measuring his paces. There would be no Fi signaling him to jump, and no Ghirahim to save him if he fell. He had only himself.

He should have left that note.

Link took a deep, steadying breath, icy air filling his lungs… and ran, taking long, precise leaps forward. Three… two… one… now!

He jumped, arms flailing, and realized he'd misjudged when his torso slammed against the ledge and the air was knocked out of him. Dazed and struggling for breath, Link started to slide backwards and panicked, fumbling for a grip on the smooth rock surface. His right hand grasped something hard and sharp, and Link cried out as cold metal bit into his skin, halting his fall. He'd managed to grab hold of the blade itself, thrust point first into the stone. Fighting the overwhelming instinct to let go, Link tightened his grip, hissing as the sword cut deeper into his hand. Pulling himself up by the blade, he collapsed onto his stomach, panting and shivering, cheek pressed against the cold stone. Saved by Ghirahim's sword. If the demon could see him now, he’d be laughing.

Gritting his teeth against a moan of pain, Link peeled his hand from the sword with a wince to examine the damage, wiggling his fingers tentatively. Hot blood pooled inside his gauntlet, stinging after such frigid cold. Fishing out a red potion awkwardly with his left hand, he took a deep, long swig. It was a small injury, one he wouldn't usually waste a potion on, but he needed the use of his sword hand. Within moments, he felt a familiar tingle along his fingers and palm as they healed, traveling all the way up to the tips of his ears, which he kneaded in confusion as feeling returned. Those weren't injured, were they? His entire body had burned with the cold at first, but his ears had long since gone numb.

The sword beside him said nothing, did nothing, and Link sighed wearily.

"What am I doing here?" he said aloud, not sure if the words were for him or for Ghirahim or the uncaring surface itself. Even if the demon had been here in all his former glory, what would confronting him have achieved? Coming here had brought him nothing. Life at home felt like… nothing. His face contorted. What more did he have to do to earn his bit of peace?

What are… doing here, sky child?

Link stopped breathing. The voice was so faint he could almost believe he'd imagined it, but then…

…you really… all this way… find me?

Scrambling to his knees so quickly that he almost tore open his newly healed hand, Link stared at the crimson light tying his heart to the sword's hilt. The words faded in and out, not all of them reaching his ears, but they were there.

…must say… never expected… your blood again…

Blood, he thought dizzily, realizing how it must have run from his hand down the sword's blade. The bleeding had stopped, but Link ran his palm frantically along the flat of the blade anyway, smearing what little was left. He couldn't say whether time or his frenzied efforts made the difference, but Ghirahim's voice grew slightly louder.

Poor Link… just been wasting away, haven't…

It still wasn't enough. Grimacing, Link gave in and carefully sliced the palm of his non-dominant hand on the sword this time, barely flinching as the blood dripped down. The voice immediately became stronger.

Peace does not agree with you, little hero. You look dreadful.

"You're not doing so great, yourself," Link rasped, and finally he heard that low, familiar laugh echo in his ears. Maybe it was because the demon obviously posed no threat to him now, but his thrill at the sound was the furthest thing from fear.

So how did a blind little bird like you track me all the way out here? I suppose your adorable little goddess must have brought you. Echoing and sourceless as the words seemed, Ghirahim still managed to imbue them with scorn. Are you here to bring me to justice?

Link shook his head. "No, I'm… I came by myself. She doesn't know."

That stopped Ghirahim short. For a long moment he stayed silent, and though nothing changed, Link had the uncomfortable feeling that he was being thoroughly examined. When the demon spoke again, he gave no hint to his conclusions.

Why are you here, Link? he asked, all trace of dark mockery gone.

That was a good question. Link had no answer, but he realized with sudden certainty that he did know what he was going to do next.

"I'm here to take you with me," he said firmly, pushing himself to his feet and grabbing the enormous sword by the hilt. What was he going to tell Zelda?

With some effort, Link unwedged it from the stone and pulled it free, and immediately faced a new problem. The sword was almost as tall as he was, and made entirely of thick, heavy metal. His quality time with Groose's weights meant that he could lift it now and might even be able to swing it, but he was afraid he'd stab himself trying to jump to the ledge.

Ghirahim said nothing, watching to see what Link would do. With a pang of regret, Link slowly unfolded his sailcloth, wrapping the sword in its thick, embroidered fabric and wincing as he heard it snag. It wasn't much, but it was all he had to keep the sword from slicing him as it jostled around on his back. He could always buy a new sailcloth if he had to… but this one had been special, even if the somewhat floral scent had long since faded. Maybe Zelda would repair it for him, if she ever forgave him for this.

Are you done sniveling over fabric? Ghirahim asked, and Link's jaw tightened.

"Did you want to be saved or not?" he growled, unbuckling his sheath and dropping the Academy sword carelessly to the side. Eagus would be a bit put out that he had lost it, but Link could hardly make himself care at the moment.

Ahh, so that's what this is about , Ghirahim said shrewdly. Ran out of people to save, did you?

Link ignored him. His sheath had never been made to hold anything as large as Ghirahim's sword, but he thought he could rig the belts together so it wouldn't fall off his back. Securing the wrapped sword as best he could, Link slipped the harness back over his shoulder and stood, rocking on his heels a few times to test it. Leather straps dug into his shoulders uncomfortably, but it didn't fall. So far, so good.

Throwing another pebble in front of him to make absolutely sure he was facing the right direction—he had no red light to guide him now—Link backed up only a few paces before running forward with a leap. He stumbled a bit on the landing, the tip of Ghirahim's sword smacking against stone as his knees bent, but falling to lower ground was always easier than the other way around.

You really intend to do this, don't you? Ghirahim asked slowly, as if he hadn't quite believed it until now. Link gave a short nod. He could feel his Loftwing circling far above, awaiting his call. It was time to leave this forsaken mountain.

The icy wind hit him like a slap in the face, and Link recoiled, shuddering. He'd thought it was cold in the cavern, but that was because he'd forgotten the wind's bleak embrace. Tiny pieces of ice pelted him with each gust, but Link forced himself on, trudging through piles of the stuff that crunched under his boots. His Loftwing was not going to like landing in this, but it would only be for a few moments, and then—

The ground beneath him disappeared, and Link yelped as he pitched forward, rolling sideways down the mountain. The snow cushioned him as he fell, but he grunted each time he bounced against the sword at his back, praying to whatever deities might be watching that it didn't come loose. The thought of retracing his steps through this frozen wasteland to retrieve it was not a pleasant one.

Eventually, the ground leveled off, and Link rolled to a stop, moaning as he sat up. He was colder than ever now, his body racked with shivers as frigid water seeped into his clothes and down his boots. How had he missed that drop? He'd only been retracing his steps… except now he remembered that he hadn't approached the cavern from its entrance. He'd inched along the mountainside, never noticing the steep incline he'd narrowly avoided.

As amusing as it is to watch you stumble your way through the snow, I don't relish the thought of you freezing to death while I'm strapped to your back, Ghirahim announced. What's your plan for getting us out of here?

"I-I, umm..." Link mumbled thickly through numb lips, trying to latch onto the question. "B-b-brought my… L-loftwing." He couldn't stop shaking. Ghirahim was right. It was time to leave.

Link struggled to his feet, but froze at the sound of a long howl echoing from behind him that somehow chilled his blood further. A second howl answered it, somewhere off to his right, and another called directly in front of him. They sounded hungry.

"What are th-those?" Link asked, listening intently for their approach. The soft snow that had buffered his fall also muffled their footsteps, but he thought he could hear them panting.

Wolfos. He couldn't decipher the tone of Ghirahim's voice. You had best call your bird quickly, sky child.

Nodding, Link raised his fingers to his mouth, then hesitated. "Would… W-wolfos… attack a Loftwing?"

Ghirahim laughed.

They would have it for breakfast, if they could. Still, no choice but to—what are you doing? he asked sharply. Link had unbuckled the strap holding the sword with clumsy fingers and was already unwrapping it hastily.

"This is the only s-sword I have," he said, regretting having cast his other weapon aside so soon. He couldn't call his Loftwing into danger, not if there was any other option.

You ignorant lout! You must not wield it! Ghirahim seethed, with a note of urgency Link couldn’t understand. You don't know what you're doing!

“I th-think I have some… ” Talking was taking too much energy, so Link went silent, wrapping stiff fingers around the hilt. The sword was too heavy for anything fancy, but he hoped he could at least lift it. His muscles felt strangely slow.

He could hear the beasts snarling as they approached. The one to his right let out a sudden growl, and Link swung his sword, catching its head with the flat of his blade as it leapt and sending it flying.

No blood shed, Ghirahim said tersely. You were very lucky. Now call for your Loftwing.

Link had no idea why that was significant and didn't have time to wonder, because at that moment the other two Wolfos attacked.

This time, his sword struck only air, and Link cried out as claws scraped across his thigh, the second beast's attack deflected by his chainmail. His leg was on fire, the blood too hot against his frozen skin. One of the Wolfos pivoted with a snarl and Link knocked it aside, but couldn't stop the second one from scoring his arm. A quick duck of his head saved his throat from being cut, but left a shallow gash across his cheek. Blood stung wherever it dripped, too hot. Too cold, and too hot.

Call for your bird, you stubborn whelp! Ghirahim shouted in his ear. They will weaken you until you cannot stand, then go for your throat. You're going to die if you don't leave now!

"Shut up!" Link yelled, swinging the giant sword desperately, and this time it met its mark. He felt the slight tug of resistance as steel tore through flesh, and the Wolfos let out a high-pitched keen as it died, blood spraying from the wound.

From above, Link heard a familiar, furious screech, and the remaining Wolfos yelped in pain, but his mind barely registered his Loftwing’s arrival. The sword in his hands had begun to pulse with a strange, dark energy, the hilt growing steadily warmer in his palms, and Link whimpered with apprehension as his hands refused to unclench their grip. Then the almost forgotten sound of metal chimes rang out from behind him.

"You do insist on stumbling in over your head," Ghirahim growled, no longer a disembodied voice. Hot breath brushed across Link's ear, and strong hands wrapped around to guide his shuddering grip. Link's own hands were so numb now that he could barely feel them, but he struggled instinctively, trying to pull free. "Too late for that, boy. If this must be done, then let it be done. Thrust the sword into the earth let it judge your strength."

Link's mind felt slow and sluggish, his thoughts struggling to keep up, and he relented. With all of his remaining strength, he plunged the great blade down through layers of ice until it pierced the ground below. A dull roar throbbed in his ears, and darkness assailed his mind, not a physical force but still as deadly as any weapon. From deep in his hazy depths, something at the core of Link protested the invasion, and he pushed back, a fire alighting his bones as he screamed. The strange force recoiled, vanishing with a cry of defeat, and even as his fingers slipped from around the hilt and he started to fall, Link knew that whatever had attacked him, he had won.

He didn't notice the arms that caught him, whisking him and his sword away, but he smiled as he felt his Loftwing's warm body beneath him, burrowing his face into the feathers. The icy wind was gone, and Link realized he was flying, though the motion felt strained. There was somebody else behind him now. Zelda?

"Hardly," a familiar voice sighed, sounding agitated. Link felt himself slipping away to the steady rhythm of wings beating the air. He felt content in a way that he hadn't since Fi left, a warmth he could never put words to hovering just at the edge of awareness. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. Whatever am I to do with you now…”

But whatever else he had to say was lost to the wind.

Chapter Text

The flight back to Skyloft was a frozen blur that passed in fits and starts, some moments dragging for eternities while others slipped him by entirely. Link vaguely noticed a bottle being forced to his lips, someone stroking his throat with cool fingers to coerce him to drink. It must have been potion, because the next sensation he knew was an absence of pain, his cuts and scrapes knit back together as if they'd never been. He missed them, in a way. Pain burned, a constant source of fire and heat. Without that heat, there was only the cold.

Link clung to his bird miserably, soaking in every possible scrap of heat from its soft feathers, but it wasn't enough. Each gust of wind sent him shivering, his damp clothing catching the mild breeze and turning it to ice. Concern pushed his Loftwing to impossible speeds despite its extra burden, but that only made the wind sharper, his mind scattering among the clouds as even his shivers died away. If he didn't warm up soon—

It took a moment to realize that the wind had stopped. Raising a shaking hand, Link found a heavy mantle draped across his shoulders, its tall, stiff collar cutting off the worst of the rushing air. He gripped a handful of soft fabric in his fist and held it to his nose, inhaling the sharp scent of metal.

"Thank you," he whispered, and felt the man behind him stiffen.

"I could no longer abide your incessant quivering," he said, and Link breathed a weak laugh, fading away once more.

When next he woke, there was someone speaking in his ear. Screaming in his ear.

"Wake up! Are you the same whelp who defeated Demise or not? I will not have you spit on his memory by dying so easily now."

A cold hand slapped him across the face, hard, and he groaned, eyes fluttering open.

"S'wrong?" he mumbled, staring blankly into nothing. There was something missing now, something bright and important, but he couldn't remember what. His Loftwing interrupted his thoughts with the relieved impression of a large island, surrounded by birds and people. They were almost home.

"I'll tell you what is wrong." The man behind him sounded angry, and something else. That voice in that tone should have made Link wary, but that something else had him leaning in, smiling at the hot breath on his ear. "I have been saddled with a useless human who is hardly worth all this trouble."

"Warm," he murmured, and the person made a vexed sound.

"Pay attention!" A long, heavy object wrapped in cloth fell into his lap, and awareness stirred. He frowned, trying to focus. "This is likely a pointless effort, but at least attempt to keep this sword with you. Is your tiny mind capable of such a simple task?"

Link frowned, clutching it to his chest as he remembered. Ghirahim. He'd followed the red thread, and…

"The red thread," he muttered, realizing what was missing. "It's gone."

He heard a bitter laugh from behind him, though it soon faded away, along with the figure at his back and the cloak around his shoulders. He shivered at the absence, left bare to the wind once more.

Is it? Ghirahim mused in his ear, like Fi had done before him. From my perspective, it binds us more tightly now than ever before.

Link slid from his Loftwing as it landed, almost falling off his feet as the sword weighed him down, and chaos erupted around him.

"Link?" he heard Fledge's anxious voice come running up. "Are you… okay?"

"Is that—Fledge, I think that's blood!"

"Geez, Link, what did you do this time?"

"Somebody get Gaepora!"

"Link, where did you—"

"What is—"

"Link—"

"'m fine," Link mumbled at the frantic inquiries directed his way, voices his jumbled mind could barely make out. His shoulders tensed as he tried to walk, finding bodies blocking him at every turn. "I just need to—"

"Link!" He sighed in relief as Pipit came jogging up to take charge. "Everybody, back off! Link, are you okay? Strich, go find the headmaster. You look too, Cawlin. Don't give me that look, just go! Fledge, take this rupee and bring back a red potion. I don't know, see if the shopkeeper will lend you a bottle. Carry it in your hands if you have to! Karane, would you mind getting a bucket of warm water and meeting me at Link's room? We need to wash him up. Cawlin, what are you still doing here?"

Firm hands grabbed him by the shoulders, and Link gratefully allowed himself to be steered through the Academy's wooden doors. The wind had started to dry his clothes now, though the occasional shiver still ran through him, and the air inside had the heavy, warm feeling of late afternoon. His hands felt stiff and swollen in his gloves, and as the last of the numbness finally left, they started to burn.

"I'm taking you to your room, okay?" Pipit said as he led him along, still gripping him by the shoulders. Link didn't really need the guidance, but he didn't try to shrug him off, either. Without that grip, he might have fallen over. "We're going to get you all fixed up. Here, what's that you're holding? It looks heavy, let me—"

"No!" Link almost shouted, grasping it so tightly that it nearly cut him even through the cloth. "It's… it's mine."

That’s right.

"That's fine," Pipit reassured him, taken aback, and Link might have felt embarrassed by his outburst if his mind hadn't felt so fuzzy. "I won't take it. Where were you today? Were you attacked? Watch your step," he added as they approached the staircase leading down to the student dormitories.

"Yeah." The drying blood where his wounds had been made that much obvious, at least. "On the surface. Had a potion, though… 'm fine now."

It wasn't the most coherent explanation he'd ever put together, but Link thought it covered the basics.

"You're not 'fine,' Link." Apparently Pipit disagreed. "You really shouldn't go exploring the surface alone. Don't you know how dangerous it can be?"

Link frowned, wanting to say something cutting but unable to form a coherent response. He had almost died, multiple times, but he still knew the land's dangers better than Pipit.

Pushing the wooden door to Link's bedroom open, Pipit led him across the threshold. "Let's get you in bed and have a look at you. Headmaster Gaepora should be here soon, and—"

"I'm here now," a deep voice announced.

Thank the goddesses, Ghirahim remarked as Gaepora's heavy footsteps crossed into the room. I had started to think this was an island full of children. Link wished the demon would shut up. He didn’t think he’d have the presence of mind to remember not to talk back for much longer.

Zelda's father surveyed him silently for a moment, taking in his bloody, shaking form. Then he heaved a deep sigh. "Not the worst state I've seen you in, my boy, but not the best, either. Pipit, could you please retrieve some fresh clothes from his wardrobe? We need to get him warm and dry as quickly as possible."

"Yes, sir." Link could hear Pipit rummaging through his closet, but he stopped paying attention. Gaepora was prying at Link's grasp on the sword, and he frowned, trying to shake him off.

"No… don't…"

"Please, Link," Gaepora said patiently. "I'll leave it right here by your bedside. We need to wash you up and get you changed."

"Promise… promise not to let anyone take it," Link said, ignoring Ghirahim's frustrated snarl in his ear, and Gaepora patted his hand gently.

"I promise. Just rest."

The heavy sword was lifted away and set to the side, and Link leaned back into his pillow, noticing only absently when Gaepora started to peel away his tunic and Pipit began pulling at his boots. He couldn't bring himself to feel properly ashamed of being undressed like a child, not even when Karane came in carrying warm wash water. He'd had his wounds tended too few times to turn the luxury aside now, and the water felt too good on his skin. The last time he'd been cared for like this must have been… after the volcano. Link thought maybe he'd liked the volcano. It was warm.

He felt himself drifting off again, and finding no reason to stay awake, he let himself follow the feeling. Chasing sleep like a Mogma down its warm, blissful tunnel, Link finally relaxed as thoughts and memory and that muttering voice in his ear drifted away together.

His relief was short lived, of course. After hours that felt like seconds, Link's eyes snapped open, and awareness came crashing back.

He laid perfectly still, listening intently to the familiar nighttime sounds of the Academy and trying to determine why something felt… off. Fledge was not yet snoring, still panting away on the other side of their thin partition, so it couldn’t be all that late. His room felt too warm for this time of night, though, and it took him a moment to notice the lingering smell of smoke that spoke of a small brazier dragged in for extra heat. The soft clothes on his back felt strange, but that was only because he'd grown so used to his knight's uniform, which he supposed would need washing and mending now.

Finally, he managed to pinpoint the sound of soft breathing by his bedside, and froze, breaking into a cold sweat as it finally came to him. He'd brought Ghirahim back with him from the surface.

Ghirahim, he realized with a soft shudder, was in Skyloft.

Very slowly, he reached a hand over the side of his bed to check on the sword. It was gone.

"I know you're there," he called out, his voice miraculously steady, and the person beside him inhaled sharply.

"Link!" It was Zelda. Link relaxed, sitting up with a groan as his stiff muscles protested the movement. She wouldn’t be sitting there so calmly if something was wrong. "I didn't realize you were awake. How are you feeling?"

He considered the question, taking stock of his various aches and pains. "Not bad. Sore. Hungry," he added as his stomach growled, and Zelda laughed.

"I can fix that, at least. The other will ease in time. Here." He heard her stand and retrieve a tray from his desk, setting it on his lap carefully and handing him a spoon. His swollen fingers wrapped clumsily around it, no longer burning but still sore. "Henya brought you some pumpkin soup. I added a few peppers to help warm you up, so it might be a bit spicier than you're used to."

It was spicy, and Link's eyes watered as he ate, but he still drained the entire bowl, even running his thumb along the bottom to catch the last few drips. There was a roll set to the side of the plate, and he devoured that, as well. As he ate, he tried to work out what had happened—a difficult task with his memories still playing hide-and-go-seek on him. He hadn't heard Ghirahim's voice at all since waking. Had he dreamed it somehow? Where was the demon now?

His stomach was uncomfortably full when he finished, and sweat broke out across his face as the peppers warmed him from the inside out, but he embraced the foreign feeling. It had been too long since he'd last had an appetite. Zelda, who had watched him the entire time without speaking, retrieved the tray and set it back on the desk with a light clatter.

"Thank you," he said after a moment, when she remained quiet. "For the food."

"You're welcome," she said softly. Again, there was silence. Link twisted his thumbs together awkwardly, then cleared his throat when it became obvious that she wouldn't speak first. He thought he knew what she was waiting for.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled eventually. It didn't seem fair that he had to apologize, but he couldn’t defend his impulsive actions, either. "I didn't mean to worry you."

"I was surprised when we unwrapped the sailcloth you entrusted my father with to find Demise's sword hidden inside," Zelda said, and he stiffened. So he hadn't dreamed that, at least. "He didn't recognize it, of course, so I had to explain it to him. It's a very dark weapon, Link. Hardly something worth risking your life over."

"Where did you put it?" Link asked, anxious dread gnawing at him. He had never told her about Ghirahim's true identity as Demise's sword. At first he hadn't known how to talk about it, and later it just hadn't seemed important… but if nobody was watching him now, the demon could be doing anything. Even when Link had decided to rescue him from the mountain, he'd never meant to bring Ghirahim back to Skyloft.

"Where did you find it?" Zelda shot back. "How did you find it? It doesn't seem likely that you stumbled across the sword on accident. Did somebody give it to you?"

"I… it was the blindfold," Link relented. There was no point in trying to hide it. "There was a thread leading down to the surface, and—the blindfold!" he said in sudden realization, clapping his hands to his eyes as he realized that the red thread was gone. There was nothing there. "Have you seen it? I know I was wearing it when…" Even as he patted the bed urgently around him, a dim memory resurfaced of that red light flickering out as he flew. He'd been too addled to realize what it meant then, but now he felt the beginnings of panic.

"We can look for the blindfold later, Link," Zelda insisted. "Where did you go?"

"I'm not sure," he said distractedly. If Ghirahim was gone, Link had no way of finding him again. For some reason, the thought terrified him. "Somewhere cold. Freezing. There was ice all over, falling from the sky—"

"Snow," Zelda interrupted, and he blinked.

"That's… yeah." So he’d been right about the snow. "There was… snow… everywhere. I only meant to be in and out, but then I was attacked, and things… kind of got complicated."

"That's one way of putting it," Zelda said with a sigh. "You were in more danger than I think you realize. Skyloft can get cold sometimes, but not like that. You're lucky you made it out with all your fingers and ears intact, much less your life."

"What?" Link said, startled, raising a hand to rub anxiously at the tips of his ears. They felt normal to him, but he remembered suddenly how the potion he'd taken to heal his injured hand had gone straight for his ears, as well. "I didn't know… Zelda, I'm sorry—"

"Don't be," she said, and her wooden chair creaked as she sank back. "This was all my fault."

Link's hand stilled, falling back to his lap as he waited warily to hear how she planned on blaming herself for this one. He'd been the one acting recklessly, pursuing danger for danger's sake with no thought for the consequences. Recalling his actions now, it felt like remembering a stranger controlling his body. A part of Link had thought he was finally facing his demons on that mountain, but maybe all he'd found was another way to run.

"Pipit thought it was strange when you went off flying this morning instead of training with the knights like you always do," Zelda said in a small voice. "Fledge was worried, too, when he saw you stocking up on potions. I should have listened." Her voice broke, and Link winced. He hoped she wouldn't cry. "I thought you just needed some time to think, but… if you hadn't come back…"

"No," Link stopped her, shaking his head vigorously. "Stop… stop doing that. You're always trying to take the blame for me.” Desperate to get a laugh out of her, he added, “The goddess herself couldn't stop me from doing whatever dumb thing I decide to do."

It halfway worked. Zelda managed a small, watery laugh, reaching over to squeeze his hand.

"Maybe not," she teased, though her levity was short-lived. "But I am to blame for everything that is my fault. All that you went through on the surface, not to mention… all that awaits you in the future..."

Link winced. He had told her about Demise's curse because she deserved to know, and because if anybody could think of a way to fix it, surely it would be the goddess, but sometimes he regretted that decision. Zelda had her own demons that he didn't know how to fix—a mortal bearing the weight of an immortal's impossible choice.

"You couldn't have known what would happen," he said stubbornly. "And the rest isn't your fault, either. It was better than letting Demise win."

"The goddess—"

"The goddess knew what choices I would make," Link interrupted her, though he'd said as much before. It was a well-worn conversation, and it never did any good. "All she did was place me where I needed to be to make them. That doesn't make them any less my own."

"Hylia knew you would be blind," Zelda said, and the world came to a shuddering halt as the words in his throat died away. This was something new. "It wasn't her decision. Even a goddess can't control all the threads of fate. She could only weave with what she was given, and hope things worked out for the best… but she knew. And she—I used you still, because your unbreakable spirit was humanity's only chance."

So many times he had wondered on his quest if fate had somehow gone awry. Even the goddess's servants had doubted him at times. Only Fi had been unwavering in her belief that all would work out as it should, though her percentages must have told her otherwise.

"Well then," Link said hoarsely, "it sounds like you didn't have much of a choice, either."

"I guess not," Zelda admitted after a moment, her chair creaking again beneath her. It was the most he'd ever managed to get from her. Maybe someday, he could make her believe it. "Link… what really happened to Ghirahim?"

The question from out of nowhere hit him like a slap across the face, and he almost recoiled.

“What do you mean?” he asked carefully, calling himself ten kinds of idiot in his mind. Of course she knew. Hylia had fought against Demise in that ancient war, and Ghirahim had been his weapon. She probably knew more about the demon lord than he did.

“You brought back his sword,” she said, confirming what he’d already figured out. There was a slow frown to her words, as if she was trying to puzzle him out. “You must have known it was on the other end of that thread you chased. Surely you wouldn’t have gone after it if you thought he might still be alive, but…”

“He’s dead,” Link said, and immediately bit his lip in dismay. Why had he said that?

“You’re certain?” she pressed. “I need you to be certain. If there’s any doubt in your mind at all, then we are better off casting that blade into the depths of Eldin and being done with it. That might be the best course of action in any case.”

His hands clenched convulsively beneath the sheets.

“I…” What could he say now? What should he say? “I shattered him. The center of him. With my sword.” He formed a diamond with his fingers across his own chest in demonstration, wincing at the memory. It had sounded like shattering, at least, and if he’d kept it up, he thought that Ghirahim might have died. “It’s not like I saw a body or anything, but..."

“That does sound as if he might be dead,” she agreed cautiously. He could tell she wanted more, though, and he swallowed, wishing he could just sink through the floor.

“When—when I put on the blindfold and saw that his thread still existed, I thought that maybe he’d survived somehow, but—when I found the sword, he wasn’t—”

“It was only an empty blade,” Zelda sighed, with a relief so palpable that it drove the nails of his guilt in deeper. “That’s something to be grateful for, at least. This could have all gone so much worse.”

Link bit on the inside of his cheeks as he nodded, nausea churning the soup inside his stomach. They were almost true, these words he spoke, but so intentionally misleading that he would have no defense when the truth came out. He couldn’t let her destroy the sword, though, not… not yet, and he couldn’t give Ghirahim the chance to hurt her, either. He would have to find out where she had put it, and fast.

Something of his indecision must have shown on his face, but luckily, Zelda misinterpreted it.

“You don’t need to feel guilty for killing him, Link,” she pointed out kindly. “I know that such violence must not come naturally to you, but it needed to be done. He hurt a lot of people, not just the two of us.”

“I know that,” Link said shortly, turning away, and Zelda paused.

"I know you do," she said at last. “Link, if you believed that Ghirahim himself might be on the other end of that thread, then why did you follow it alone?”

Link shrugged uncomfortably, hunching in on himself, and Zelda leaned in to grip his shoulder.

"Don't go quiet on me now," she pleaded. "I'm not—okay, maybe I'm upset, but I still need to know. All this time, I've been hoping that eventually we would move on from the past and build something new, but you can’t seem to turn yourself away from it. Why?"

"Why did you stop pushing me off cliffs?"

He didn’t entirely know why he said it, and it was obvious that she didn't, either. Her confused silence was broken by a disbelieving laugh.

"You always hated it when I did that," she said, and Link shrugged again, scratching his head helplessly.

"That never stopped you before. But—it's that, but it's more than that," he realized. "You stopped pushing me to do… anything. Everyone did. I know that you want to move on, but we're not moving. I'm not moving. And I couldn't sit still anymore. I'm sorry," he added in a softer voice. He hadn't meant to say all that. "I know you were trying to help."

"Don't be," she said after a long pause. "The best of intentions are useless if they do nothing but harm. After everything you've already done, I just wanted you to be safe and happy, but… maybe that's not what you want anymore. You're a hero now, right?” For all that she was trying to sound cheerful, Link knew her better than that. "We can talk more in the morning, Link. You really do need your rest."

Zelda stood, sighing lightly as she stretched, and Link settled back against his pillow. He was exhausted, he realized, his short burst of energy expended, but he couldn’t let himself succumb to it yet. Not with Ghirahim still on Skyloft.

“I need a new sword,” he mumbled, and heard a soft choking sound coming from Zelda that he didn’t understand until she spoke.

“Demise’s sword?” she said incredulously, and Link’s eyebrows shot up into his hair. He’d been thinking ruefully of the abandoned Academy sword. “Link, it’s… even without Ghirahim inside it, it’s evil. Surely you can feel it?”

“Yeah,” he said, shuddering as a murky memory resurfaced for the first time of dark power churning up the hilt through his hands—the opposite of calling on a skyward strike, if such a thing existed. What was that? “I know. It’s too big, anyway.”

She hummed in response, and Link raised an eyebrow, recognizing the note of thoughtfulness in her voice.

“...What?”

“Hmm? Oh.” She laughed dismissively. “It’s probably nothing. It just occurred to me that Demise's sword might be one of the only swords left in existence that could withstand the Sacred Flames. I wonder..."

Link blinked, and understood. The flames created by the three goddesses as they left the world they created had transformed his sword together from the Goddess Sword into the Master Sword, strengthening the blade and changing the shape of it in the process.

"It's possible that this sword could be salvaged," Zelda murmured. "Any normal blade would crumble beneath their power, but this one here… well, it wouldn’t make another Master Sword, but those flames might be enough to purge it of Demise’s taint, and maybe even shape it for your hands.” She laughed again. “Something to consider in the morning, I think. You can hardly keep your eyes open now.”

It was true, he thought, blinking heavily. Maybe that was why it took a few seconds for the true import of her words to sink in, though when they did, he froze.

“Is Demise’s sword still here?”

“Oh! Yes, it’s on your desk.” His breath caught as he heard the heavy scrape of metal on wood, as if she was shifting it around. “I’m sorry, I should have let you know so you can be careful with it in the morning. My father said he promised not to take it from you, but I didn’t feel comfortable leaving you alone with it until I knew for certain whether Ghirahim… but I suppose it really is just an empty sword now. Would you like me to take it away?”

“No!” Link bit his lip, hoping he hadn’t spoken up too quickly, or too urgently. It was hard to tell with his heart pounding like a drum in his ears. “No, don’t worry about it. It’s fine where it is for now.”

“If you’re sure…” Light fingers brushed at his bangs, and he felt the soft touch of lips against his forehead. “I’ll take this tray back to the kitchen for you. Sleep well, Link. I'll see you in the morning.”

He barely heard the sound of her footsteps as she walked away, though the light click as his door slid shut had an awful sort of finality about it. Then, there was… nothing. Fledge’s grunts from the other room had finally stopped, but his snores had not yet started, and for once, not even the slightest breeze whistled through his wooden shutters. The night air was absolute and terrible in its silence.

Finally, so softly that on some other night Link might have doubted its existence, he heard the faint sound of laughter, and let out a shaky breath.

If you wanted to be pushed off cliffs, sky child, you should have told me, Ghirahim whispered in his ear. I would have obliged.

Metallic chimes seemed to split the air, though Link knew in reality that the sound couldn’t have carried beyond his room, and his whole body tensed in alarm as a foreign weight appeared at the foot of his bed.

“What are you—”

“Shhhh.” A cool finger pressed against Link’s lips, and he went quiet, glaring balefully. “Let’s not spoil all your beautiful attempts at deception so soon, hmm? There must have been a reason for them.”

There must have, though Link struggled to remember it now. His breathing quickened as he considered what in his room could possibly be used as a weapon if the need arose, dismissing everything but the sword on his desk. Even if Link could reach it in time, could Ghirahim be harmed by his own sword?

“Do you know, Link,” Ghirahim murmured, his weight on the bed shifting as he leaned in closer, and Link’s eyes widened as that cool finger moved to trace lightly around his lips in slowly expanding circles. What was he doing? “For somebody who fought almost tooth and nail to take me with you, now that we’re here you don’t seem all that happy about it.”

“Not here,” Link whispered harshly, mindful this time of his own volume. However badly he’d screwed this up, having somebody come barging in now would only make things exponentially worse. “I didn’t mean to take you here. You don’t belong in Skyloft.”

“Perhaps not.” His wandering finger traveled up along the bridge of Link’s nose, as dismissive of Link’s personal space as ever, and Link still couldn’t find the words to tell him to stop—as if mere words would stop him. “Would you like to be somewhere else? I can take us anywhere you want to go.”

Link didn’t respond. He could remember the last time he’d felt like this as clearly as if the muggy forest air still surrounded him, insects buzzing at a low hum in the distance, and he clenched a fist against his sheets to remind himself that it was a pillow he rested against now, and not tree bark. Fear and uncertainty and anticipation clouded his thoughts, making it difficult to pick through them for any clear objective. He felt… he felt…

Alive.

Eventually, the demon sighed, withdrawing his finger, and Link had just enough control over himself not to protest the loss, though he still blinked as if coming out of a trance.

“I wonder if I should even tell you,” Ghirahim muttered. “There’s no reason you need to know. For all intents and purposes, I could live on untethered now… for as long as you live, at least.” He laughed, short and without humor. “Incentive for keeping you alive, I suppose. Who would have thought?”

“What are you talking about?” Link demanded—softly—attempting to sit up, but a palm placed against his chest held him in place. “Tell me what?”

“Hmmm…” Again, Link had the uncomfortable feeling that he was being examined, but this time Ghirahim laughed, and he thought he’d come up short. “The goddess was right about one thing, I think. You need to sleep. You’ll be useless to me otherwise.”

“What? Not while you—” His eyelids felt heavy, the hand against his chest cool and strangely soothing. Suddenly suspicious, Link slid sideways from beneath Ghirahim’s touch to face the wall, but the demonic fingers followed him doggedly, tracing up and down his spine. “Not while you’re on Skyloft. I have to get you…” He bit his fist to hold back a yawn, his jaw nearly cracking with the effort.

“I promise not to harm you or any of your kind as you sleep,” Ghirahim said softly. “Not even the spirit maiden… not tonight, at least. Blood once spilled is tricky to put back, and I’d rather not burn my bridges until I’ve decided…”

His voice blurred into nonsense in Link’s ears, the tension leaking out of his back despite himself at Ghirahim’s persistent touch. It was ridiculous to feel comforted by any promise the demon made, as if he wouldn’t break it in an instant, but… 

Link lost the thread of his thought, and after another moment, wondered what he’d been thinking about.

“Don’t…”

“Sleep, Link.” The words were a siren’s call, impossible to resist. “Sleep, master.”

Reluctantly, Link slept, and didn’t think to question what he’d been called. In that mindless haze of fitful dreams, both names felt right.

Chapter Text

Though Ghirahim had never considered Link as one who cared much for luxuries, he still thought that perhaps the goddess’s chosen hero might have merited his own bedroom.

Not that Link had much in the way of possessions to fill up his small space. It had taken Ghirahim only minutes to rifle silently through them all, though they’d revealed little more than a magpie-like habit of collecting feathers and pine cones and other useless treasures, and an unexpected propensity for carving wood. Still, the thin partition that divided the room’s two occupants didn’t even reach the ceiling, offering only the barest nod towards privacy while doing nothing to muffle sound from either side. Were it not for his promise, Ghirahim might have been tempted to strangle whoever would not stop that ceaseless, high-pitched snoring.

Now, sprawled across the room's only chair, he fiddled with a carved wooden flower, turning it mindlessly in his hands as Link slept. His jagged sword glinted dully in the moonlight beside him, incongruous among the brightly painted carvings scattered around it. After long years sleeping within cold metal, Ghirahim was constantly distracted by the smallest sensations: his gloved fingers curling around the delicately carved wood, or the smooth sweep of hair that brushed his cheek each time he turned his head. Idly, he allowed one of his long gloves to vanish, raising his pale hand to admire its pearlescent glow in the dim moonlight. At a thought, inky black stained the tips of his fingers and seeped down, spreading in spiraling diamonds until it halted midarm. A beautiful sight, and oddly reassuring in its familiarity, though he still couldn't shake the thought that something about him had changed. He had searched for a mirror among the boy’s sparse possessions, but come up empty-handed—predictably, in hindsight. What use would Link have for such things?

The hero turned over in his bed with a groan as if sensing the demon’s thoughts, and Ghirahim abandoned the carved flower in favor of examining a small wooden bird. Link had not slept easily all night, something that Ghirahim might have attributed to his own presence if the shadows under Link’s eyes had not told another story. How long had it been for Link since his victory? Months, perhaps? Surely not years, despite his sallow features. For Ghirahim, of course, it had been years beyond counting… though in his state of injured exhaustion he’d barely noticed their passing. Even now, no matter how he racked his mind, Ghirahim couldn’t recall how he’d ended up on that desolate mountain peak in the first place. Had Demise used his last breath to banish his most devoted servant to atone for their battle lost?

His face darkened at the thought, the wooden bird creaking dangerously in his grip. As if the price for that failure was his to pay. Ghirahim had succeeded in his quest to revive the Demon King, with the goddess subdued and only a blind human child left for him to defeat. If Demise couldn’t handle even that, then maybe he’d never deserved Ghirahim’s devotion in the first place.

Not that the demon lord himself had fared much better. His eyes narrowed in thought as he watched Link, still squirming in his bed. The goddess’s chosen hero was so easy to discount sometimes, like when he shook beneath Ghirahim’s fingertips, but with a sword and the will to fight he became an unrelenting beast. Maybe it was not unfathomable that such a creature should wield him. Maybe…

His shoulders shook with silent, bitter laughter. Pointless fantasies. Ghirahim’s sword would never be more than a sharp club in the hands of someone with Link’s stature—not unless they completed whatever sword-mangling ritual the spirit maiden had suggested, he supposed, a prospect too ridiculous to give more than a moment’s scornful thought. Still, there had been something so satisfying about watching Link lie to his goddess on Ghirahim’s behalf—to that very same goddess who had so thoroughly commanded his loyalty once that he threw himself into danger time and time again for her. A part of him was tempted to push it, to see just how far away from his goddess the hero might be tempted this time… but no.

No, there was only one path forward that made any sense. Demise had called forth the sword from inside him on his revival: a more convenient form for him to wield, though it stunted Ghirahim’s freedom in the process. Perhaps Link could be persuaded to… put it back. With the sword sheathed inside him again, Ghirahim could go wherever he liked, putting Demise and Hylia and their tiresome feud behind him. He could hardly obey his newest master’s orders if he wasn't around to hear them, after all. He would be free… but to do what? After so much time spent above ground, the land of demons held little appeal for him now. Should he spend his years in pursuit of a vengeance he felt no true passion for, when the one he had served so devotedly had so utterly failed him in the end? 

With an irritated huff, Ghirahim sank further in his seat, and was distracted by the graceful sight of his own leg kicking leisurely over the arm of the chair. Always before, his master had given him purpose and direction. Now he was adrift.

"No!"

Ghirahim was jolted from his thoughts by a hoarse shout. Glancing over, he saw that Link's entire form had gone rigid, blue eyes blown wide with panic. What dream had caught him now, to force words from his lips?

"No, don’t… don't want…" He was gasping now, writhing beneath his blanket with his eyes squeezed shut. Ghirahim watched him moan with determined dispassion. It was ludicrous to consider allowing any human to wield his blade, even this one. Especially this one. Although…

Unbidden, the memory of Link carving his way through hordes of bokoblins to reach him resurfaced, and his tongue darted out to run across his lips as he imagined Link's hands wrapped around his own hilt, delivering death in the dance he had grown so skilled at already in his short lifetime. That brief moment of ecstasy when Demise had finally wielded his blade still haunted him, his only reward and not nearly enough in the end.

Link would never have the sheer power of Demise, of course, but his strength did not lie in brute force. The way his fearless determination propelled him past obstacles that would have felled more powerful men… that was the beauty of Link. Ghirahim ran a finger along the pattern of feathers etched into the wooden bird in his hands, considering. Perhaps he could take all that raw ability and sculpt it into something elegant, something worthy of his sword. Then maybe… 

Link shuddered, tears gathering in his eyes to stream down his cheeks, and abruptly the room surged with Ghirahim's fury. He should never have allowed himself to grow so attached, but it still would not be nearly so difficult to admit even to himself what he wanted if Link did not insist on flaunting his appalling ignorance at every turn. Link should have claimed the sword as his right after defeating its master. Ghirahim could have respected him for that. Instead, he had fallen from the sky like the natural disaster he was, claiming the sword unintentionally as if it was some—some trinket that any child could pick up off the ground, and nearly gotten himself killed in the process. This man had vanquished Demise, the very source of all darkness, yet now he displayed his weakness carelessly. How could Ghirahim ever be bound to somebody so vulnerable? So human ?

"I'm sorry," Link whispered, curling in on himself. The demon's anger left in a rush, and he laughed dully.

"It’s not your fault," he said, tossing aside the now-splintered bird with a rueful grimace. Link couldn’t help his mortal failings, but Ghirahim was tired of being forced to learn humility from a child.

Link froze as if some part of those words had penetrated. Fumbling a hand from beneath his blankets, he reached towards Ghirahim’s voice, fingers outstretched.

"Alive?" he breathed, arm trembling with desperate effort.

Ghirahim considered him for a long moment before his last spark of resistance died and he returned the gesture tiredly, clasping Link's hand within his own black fingers.

"Alive," he said, and Link relaxed, his hand slipping away as he fell back asleep with an expression of relief.

For all of his musings, Ghirahim had so far failed to take into consideration what Link might do—a dreadful mistake, as he had already learned. Happy heroes did not risk their lives attempting to bring back fallen foes. Maybe Link felt the loss of purpose as keenly as Ghirahim himself… which meant, ironically, that they might be most suited to help each other. Fate would not have tied them up again like this without a reason.

Humans lived such short lives in the end. Would it be worth the cost to keep Link within reach for whatever remained of his?

The room grew steadily brighter, the bare walls shifting from shadowy violet to a warm, painted blue. At last, the high-pitched snores from the other side of the room ceased, the wooden ceiling creaking above as the building’s inhabitants awoke to begin the day’s preparations, although so far Link showed no indication of joining them. Mouth slack above an inelegant stain of moisture where he had drooled against his pillow, Link appeared more than capable of dozing on for hours more… though to his misfortune, that was a luxury that Ghirahim had no intention of granting.

Leaning in towards him, Ghirahim prodded lightly at Link’s shoulder. Link’s face scrunched up in a mutinous scowl, and a soft, incredulous smile quirked the corners of Ghirahim’s lips as the boy turned aside, grumpily determined to ignore him. 

“Don’t be like that, Link,” he sang softly. “It’s time to get up.” The lump that was Link only curled in tighter, and oh, he would have preferred his wielder to have some greater sense of decorum, of course, but there was still a wonderful dichotomy to the thought that the hero could be sometimes so fierce, yet at other times so unguarded. “Rise and greet the day, sky child.”

Link’s eyes snapped open.

“Don’t touch me!” he yelped, sitting up so quickly that Ghirahim’s hand was knocked aside. “You—what are you—“ Link scrubbed his hands furiously against his eyes as if to force his mind to a level of alertness that it clearly wasn’t accustomed to reaching so soon after waking. Then his breath caught. “ Zelda. ” Swinging his legs over the bed, Link attempted to rise. “We have to leave, now. I should never have brought you—“

A wave of dizziness overtook him, and he sat down hard, the bed creaking sharply beneath his weight. Shaking his head, he gripped the wooden bedframe beneath his mattress for support.

“I should never have brought you—”

“Link?” a high, uncertain voice called from across the divided room, and Link froze in the middle of a second, ill-advised attempt to stand. “Are you… okay in there?”

Link’s eyes widened with abrupt panic.

“I’m fine!” he called out quickly, as if he thought Ghirahim might try to beat him to it. He must have known how wildly unconvincing he sounded, because he paused to clear his throat, managing a much milder tone as he added, “Sorry, it was just… just a nightmare, is all.”

“Oh,” the other boy mumbled, clearly regretting speaking. “Sorry, I should have… Sorry.” He shuffled around on his side of the room for another few moments before a door creaked open and shut, and his footsteps faded down the hallway outside.

Even after he vanished, Link said nothing. Sitting motionless on the edge of his bed with his blue eyes fixed blankly on the ground in front of him, he appeared utterly recovered from the loud panic that had gripped him upon waking… or perhaps not. Ghirahim grinned inwardly—and then outwardly, as it made little difference—noticing the telltale quiver to Link’s ears that said he was straining to catch some proof of Ghirahim’s continued presence outside of what might have been his own sleepy imagination. Obligingly, he fell back against the chair again with a sharp, wooden creak, delighting in the way Link’s ears twitched . Still, neither of them spoke. 

Eventually, Ghirahim’s silent patience was rewarded. Link's stiff posture softened, and he picked absently at the edge of his blankets. Then he opened his mouth.

“I should never have brought you—“

“Enough,” Ghirahim snapped, annoyed by the stubborn repetition. “I begin to see how you got on with your old sword so well.” Link started, but said nothing as he continued. “I brought you here, as you’ve clearly forgotten, though in the end it matters little. I am here now either way, and not according to my own plans. The least you could do is tell me why.”

Link swallowed, a subtle clench and release of his throat, and his fists tightened convulsively in his lap.

“Perhaps it was an easier decision to rescue me when you thought me safely trapped within my sword?” Ghirahim continued shrewdly, eyes narrowed.

Before Link could respond, his wooden shutters burst open, and an enormous violet bird thrust its head through the small window. Neither of them reacted as it spat a letter from its beak into Link’s face and withdrew again with a rude caw—Ghirahim, because he could not imagine an appropriate reaction to such an improbable occurrence, and Link because, apparently, this strange ritual was too mundane to warrant one. Slowly, as if conscious of Ghirahim’s eyes on him, Link felt along the sheets for where the thick paper had fallen, breaking the seal easily with his thumb.

“Shall I read it to you?” Ghirahim offered dryly, and Link shot him a dirty look as he unfolded it, setting it in his lap and running both hands carefully along the letter’s top edge. Ghirahim’s interest piqued as he noticed that the paper’s inner surface, devoid of any ink, instead contained a series of indented marks poked through from the other side that Link felt with the pads of his fingers, inching down line by line. Writing, perhaps, but meant to be felt rather than seen? It certainly meant something to Link, who frowned as he reached the message’s end, starting again from the beginning and feeling each mark deliberately.

“She didn’t even—” Link started to mutter under his breath, then cut off, something tentatively hopeful blossoming across his face. “You… you really didn’t hurt her?”

“The spirit maiden?” Ghirahim surmised, rolling his eyes. There was only one her that concerned Link, as far as Ghirahim had ever observed. “I said I would not. Do you think I go stomping on every worm that crawls across my path?”

Link’s expression was a picture, torn between relief and offense.

“You… saved my life, too,” he said uncertainly, as if the fact had only just occurred to him. Ghirahim favored him with a smirk.

“I fear you are forming an inaccurate portrait of who I am,” he hummed. “I’ve saved you once before, boy, or don’t you recall? Old habits die hard, nothing more.” A pointed reminder of their time together on Eldin, and one that he had hoped would rile Link up at once—a furious Link was quite often a talkative one, in his experience. Instead… 

“Thank you,” Link said quietly, and Ghirahim immediately stiffened, his own fists clenching as Link’s relaxed. He was not some dog awaiting his master’s praise, yet he couldn’t help but remember how Demise had given him so much less for so much more.

“ Don’t mention it,” he growled.

Maybe Link had read too much into waking up to a town not in flames, because as Ghirahim sat there suppressing what was really an overblown reaction to such a simple statement of gratitude, Link grew bold enough to stand. Skirting around where he knew his chair (and Ghirahim) to be, he tossed the letter onto his desk, either not noticing or not caring when Ghirahim slipped it deftly aside with a brief flash of diamonds for more detailed perusal later. His hand stretched out further, pushing aside flowers and birds and mushroom caps until it met the serrated edge of Ghirahim’s sword, and his breath caught.

“Last night…” Link’s fingers dragged carefully up the face of the blade, skipping over the jeweled pommel before settling on the hilt with a sigh, and Ghirahim tensed. Surely Link couldn’t have sensed that… “I heard you call me ‘master.’”

No, he hadn’t sensed it. Ghirahim had simply been a fool with his tongue, carelessly certain that the boy was too far gone to even hear him then, much less remember.

“Have your ears abandoned you along with your eyes?” he asked scornfully, leaning back against the chair and snatching up another carving at random. How many times must he be reminded not to underestimate Link? “I’ve called you many things, sky child. What makes you think I would call you that?”

“I heard it,” Link said flatly, unimpressed. His eyes narrowed in thought, and he gripped the hilt suddenly in both hands, hefting the heavy sword up so that the blade pointed towards the ceiling. Link’s thin, corded muscles strained beneath its weight. “...Is it because I picked up your sword?”

Ghirahim, very briefly, saw red.

“No, you foolish whelp, it is not because you picked up my sword,” he hissed venomously. “Do you suppose that I debase myself for everyone who picks up my sword?” Startled, Link stepped back, his position switching to something defensive as Ghirahim continued to rant. “The ritual for claiming that weapon is simple enough, I suppose, though hardly the sort of thing most people would stumble into: your own blood spilled on the sword willingly, and another's taken by force. Even then, the strength required would kill most of your kind—but you, who killed the King of Darkness, and claimed the Triforce of Power…”

Ghirahim let the words hang in the air, his sudden rage ebbing despite himself. Link’s face had grown distant, flickering with strange, half-formed expressions as if whatever memories Ghirahim had dredged up were not only vividly present, but playing out unwillingly through his mind. He didn’t react as Ghirahim rose to stand beside him, slipping gloved fingers over Link’s bare hands and guiding his grip so that the long sword rested point first against the ground. Its sharp tip sunk heavily through the room’s old floorboards. 

“Pleasant memories, I hope,” he whispered, and at last Link shivered, drawing a ragged breath. “Did you relish in my old master’s… demise?”

“Move,” Link said hoarsely, and Ghirahim obliged, shimmering thoughtfully back a few paces. It took Link a moment to recover from whatever had gripped him, repeatedly clenching his fists around the hilt he held as if to ground himself in reality, but eventually he cleared his throat.

“So… this sword…”

“Recognizes you as its master, yes,” Ghirahim finished. “As do I. Incidentally, when I said that we were bound by a thread of fate, I never expected you to go fashioning leashes out of it.”

At last, the look of expected horror flooded Link’s face as he understood. Releasing his grip on the hilt as if burned, he took a bracing step back. The sword quivered where he left it, lodged upright in the wood.

“That’s not what I…”

“Intended?” Ghirahim guessed, and Link scowled darkly.

“How do we break this?” he demanded—nothing half spoken about that, at least. With a dark smile, Ghirahim sauntered forward again.

“I suppose there is one way. You could always jump off one of your lovely little island’s cliffs. I’ll even push you, since you prefer it that way. Then, when you’re plummeting to the surface below, and the time comes to call your Loftwing…” His lips hovered over Link’s ear. “Don’t.”

Link jerked his head away, and Ghirahim growled. 

“Oh, no you don’t.” Gripping the back of Link’s hair, Ghirahim loomed in closer, tilting Link’s head back to examine the depths of his wide eyes. “You set this in motion, intentionally or not, and so you must deal with the consequences. Claiming my blade means more than just a pretty sword to wave around. It means me. ” His grip on Link’s hair tightened, and he grunted in protest. “My presence, my service. For the rest of your life, I will be your constant companion: a blessing beyond what most are privileged to experience, but perhaps more than you expected to find when you sought me out?”

Link’s hands crept between them, pushing against Ghirahim’s chest as if to shove him away, and Ghirahim smiled grimly.

“As I thought,” he said, ignoring Link’s feeble efforts to dislodge him, though his struggles slowed as Ghirahim continued. “Luckily for you, there is another way. If you’ve no desire to wield my blade, then you may as well return it to me. Take my sword and sheathe it. Here.”

With his free hand, he pressed Link’s palms further against his chest in demonstration. Link’s face furrowed up in confusion, then went slack with understanding.

“No!” Link snapped, jerking back so abruptly that he actually managed to tear himself free. Ghirahim let the few hairs that had parted Link’s scalp fall quietly from his hand as Link glared. “You can’t ask me to—I don’t want—I’m not going to kill you!”

Ghirahim stared at him impassively. Then he threw back his head, wild laughter erupting out of him that he couldn’t possibly hope to contain despite Link’s desperate hiss for him to be quiet .

“You couldn’t have come to that conclusion earlier?” he choked out, falling back against Link’s tousled bedsheets with a dramatic flounce. Something bounced off the foot of the bed at the impact—another of those wooden carvings, did Link do anything else with his time these days?—and Ghirahim scooped it up, still chortling. “Fear not, dear master. If I fall before my time, it will not be of my own choosing. More likely, I will outlive you by centuries at least, if not millennia.” 

Something about that thought sobered him enough that his peals of laughter died down, though small aftershocks still shook through him. Link’s face had gone red, no doubt realizing how unlikely it was that Ghirahim would request such a thing, and he cleared his throat.

“So that will, um, that will break the bond, then?”

“No,” Ghirahim said, with a cursory glance at the newest carving in his hand. This one was rough and unpainted—a work in progress, perhaps. “Functionally, though, it would stretch it. My mast— Demise removed the sword from me to wield; you would only be putting it back. I am bound to always remain near it, but at least when it is a part of me, I can carry it where I wish. Return my sword, and you can return to life as you know it. Meanwhile, I’ll be free to skip away and never darken your doorstep…” He faded off, utterly derailed from his own words as he realized exactly what it was he held. The details of the little figure were rushed but recognizable, right down to the diamond earring. Ghirahim ran an unthinking finger along its curved mouth—his own mouth, committed to wood by Link himself.

Link didn’t notice his distraction, nor did he show any relief for what was really a quite fortuitous solution to his problem. He bit his lip, scrubbed his hands together, placed them hesitantly on the sword’s hilt, bit his lip again.

“If that’s what you want,” he said, though still he made no effort to pull it out. “I mean… there’s not really any other option, is there?”

Ghirahim said nothing, watching Link intently.

“I mean,” he continued, and Ghirahim couldn’t have said who he was trying to convince at that point. “I can’t even use this sword the way it is. Not unless…” He stopped again, his tongue weighed down by that heavy unless. Even Ghirahim could feel it, thick and unspoken in the air. 

“What did the goddess say to you in her letter?” Ghirahim asked, and Link blinked at the sudden shift.

“Zelda?” he said, emphasizing the name, and Ghirahim rolled his eyes at the distinction. She and the goddess were one and the same, whatever Link wanted to think. “Umm… that she hopes I got some sleep for on—” He cut off, flushing. “That… that she’s waiting for me on the surface. That she thinks we should take care of your sword sooner rather than later.” Hesitating, he added, “I don’t think she means the sacred flames.”

“The volcano, then,” Ghirahim said dryly. “What a lovely prospect.” He couldn’t say for certain whether the depths of Eldin would destroy his sword, but it would certainly deter him from finding a new master for a very, very long time. After his earlier outburst, though, Ghirahim doubted that Link would be amenable to the idea.

Sure enough, his face hardened.

“That won’t happen,” Link promised, renewing his grip on the sword. “If we get this taken care of now, I can tell Zelda later that—” Again, he paused, and this time suspicion flared in his eyes. “What… what will you do when you’re free?”

What, indeed? Ghirahim thought. What, aside from haunt Link’s life unnoticed, when he could instead be intimately involved in all its delicious details? To be the sword with which Link gained his final mastery—to take him in some manner from the goddess to whom he had once pledged himself with such frustrating dedication, whose grip on him was clearly slipping in the aftermath—all of that was more appealing than any alternative course of action Ghirahim could think of.

It was those sacred flames that gave him pause. He had been aware of the changes that underwent Link’s old blade as they happened, of course, though at the time he had not known what caused them. Assuming that the flames worked for him the way the spirit maiden believed they might—so much to assume from a single, offhand comment—what divine weaponsmith would guide his own transformation? Moreover, suiting himself for Link’s hands was a deliberate turn from the master that had first forged him. Once the process was finished, Demise would never again see fit to—

But Demise would never wield his sword again either way. Looking from the small wooden figure of himself to Link’s hands draped loosely around his hilt, he made an abrupt decision.

“You won’t even ask me what I want in all this?” Ghirahim asked in mock offense, and Link’s eyes widened with a confusion that looked all too at home on him. “Truly, your presumption knows no bounds.”

“Well—wait,” Link stammered, taken aback. “I’d just assumed that—I mean, you said that—are you saying that you want—“

“What I want is what any sword would want,” Ghirahim interrupted him smoothly. “A master who will use me in battle as I'm meant to be used. That might be you, although a part of me fears that a carving knife is the blade most fit for your hands these days." Link's flinch said he'd struck a blow. "I will not alter myself to suit you only to end up as an unused ornament on your back."

“You should know better than anyone that I’ll fight where I’m needed,” Link said, his voice deceptively calm. The truth of his furious resentment rolled off him in waves, and Ghirahim’s lips curled in satisfaction. No, Link’s warrior spirit had not abandoned him yet. “I think I proved that already when I came looking for you. You might have saved my life, but I still got you out of that mountain. It could have been years before somebody else found you, if anyone ever did, and you haven’t thanked me for that.”

Ghirahim’s smile slipped sideways.

“It’s been years, boy, more than you can count,” he said coldly. Ignorant. Always so ignorant. Must Link have everything spelled out for him? “Or did you forget which side of the Gate of Time our battle took place on? You walked triumphant through that gate again when all was said and done. I did not.”

Link’s anger melted away, replaced by dawning realization. “I didn’t know—”

“Obviously,” Ghirahim said. “So you will understand why I refuse to waste my time further with a master who is not worthy of this blade.”

Link said nothing, guilt creeping across his expression as he stood struggling to comprehend exactly how much time must have passed. Still as soft-hearted as ever, it seemed. Even envisioning such a span of time must be impossible for someone who would not live a tenth of it.

“You really want me to keep your sword?” he said at last, looking vaguely stunned by the idea. “Last time we met, we tried to kill each other.”

Ghirahim hummed. “Yes, but you’ve already insisted quite strenuously how much you would like to avoid that outcome in the future. Anyway, neither of us managed it, so what does it matter, really?”

“‘What does it matter?’” Link repeated, running a hand through his hair that only stuck his disheveled bedhead out at even more improbable angles. “How can it not—after everything you tried to do, how can I…” He went silent for a moment, then asked plaintively, “What would I tell Zelda?”

Something inside Ghirahim twisted unpleasantly.

“Well, I’m not going to beg,” he snapped. “If you still allow the goddess to write your destiny, then you may as well enjoy this quiet life, because she will not give you another. It does look comfortable enough, I suppose, and if you could see those warm looks your Zelda gives you, you’d know that she’s hoping to start something a little more than friendly. Who am I to intrude, if that’s what you want? Of course, I would be bored to tears by it all, so you’ll forgive me for deciding that it’s best if we part ways.”

“Wait!” Link threw out a hand as if Ghirahim might vanish on the spot, his panic unmistakable. “I didn’t say no.”

“Oh?” Pushing himself off the bed, Ghirahim stalked forward to loom over him again, the wooden figure held tightly in his fist. To the hero’s credit, he stood his ground—or tried to, at least. “You didn’t say yes, either, and if we’re being honest with each other, I would prefer your ‘yes’ to be emphatic. I know my own worth, and will not be diminished by you.”

Link’s mouth was a tight line of indecision that only tightened as Ghirahim pushed against his chest, and he was forced to step back or fall over. It was coming back to Ghirahim now, all the most effective ways of dealing with Link. Theatrics were worth nothing without a bit of the physical to drive them home.

“Do you want to know what I think, though?” Ghirahim said softly, and Link grunted, forced to take another step back. “I think that your ‘yes’ is inevitable. I think a quiet life is no longer an option for you. I think you sought me out because you too are bored to tears by it all—and that you need me to break free as much as I needed you.”

“You—“ Link jolted as his next retreating backed him up against the room’s wooden divider. Pinned between the wall and the demon lord, he glared. “You don’t know me half as well as you think you do.”

“Hmmm,” Ghirahim smirked, leaning forward until their foreheads touched. “Maybe not… but I do recognize pining when I see it.”

Grasping Link’s hand, Ghirahim pressed the wooden carving against Link’s palm, curling his fingers over it. Feeling along the figure with his thumb, Link realized what it was and flushed crimson.

“Y-you—“

“Decide quickly, sky child,” he whispered, running a thumb almost tenderly down Link’s cheek and very nearly shivering himself. This was far more than a mere brush of his own hair, a more intimate touch than he’d felt in ages… but the sound of heavy footsteps approaching made him draw back with a smirk. “I don’t like to be kept waiting, even by someone as pretty as you.”

Link’s eyes flashed indignantly. There was a sharp rap at the door, and Ghirahim vanished back into his sword just as it swung open, the wooden carving sailing through the air that he had occupied bare moments prior as Link threw it at him.

“Good morning, Link—ho!” The large man stopped short, watching it hit the wall and bounce back onto Link’s bed. “Well, it’s good to see you on your feet, at least.”

“Headmaster Gaepora!” Link exclaimed weakly, the red lingering in his cheeks as he made a visible attempt to gather himself. His ears twitched again, and then relaxed when the new arrival made no exclamations over Ghirahim's presence. “What… what are you doing here?”

“Checking on you, of course. It’s been a long time since you caused us quite this much… excitement.” Stepping inside, his eyes swept curiously across the room, landing on Ghirahim’s sword where it stuck up from the floor with a frown. “I’ll admit that I’d hoped the necessity of such days had passed.”

“I’m fine,” Link muttered, practically fidgeting with discomfort as he approached. “It was nothing to get all worked up about. Barely even a fight, really.”

“Well, now. Perhaps it was not, at that.” Gaepora examined the sword intently, unaware that it examined him in turn. “I knew from the old texts that the hero chosen by the goddess would be responsible for averting a great apocalypse, although seeing this sword here certainly drives it all home. Zelda has explained to some extent the nature of the beast you fought, but still it is… a hard thing to imagine. Skyloft has always been a peaceful place, and it is clear just by looking at it that this weapon was forged for great violence.” 

Link grimaced, not seeming to notice as the headmaster’s scrutiny switched from the blade to Link himself. His impressive brow furrowed, and after a long, heavy pause, Gaepora sighed.

“Did I do you a great disservice, Link?”

Link blinked uncertainly. “What do you mean?”

“When I asked you to keep your journey secret all those months ago. I worried then that if the truth of how Zelda was taken that terrible night were to spread, it would cause mass confusion among the people of Skyloft. More than that, I suppose I feared that some might misguidedly attempt to strip you of the quest that you were quite clearly destined to fulfill. I do not think these were baseless worries, but…” Again he sighed. “Now that it’s all over and the need for secrecy has passed, it seems that nearly as few people know the truth of things as ever. If you dislike telling others yourself, I could—”

“It’s fine,” Link interjected forcefully. “I’m fine. I—I don’t think it would make much of a difference. Like you said, it’s… hard to imagine.” The headmaster said nothing in response, only watching Link with weary eyes, and Link shrugged uncomfortably. “Listen, Zelda’s waiting for me down on the surface, so I should probably get ready to go…”

“Ah! I nearly forgot that I had another purpose in finding you.” Shaking his head, Gaepora withdrew two neatly folded bundles of fabric, one white and one green. “No other knight in this Academy’s history has gone through quite as many uniforms as you have, but we did manage to save this one. My daughter asked me to return your sailcloth, as well. I believe she mended it yesterday as she sat beside you.”

“Thank you,” Link said as he took the bundles, surreptitiously raising the sailcloth to his face and inhaling. Ghirahim felt a flash of irritation at something he couldn’t quite place.

“She does mean well,” Gaepora said, clasping his hands behind his back. “I’m glad the two of you still have each other, at least… although I sometimes wonder if—”

Whatever he wondered was cut short as the door pushed open again, this time revealing a too-chipper boy in yellow bearing a heavy tray of food.

“G’morning, Link!” he said brightly. “Henya heard you were eating again, and now she wants you to eat the entire kitchen. Oh, hello, headmaster. Whoa!” Catching sight of Ghirahim’s sword, he stopped short. “ That’s what you brought back with you yesterday?”

“I’ll leave you to get ready,” Gaepora said, laying a hand briefly on Link’s shoulder. “Thank you for your help, Pipit. Link… I hope you found what you were looking for down there.” His meaningful tone said he didn’t mean anything quite as tangible as a blade.

Pipit nodded absently to the headmaster as he left, though his attention stayed fixed on the sword, the tray of food forgotten in his hands as he looked it up and down with a low whistle.

“Where did you find that?” he asked incredulously. “ How did you find it? That thing’s almost as tall as I am!”

“It’s… complicated,” Link mumbled, though he looked distracted. Thoughtfully so. Shaking his head, he cleared his throat. “You said you brought food?”

“Hmm?” Pipit leaned in closer, ignoring him. Ghirahim glared from within the sword, and maybe some part of his disapproval seeped through, because the boy stepped back with an abrupt shiver. “Uhhh yes! It looks like Henya gave you… well, the better question is what didn’t she give you…”

Keeping up a determined flow of chatter undeterred by Link’s short, preoccupied responses, Pipit pushed aside some space on the cluttered desk and set the tray down with a clatter, helping himself to a bright green fruit as Link wandered over with reluctant interest.

“You wouldn’t believe last night’s patrol,” he moaned, taking Link’s silence as an invitation to vent rather than a pointed hint for him to leave. “Keese diving in out of nowhere where there haven’t been Keese in ages—and if that wasn’t enough, I spent half the night prying Mia off of me! It hasn’t been like that in months!” He thumbed angrily across his cheek where three vivid red scratches stood out against his freckles.

Link stopped with a piece of dark bread halfway to his lips, surprised realization flickering across his face.

“It was probably just an off night,” he muttered, popping it into his mouth—a bit guiltily, unless Ghirahim missed his guess. “You scheduled for tonight, too?”

“Yeah,” Pipit sighed. “I mean, it all comes with the territory, right? Somebody has to keep this place safe, and I’m… happy to do it.” He shook himself, smiling firmly as if to lift his mood by determination alone. “I talked to Zelda on her way out this morning. Are you going down to meet her soon?”

Link finally managed to shake him—temporarily, at least—by mentioning the sword he’d lost on the surface. Pipit hurried off with a promise to get him another one from someone named Eagus, and Link closed the door behind him with a sigh.

“We need to talk,” he said under his breath. “Just stay in the sword for now while—“

But there was another knock at the door, and then another, a small but steady stream of curious well-wishers drawn by rumors of Link’s dramatic appearance the day before who would have kept Ghirahim confined to his sword in any case if he wanted to stay hidden—which for the moment he was content to do. Link managed to hold most of them off at the door with a few short words of assurance, though it still lengthened the already tedious process of getting ready, with all the layers of shirts and chainmail and gauntlets and boots his ridiculous uniform required. By the time Pipit returned, this time with a timid boy named Fledge tagging curiously after him, Link had started to look harried.

“I got you a sword!” he announced, walking in just as Link pushed the last circular indentation into a hurriedly written “note” of his own. Pushing aside his stylus and slate, Link pocketed the paper quietly, either ignoring or oblivious to Ghirahim’s fascination. “Eagus says it’s your last one, but I think we both know he’s lying. Still, maybe try not to lose it right away.”

“I’ll do my best,” Link promised dryly, accepting it with a nod of thanks, though if Ghirahim had possessed lips in this form, they would have curled at the inferior weapon.

Fledge was staring at Ghirahim's sword.

"Is that..." he began, reaching a hesitant hand out, and Ghirahim recognized the voice as the snoring boy from next door. The red gem on the hilt flashed in irritation, and Fledge withdrew the motion quickly. "Was that… Demise’s sword?"

A brief hush fell over the room at the name, and Pipit’s mouth formed a small ‘o’ of understanding.

“Yes,” Link said shortly, buckling his smaller sword across his chest, but neither of them took the hint.

“You didn’t tell me that, Link!” Pipit whistled, impressed anew. “He must have been a big fella.” Ghirahim very nearly came out of the sword at that, except that he couldn’t imagine any response to such an inane statement other than incoherent spluttering. Link coughed lightly into his hand—holding back a laugh?

“What are you going to do with it?” Fledge asked, and Link let out a quick laugh, tight and humorless.

“Right now, I’m taking it with me.” Frowning in thought, he added, “...Somehow.”

“I can help rig something up for you, if you want,” Fledge offered hesitantly. “Ummm… I mean, if it will… let me. I don’t know if it… wants me to?”

Pipit gave him a strange look, and Fledge blinked as if even he didn’t quite understand what he meant by that. Link’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“It will if it doesn’t want to be melted into a carving knife right now,” he muttered under his breath, too quiet for his friends to hear. Ghirahim relented, and would have raised an eyebrow if he’d had one when Fledge wrenched him almost easily from the wood. This strange, snoring boy had no idea what honor he’d just been granted, but at least he wasn’t utterly unworthy of it.

With a bit of creative belt work, they eventually managed to strap both swords to Link’s back beneath his shield, with a small arsenal of various other items wrapped around his waist and a wooden cane hooked at his belt. It had to be more weight than he was used to, but Link bore it all without complaining, setting his hat firmly over his head.

However, while Fledge let him go easily, mumbling something about flying and practice that nobody quite caught, there was a bit of extra weight that refused to be shed.

“You're sure you don't want me to come with you?" Pipit asked for the fifth time as he followed Link outside, approaching a wooden platform that dropped away abruptly into thin air. Despite their precarious position, Link's footing was sure, and he stopped before reaching the edge. "It's not a problem, I promise. I don’t mind."

"I don't need someone following me every second of the day,” Link said in exasperation, his patience clearly running thin. “I told you, I’ll be fine. Go take a nap or something.”

"Link, wait." Pipit caught hold of his shoulder before he could jump. "I'm sorry. It's my duty as a knight to protect those in need, but more than that, it's my duty as a friend to look out for you. I know you can take care of yourself—you’ve beaten me at sparring often enough to prove that—but that doesn't mean you have to."

"I… appreciate that," Link sighed. "But seriously, I’ll be fine. Zelda is literally right beneath our feet."

"Alright…" Looking unconvinced, Pipit clapped him on the back and stepped away. "Tell her I'll be down later today with Karane, then. She thinks she's found the perfect place to build, so we're going to go scope it out."

"...Of course," Link said, forcing a smile. "I meant what I said about sleeping, though. Don’t think I didn’t notice that all the stamina fruit went missing at breakfast today."

"I—I couldn’t possibly laze around like that!" Pipit stammered, sounding scandalized. "Although… a knight should keep himself in fighting shape, and I suppose that includes getting proper rest…"

Link was distracted, standing only inches from the platform's edge. Ghirahim himself could not have set it up better. Materializing behind Link, Ghirahim pushed him off the edge, laughing gleefully at the startled yell he let out as he fell.

"It's what he wanted," Ghirahim explained to an astonished Pipit before the growing distance of his sword forced him to dematerialize in a wave of diamonds, sending his consciousness back towards his blade.

Link was already whistling for his Loftwing, landing atop the bird with a grunt as the larger sword slammed against him.

“What were you thinking? ” he hissed frantically, throwing out a desperate thumbs up as if to reassure Pipit that everything was fine. “I thought the whole idea was for you to stay hidden!”

Your idea, maybe, Ghirahim said dismissively. I told you that I won’t wait forever, nor do I intend to remain your dirty little secret. All of which was true, if an afterthought. Such golden opportunities weren’t made to be ignored.

“You’re going to regret that,” Link muttered. “Pipit’s probably putting together a rescue party as we speak.” Still, Ghirahim thought he saw a very reluctant, very resigned smile tugging at the edge of Link’s mouth as he urged his bird downwards, and counted it as a victory.

The spirit maiden's bright aura glowed from beneath them, but after letting his Loftwing spiral slowly down towards her (for Pipit’s benefit perhaps, in case he was still watching), Link pulled his bird off course to lead it further into the forest, its bright red feathers skimming the tall treetops. He seemed to somehow know where they were going, edging the Loftwing further south as they flew, and Ghirahim felt a satisfied grin growing inside him as their destination quickly became clear.

The ancient cistern was set inside a cliff overlooking Lake Floria: a silent, looming testament to the heights of design and architecture the humans had once reached before Demise's war tore away their progress. Ghirahim had explored it to its grimy depths in his hunt for a way to revive his master—another life now, it seemed. There was something to be missed in the single-minded purpose of those days, though in reality that frenzied part of his mission had been anxious and interminably stressful.

Link’s Loftwing landed gently in the shallow pool that marked its entrance, and Ghirahim appeared in a cloud of lingering diamonds, staring up at it.

“Why are we here?” he asked as Link dismounted with a splash, though he was certain that he knew the answer. It couldn’t be mere coincidence that Ghirahim had found Link exploring this same cistern just before his sword had started to change.

Link ignored him for a moment in favor of pulling the note from his pocket, slipping it inside his Loftwing’s beak with a fond pat. 

“Zelda’s waiting for me at the temple,” he said softly, running a hand down its long neck as it preened under the attention. “Would you take this to her?”

The bird nuzzled him back, then took off with an enormous flap of wings that sprayed both of them with water. Ghirahim brushed it off as best he could, disgruntled, but Link only laughed.

“That should buy us a few hours,” he said, shaking water from his hair. Brow furrowing, he added, “Assuming Pipit didn’t go diving down to tell Zelda the second he saw you.”

Ghirahim raised an eyebrow, refusing to feel regret.

“Why are we here?” he repeated, this time with the hint of a threat in case Link thought to make him ask again, and Link grimaced.

“Because this is where I found the first sacred flame. That doesn’t mean I’ve decided,” he added irritably, correctly interpreting Ghirahim’s smug silence. “We still need to talk. I can’t just—just because I want something doesn’t mean I can endanger—”

A booming voice interrupted him.

"YOU!" it roared, filling the alcove, and Link's face fell.

"Oh," he muttered, his shoulders hunching up in dread. "I forgot about her. "

"How DARE you show your face here again, demon?"

The water surrounding them surged into a towering wall as an enormous blue dragon crested above it, glaring down at them. It was an admittedly impressive sight, and likely an alarming amount of noise to sort through on Link’s end.

"Ah, Faron!" Ghirahim said brightly, bowing low with a flourish that rid him of his red mantle. Best to be unencumbered in a fight. "Surely you're not still sore after our last encounter? It seems you're already back to full strength."

"Stand back, hero," the Water Dragon said coldly. "I swore to you that I would repay Ghirahim for what he did, and now I have the pleasure of fulfilling my word."

"If we must," Ghirahim said, materializing his saber and licking his lips with a grin, excited now despite himself. It had been too long since his last battle. "My blade has missed the salty tang of your blood." The Water Dragon bared her teeth at him, ready to strike.

"Ghirahim, stop!" Link shouted desperately, drawing his own sword, and abruptly he had no choice. Gritting his teeth, Ghirahim halted his attack, disappearing in a flurry of furious diamonds as Faron's teeth snapped the air where he had been. Whirling around, the Water Dragon halted, staring at Link with slitted eyes.

"Do you draw your sword on me, boy?" she asked with a hiss, and Link's eyes widened.

"N-no, of course not!" Obviously thinking fast, Link sank to one knee in the shallow water, grinding the tip of his sword into the ground in a formal bow. "Forgive us for not seeking you out before now. We are here at the direction of the... goddess. On a mission to cleanse Demise's sword." Ghirahim might have appreciated his improvisation more if he hadn’t been seething with repressed fury.

Faron's eyes narrowed further. "The goddess sent no word of it to me," she spat, glaring at Ghirahim as he reappeared to stand beside Link. "Surely he is on no such mission. Does Her Grace ally herself with demons now?"

"As she was regrettably unable to come herself, the goddess felt it would honor you the most to send her chosen hero as messenger," Link said, the words coming more smoothly now. "The demon lord Ghirahim is bound to the sword, and has agreed to aid me in this quest."

"Is that so?" Already she seemed mollified. The water towering above them sank down slowly, and the Water Dragon surveyed Link over templed claws as he rose to his feet, sheathing his sword. "Forgive my bluntness, but surely your time of usefulness to Her Grace has passed? Your infirmity must be insurmountable without the sword that once served as your guide."

Link's face went white, and he bowed his head.

"She somehow finds use for me still," he nearly growled, skirting the line of politeness, but with obvious effort he calmed his voice. "Ghirahim has agreed to guide me in her place for the time being."

Faron affected not to notice his lapse, staring levelly at Ghirahim.

"Is that so?" she asked, and Ghirahim spread his hands helplessly, not trusting his own voice. He disliked having to flatter this overly proud lizard, but it was no good trying to fight her when Link could stop him with a single word. "Ah. Ahaha!"

She laughed long and loud, curling up in the air. Ghirahim elected for a bored expression, though he couldn't stop his lips from tightening. Link just looked confused.

"The goddess has bound you to her will, hasn't she?" Faron said triumphantly, wiping away a tear. "Ahhh… what an ironic twist in your fate, demon. Much better than any revenge I could dream up, though I still might bite your head off one of these days. I suppose he takes his orders from you, hero?"

"He does," Link said, cautiously hopeful, and Ghirahim could see him deciding that some further demonstration was necessary. "Tell her, Ghirahim."

Ghirahim's smile should have frozen Link's heart.

"That I do," Ghirahim agreed with another bow. "The boy is lacking in so many ways compared to Demise, of course, but one master is much the same as another in the end." Link jerked indignantly.

"Indeed," Faron said with a false sympathy that set his teeth on edge. "Very well. I will trouble you no more. If the goddess sees fit to redeem that hunk of metal, I won't question it. However, be sure to keep your demon on a short leash, Link, or I will not hesitate to devour him."

Baring her sharp teeth, the Water Dragon left, spiraling away through the air until she was out of sight. Link let out a long, relieved breath, rubbing at his forehead before straightening his hat.

"I don’t think I’m supposed to dislike her, but…" Link muttered inaudibly under his breath for another moment, then sighed. "Well... thanks for playing along."

"By declawing me so handily, you did not give me much in the way of options," Ghirahim spat, acid dripping from his tongue. It was not Link's fault, exactly, but he needed a target for his rage and Faron herself was gone. "I suppose I should be grateful you did not force me to dance ."

"What are you talking about?" Link asked, taken aback by his sudden venom. "I didn't force you to do anything!"

It was too much. Colors shifted through the air as Ghirahim struggled to contain his fury, and he saw Link tense, saw him prepare to draw a sword as if he couldn't stop any attack with a simple command. Perhaps Ghirahim had not been entirely forthcoming with him, but still, one day Link was going to hang himself on his own ignorance. 

"Tell me, Link," Ghirahim ground out, "did Fi ever disobey your commands?"

The wariness did not leave Link's eyes, but now he looked confused as well. Ghirahim was starting to think it was his natural state of being.

"It… never really came up," he said, and Ghirahim rolled his eyes.

"Let me put it this way, then: do you think Demise would tolerate a weapon that might betray him at any time?"

"What are you saying?" Link asked, starting to look uneasy. Maybe he finally understood.

"Are you dense as well as blind?" Ghirahim snapped. "I do not call you master for no reason. I am quite literally at your command. A single word from you will rob me of the power to defend both you and myself, as you have already demonstrated—so do use them with care from now on."

“ What? ” Horror pulsed through Link so strongly it was a wonder he stayed standing. "I don't want that!"

“Are you sure?” Ghirahim asked, grinning bitterly. "It seems to me that it solves a lot of problems for you. I will attack who you want me to attack and defend who you want me to defend, and you needn’t worry anymore about it than that. I daresay you'll even grow to enjoy it soon enough… power corrupts, as they say."

"I… No." Link shook his head vigorously. "I don't care what you say, I'm not like Demise."

"You don't have to be," Ghirahim sighed. "The first few times might be accidental, just as today was. Oh, you'll apologize quickly enough, perhaps, but it won't change the fact that it happened. After that, it's only a matter of time before I cross some line you refuse to see crossed, and you’re forced to lay down the law. Somebody has to keep my violent tendencies in line, after all—who could fault your motivations? Eventually, what was once so repulsive to you will become justified, and then… commonplace."

Link stayed silent, his face stuck somewhere between disgust and fear. Truthfully, it was not the reaction Ghirahim had expected from him… not that it mattered, when events would unfold exactly as Ghirahim predicted they would.

"It's nothing to fret over," he said softly, unable to stop himself. "I have had centuries to grow used to it. I'll even help you along. Here." The demon appeared behind Link with a snap, grasping his arms in an iron grip. A dagger appeared, floating before Link to settle against his cheek, and Link spasmed against him as it drew slowly downwards, leaving behind a thin trail of blood.

"What are you—ah!"

"It hurts, doesn't it?" Ghirahim murmured, pressing his forehead against Link's head and breathing in the fear. "It's all under your control, though. Just say the word. Even you can't blame yourself for self defense."

"Ghira… hah," Link panted, face tight with pain as the dagger made its slow way down his cheek and along his neck, inching towards his collar bone. Blood dripped down his cheek to fall from his chin, making small red ripples in the shallow water beneath. "Ghira… d-don't…"

"Say it," he hissed, eyes burning, and Link's own eyes snapped open.

"Ghirahim, please!" he shouted, and the dagger halted in its tracks. "Please stop."

After a long, agonizing moment, the dagger vanished, and Ghirahim released Link's hands, stepping back wordlessly. He couldn't say what had made him stop. Link ran a thumb along the shallow cut to wipe away the blood, but only succeeded in smearing it. The injury was intentionally minor, little deeper than a paper cut. It might not even leave a scar.

"Maybe you're right," Link said. "Maybe that’s how it will happen. But it won't happen today." Slipping the wooden cane from its loop on his belt, Link squared his shoulders firmly. "Would you please lead the way? That... thing with Faron got me all turned around."

Ghirahim strode ahead of him, splashing through the water, and Link followed the sound of his movements, tapping along with his stick to feel out any obstacles. When the stone beneath him fell away and Link replaced his stick as if to start swimming, Ghirahim stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“You won’t make it far in the water with that sword on your back,” he muttered, transporting them in an instant to the broken steps leading towards the cistern's entrance. Link inhaled sharply, grasping Ghirahim’s arm for support, though he released it again just as fast. “There are advantages to having me as your weapon. You have put up with an inferior sword for too long.”

"You really want this, don’t you?" Link asked quietly, and Ghirahim rolled his eyes.

"Do you think I would offer to mutilate my sword for you if I did not?"

Link nodded thoughtfully, pulling his cane out once more to tentatively feel out the first step down.

“You know, it might not be so bad,” he said, his voice echoing in the enclosed space. “The Master Sword looked just fine once it was done.

Ghirahim watched as he slowly descended the steps leading down to the cistern. If nothing else, Link might just prove to be the most surprising master he ever served—and he would keep Link, one way or another. It was only a matter of time now.

"Forgive me," Ghirahim said, following after, "but I trust your judgment in such things least of all."

Chapter Text

Water streamed from Link’s clothes and dripped down his face as he descended the steps of the ancient cistern, marking his passage as it fell with small, barely audible plinks. He shivered in his damp clothes at the cool draft of air that rose to meet him, filling his lungs with the scent of sweet, purified water mixed with the heavier smell of old stone—not an unpleasant combination on its own, though the familiarity of it all made him grimace. He had never quite felt comfortable in this solemn structure even after clearing its upper levels of monsters. However calm and inviting it appeared on the surface, Link was always too aware of the evil buried within—a malice at odds with the cistern’s serenity, yet too deeply entrenched for Link’s efforts or sword to ever uproot it entirely.

Tracing the long, stinging line left by Ghirahim’s knife across his cheek with an absent finger, Link had the fleeting hope that not all evil was quite so firmly embedded. 

Still, he had already done the hard work of unlocking the way to the flame months earlier, which meant he had no need to confront that particular darkness today. All he had left was the long journey up, this time with Ghirahim as his guide.

What was he doing here?

"What are you doing?" Ghirahim asked, and Link jolted at the unexpected echo of his thoughts. Then he realized that he'd drawn his Academy-issued sword on instinct as he reached the foot of the steps, waiting for the dead metal in his hands to guide his way. 

"Nothing," he said stiffly, using the sword to feel ahead of him instead. He could hardly expect Ghirahim to slip seamlessly into old routines that he and Fi had taken months to build together, assuming the proud spirit even had the patience for such a thing. A new balance would have to be forged between them, one Link couldn’t even guess the shape of yet.

“For somebody so intent on talking things out earlier, you have remarkably little to say now that we’re here,” Ghirahim observed dryly, strolling after him with sharp, decisive footsteps. “We have all the privacy you could possibly want now. Was there some trivial thing left to discuss, or are you ready to finally abandon this farce of indecision and allow me to take us straight to the flame?”

Link opened his mouth to respond—and closed it again, heat rising in his cheeks when his thoughts refused to form into words. He wanted to retort that there was a lot for them to discuss, even aside from the broader questions of should we? and how could we? that Ghirahim seemed ready to handwave away. They couldn’t return to live on Skyloft after this, and not only because the thought of Ghirahim on his childhood home felt so foreign and baffling to him that he could hardly believe it had already happened. If Batreaux’s demonic energy had agitated the Remlits and brought the monsters to Skyloft before his transformation, it only made sense that Ghirahim’s presence had caused the same the night before. Skyloft didn’t deserve that, much less Pipit… though aside from hoping to spare his friend from more terrible night time patrols, the greater problem remained that Link still didn’t know just how far he could trust Ghirahim, really. Did one uneventful night spent among humans mean that everyone—that Zelda—would be safe from him forever? Link couldn’t possibly endanger everything he’d already worked so hard to protect just because he wanted—because he wanted…

Except that Ghirahim had already offered him the answer to all of that, which made discussing things… kind of pointless. He would not hurt anyone because Link would tell him not to. It was the perfect solution—foolproof, even—and Link hated that he would resort to it eventually, however much it turned his stomach. Maybe he could be pretty sure that Ghirahim no longer wanted him dead, but he couldn’t ask others to take on the risks he chose for himself. It didn’t help at all that Ghirahim seemed comfortably resigned to the situation, either. If anything, that almost made it wor—

A hand gripped Link’s shoulder just as his foot met the yawning abyss of air where stone should have been, and he lurched back against Ghirahim’s chest, realizing that he’d nearly walked right over the water’s edge. Mortified heat clawed its way up his face, and Ghirahim laughed softly.

“Are you so determined to throw yourself off of ledges?” he asked with amusement as Link jerked away, furiously berating himself for his distraction. Fi was not going to pop out and stop him. “Far be it from me to dissuade you from that goal, but there are perhaps more effective methods of crossing. For instance, you could hop across these lily pads like an overgrown frog as you did before—in that horrid outfit, you almost pass for one—but if you’d rather skip all that nonsense, I could take you across just as easily. Or even to the flame itself!” he added with a bright snap, as if he hadn’t just suggested the same thing not even a minute earlier. “You are no longer bound by inferior modes of travel, after all.”

Link frowned a bit, feeling petulant—what was wrong with his uniform?—but then the greater implication of Ghirahim’s words hit him.

“…You were watching me? Before?”

“Was I?” Ghirahim hummed in pretend thought, the long sound somehow so suggestive that Link felt his cheeks heat up. “I suppose I found it useful to keep an eye on your progress from time to time. Enjoyable, even… isn’t it lovely when work and pleasure align?”

His teasing voice hovered above Link’s ear as he leaned forward, but Link’s lips quirked incredulously as something else occurred to him.

“And you still never noticed that I was blind?”

Ghirahim withdrew so quickly Link felt the breeze of his departure.

“I think I’ll have you jump for me after all, sky child,” he said, voice shifting with a jangle of chimes to call from across the pool of water. “I still remember how your little signaling system works, so unless your reflexes have grown as poor as your sense of direction…?”

Jaw set, Link sheathed his sword again, readying himself.

True to his word, Ghirahim had remembered his part of the maneuver perfectly. A sharp chime rang in Link’s ear seconds before he jumped, and again as his foot hit the platform’s edge. A deeper steel compared to Fi’s gentle crystal, the sound reminded Link forcefully of that treacherous night on Eldin when Ghirahim had guided his steps before—and with no more warning than that, Link was there. He could feel the oppressive heat as he jumped, scorched skin protesting in pain as lava baked the air beneath him. Stumbling, Link coughed at the scent of remembered smoke, the lily pad shaking ominously under the added weight of Demise’s sword.

Lily pad?

Its tremors yanked Link back to the present. Breathlessly, he waited to be dumped into the water, but instead the large plant steadied. Ghirahim signaled him again to set his direction, and this time Link clung shakily to the grounding sensation of cool air on his skin as he jumped, determined to maintain his grip on reality even if he still lurched too quickly away from the edge when he landed.

It’s just water, Link reminded himself, straightening angrily. If he fell in, he would be wet, not dead.

Ghirahim lifted the stone door leading to the cistern’s heart before Link could reach it, laughing low in his throat.

“If I’d been treated to a display like that before, I might have known you were blind earlier,” he murmured to Link as he passed—and Link had to turn his head quickly, hoping to hide his unexpected grin. Though Ghirahim had clearly meant that as a jab, it was still evidence that for once, something Link said had wormed its way under his skin. With one grim exception, things were almost always the other way around.

The doorway took them through to the immense statue’s base, its elongated neck stretching up in a column of air above him. Once Link neared the top, the cistern’s fountains would carry him the rest of the way up. Until he reached that point, though…

“Stairs,” Ghirahim said distastefully, and with a snap and a sound like shattering glass his voice became distant. “I imagine you can make it this far without my careful guidance.”

Rolling his eyes, Link started the long spiral upward, step after dragging step. With Demise’s heavy sword strapped to his back, it didn’t take long for sweat to break out across his forehead, mingling with the water that still dripped from his hair. The straps of whatever Fledge had rigged up to hold it, though better than what he’d managed to make himself, still dug painfully into his shoulders under all that weight, and he paused every now and then to adjust them.

After a few more minutes of labored climbing, poorly concealed laughter echoed down from above Link, and he glowered upward.

“What now?”

“Oh, nothing,” Ghirahim said, and Link imagined him lounging languidly above him, watching him struggle. “Such pointless physical activity, though… you do know that you can ask for my help at any time?” Link said nothing, pulling himself up another step, and Ghirahim’s words turned incredulous. “You can’t possibly still claim to be undecided about wielding me.”

Link paused to catch his breath, panting as he leaned forward to steady himself against his knees and trying not to sway. He’d grown used to short bursts of exercise, but this kind of endurance was another matter. Maybe a few days of eating couldn’t quite make up for months of… not.

“How much further along could I lead you like this, do you think?” Ghirahim asked, intrigued now. “Will you plunge my blade into the sacred flame still professing that you’ve yet to make up your mind?”

“That’s enough!” Link said at last, glaring upward. “If you’re already so sick of leading me around, the least you could do is be quiet and let me think!”

His outburst was met with a long silence that made his skin itch, though he refused to shift under the weight of Ghirahim's unseen gaze. It didn’t help to know that he was right. Of course Link wouldn’t have brought him to the flame if he hadn’t expected on some level to use it—but wanting something and acting on it were two different things entirely, and the more he tried to gather his thoughts, the more they scattered outward in confused, worried spirals. What should he be doing? If he could just manage one moment of clarity to decide—

“Would it reassure you to know that I will never tire of leading you around?” Ghirahim asked, his dark voice reverberating as he materialized nearby to loom over Link. Link straightened quickly. “That the very prospect of having you constantly at my mercy sets my heart fluttering?”

“Not… really.” Link paused to swallow, his throat dry. “I didn’t think you had a heart.”

“Just an expression, sky child. Although…” Ghirahim placed a hand against Link’s chest, and even through his chainmail Link knew he could feel it pounding. He convinced himself that it was all from exertion. “There is no shame in wanting things, Link. Even if what you want is… me. Why else would you have sought me out?”

"I don't know!" Link exploded, pushing Ghirahim's arm away. To his surprise, the demon didn't resist. "Maybe I'm just crazy. It feels like it sometimes. You let go of the past so easily, like none of it even mattered, but I can't. It… it grabs me. It’s like one moment I'm here, and the next..." Link bit his lip to keep it all from pouring out, dismayed that he'd said as much as he had. Even that short admission was more than he'd ever told Zelda. To confide it all now in Ghirahim, of all people…

But then, the strange thought occurred to him, maybe nobody left alive could understand him better than the demon standing before him. Fi was beyond his reach now, and though the goddess had given him his quest to begin with, Zelda had never actually seen what that quest required. Groose… had been there for some of it, and even helped where he could, but he wasn’t really the type for confiding in. Only Ghirahim knew almost the full extent of what had happened on the surface, having caused most of it himself.

Not the best foundation for a partnership, Link thought dryly, but maybe it could be enough. Things might actually be different now, with Ghirahim free of Demise's influence. He had acted under the demon king's orders back then as surely as he now followed Link's. How much of what he’d done had been duty to his master, and how much directed by the demon lord himself? Could even Ghirahim separate the two?

Ghirahim, who had watched his internal deliberations in considering silence, now shot out his hands to grip Link's wrists. Before Link knew what was happening, his leather gloves had been stripped away and tossed unceremoniously to the ground.

"What are you…" His voice shuddered to a halt as smooth skin met his fingers so unexpectedly that he didn't even have the chance to fight it.

His heart thudded in his chest, part terror and part fascination, the sure knowledge that he could die at any moment tempered by wonder at the fact that he was still allowed to draw breath. The angles of the face beneath Link's fingers were strange and unknown, though each one burned itself in his memory as his hands moved down, mapping them out. Even the air weighed on him oppressively, heavy with moisture that beaded on Link's forehead and dripped down his face. Ghirahim's skin was cool and dry in comparison, unaffected by mundanities like heat and the weather, and so impossibly smooth. Link's fingers moved down, brushing unsmiling lips, and he paused at the sudden discrepancy. That mouth should be smiling, smirking, shouldn't it? Hadn't it?...

"That's enough." The voice was right, but the words were all wrong. "That's enough, Link. Breathe."

Link breathed deeply, one single inhale, and the world around him collapsed as cool air replaced the forest's muggy heat. Hands still held his wrists, and he tore himself free, shaking.

"Don't do that," Link panted. Ghirahim didn't have the right to… to… "Don't do that."

"Are those memories so unpleasant?" Ghirahim asked, and it took Link a moment to gather his thoughts enough to respond.

"It’s more than just remembering," he said. The sword on his back prevented him from sitting, so he lowered himself to his knees on the stone steps, head in his hands. The fear of that night still churned through his stomach—but it hadn’t all been fear, had it? Otherwise, the two of them wouldn’t be here to begin with. “Some are worse than others, but—but it doesn't matter. It shouldn't be happening at all."

"They come over you often, then," Ghirahim said, probing further with incomprehensible interest, and Link’s eyes flashed.

“You’re making it worse,” he growled, though his spark of irritation fled as quickly as it had flared, and he sighed in resignation. “It’s happened before, but worse since I found your sword.”

"Unsurprising, though hardly my fault," Ghirahim retorted. "I doubt that sitting in the sky carving flowers would provide the stimulation needed to trigger such a response."

"Maybe not," Link agreed cautiously after a moment. It made sense when he put it like that. "That’s—that’s worse, though, right? If it happened in the middle of a fight…" He imagined himself losing his grip during any of the crucial moments that always came up during battle, and felt a wave of helplessness roll over him. Zelda had been right to hold him back, even if she hadn't known why. Link was broken beyond repair. If Ghirahim hadn’t figured that out yet, he would soon. "This was a mistake. You should just—I’ll give you back your sword, and you can go wherever you want. It’s what we should do, anyway.” His eyes clenched shut. “I'm sorry."

Ghirahim scoffed from above him, an audible sound of disgust.

"Get up." Link didn't move, and Ghirahim nudged him roughly with his foot. "Get up, Link. You were never so quick to give up before, and I won’t forgive the insult if you admit defeat so easily now.”

Link stirred at that, half lifting his head incredulously.

“What?”

“I am more than capable of defending us both, should the need arise,” Ghirahim reminded him haughtily. “If it does, we will find a way to deal with it, as we will with whatever other little worries plague your mind. Now, get up. No master of mine belongs on his knees."

"We will?" Link said, rising slowly to his feet.

“Unless you think you’re better off handling things on your own,” Ghirahim drawled, and Link shook his head.

"No, I mean… why? I never expected you to tolerate weakness." Link’s mouth twisted bitterly around the word. “Why start now?”

“I see it less as weakness so much as scuffs on the blade,” Ghirahim said dismissively. “Easy enough to polish out with a bit of effort, I’m sure. Now, are you coming?”

Folding his arms, Link shook his head.

“Why?” he repeated, stubbornly unmoving, and at last Ghirahim sighed.

"You really will make me say it, won't you?" he muttered. "There are few competent swordsmen alive in this age. Very few. I will not allow the only masterful warrior I know of to slip through my fingers so easily." He growled in disgust at Link’s surprise, as if regretting his words already. "I should have known that would go to your head. The fountains are not much further. Move forward or back as you wish, but the option to remain where you are is quickly vanishing."

With a sound like irritated chimes, the demon disappeared, and some long-forgotten sense told him that Ghirahim had retreated inside the sword. Left alone, Link paused for only a moment before bending down to feel for his fallen gloves, pulling them over his hands slowly. That… was definitely not the reassuring comfort that Fi had always offered him, but strangely enough, it had worked. For the first time, the thought of partnering with Ghirahim actually seemed possible.

At last, he started climbing again—up, towards the flame. Ghirahim’s silent satisfaction was almost palpable, though Link couldn't stop a small grin from tugging at the corners of his own mouth. Masterful, was he?

Still, Link's smile had long since faded by the time the stairs came to an end, and he stopped gratefully at the sound of rushing water. Pulling out an empty bottle, Link filled it from the fountain and drank deeply between breaths. He wasn't looking forward to getting wet again just as he’d started to dry off, but for once Ghirahim didn't offer the easy way out.

Shall I guide you? he asked instead without bothering to emerge from the sword, and Link nodded with a weary sigh.

"Please."

Stepping into the geyser's flow, Link felt himself surge upward, water buffeting him from below as he struggled to remain upright. When he eventually reached the top, Ghirahim directed him towards the ledge with a chime noticeably gentler in tone than the one that had triggered such a drastic response earlier—something neither of them commented on. Groping for the stone surface, Link's feet met solid ground, and he staggered forward, barely keeping his balance. Straightening, he followed the curving wall to the next fountain to do it all over again, until finally Link stood in front of the entrance to the room where Koloktos—and Ghirahim—had once waited for him.

"We still don’t know whether the sacred flames will even work on your sword," Link warned, climbing the steps leading up to it slowly and shaking the water from his hair. Maybe it was that there had always been some larger foe to face at the end of exploring a dungeon or maybe it was just the realization that he had made it this far without meeting any opposition, but past experience insisted that things were never this easy. “I know Zelda thought they might, but she didn’t know about you.”

Let me worry about that, Ghirahim said as Link reached the top of the stairs. Once we reach it, I’ll have a better idea of—

Wrenching the stone door open, Link reeled back, gagging at the overpowering stench of rotting flesh. Then he heard the moans, and his enchanted shield leapt off his back in an instant, its holy light keeping the undead creatures at bay. Cursed Bokoblins were to be expected in the ancient cistern, but not in its upper levels. How had they wandered so far from the cistern's depths?

Would you look at that? Ghirahim perked up, sounding mildly interested. A bit of leftover magic from Koloktos left to fester, I should think. They aren’t much, but it seems we'll have some entertainment after all.

"How many of them are there?" Link asked warily, listening hard as the familiar rush of adrenaline surged through him.

Only about twenty or so, Ghirahim said, and Link bit his lip. Cursed Bokoblins were unarmed aside from the skeletal hands they used to choke the life from their prey, but they could still cause trouble in numbers—or when they all piled on the rope he was trying to climb. No need to look so gloomy, sky child, it's nothing that you can't handle. In fact, I think I’ll just stay right where I am and watch.

Link growled under his breath, though annoyance was half-hearted. How long had it been since he'd been trusted with anything even remotely dangerous? Tilting his head, Link picked out his first target carefully before moving in to strike. He hadn’t fought a real battle in months, and never without Fi—but if Ghirahim thought he could do it, he wasn't about to prove him wrong.

As expected, the shambling Bokoblins closed in on him at once in a great, groaning mass, and at first it was all Link could do just to keep them off his back. Knocking them over did nothing but buy him time as they continued to rise and attack, broken limbs dangling or missing entirely. Only when he managed a finishing blow to the heart would they stay down for good—but each Bokoblin defeated made the rest even easier, and soon enough Link was picking them off one by one.

Behind you, boy, behind you! A Bokoblin he'd failed to notice latched onto him, its fetid stench filling his nostrils as a numbing, skeletal hand wrapped painfully around his neck. Shuddering, Link swung his sword wildly to cut it down, stabbing its heart twice just to be sure. The Academy sword might not be as balanced or sharp as the Goddess Sword had been, but at least it got the job done. Much better. Pay attention next time, you deserved that. Don't stand there and scowl, keep moving! There's one to your right, are you deaf as well as blind?

Link could maybe have done without Ghirahim's particular form of encouragement, though he had to admit how effective it was in its own way. More off-putting was the hunger in Ghirahim’s voice that grew stronger with each foe Link struck down.

Now if only you were wielding my blade, and not that pathetic excuse for a knife … Ghirahim sighed almost dreamily as Link sank his sword into the final Bokoblin’s chest with a grimace. If having his constant commentary whispered in his ear would take some getting used to, at least for once the blood Ghirahim thirsted after didn’t belong to Link. Cursed Bokoblins make a rancid meal, of course, but beggars can’t be— His voice sharpened. Link, STOP!

At the sound of running footsteps, Link had whirled around on instinct, his blade darting out towards the unexpected foe. Chimes rang out as Ghirahim emerged faster than Link would have believed possible to catch his sword midstrike, its momentum halting so abruptly that he grunted.

"What are you doing?" Link asked in annoyance, yanking back his sword with his ears still pricked for further movement. Then he heard a small, familiar gasp, and the hilt slipped through numb fingers, clattering to the ground.

"Never drop your weapon, boy," Ghirahim said coolly, and Link heard the scrape of metal on stone as the demon bent to retrieve the fallen sword, pressing the hilt of it into Link's hand. Link wiped it on a nearby Bokoblin before sheathing it slowly. "Surely facing me in battle taught you that much, at least.”

"Zelda?" he said hesitantly, hoping he was wrong—and with a cry, she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. Link felt himself move to return the embrace, stroking her long hair and noticing distantly that it somehow felt perfectly dry. His own hair still dripped with water from the fountains.

"I'm sorry," Zelda whispered, shaking uncontrollably. "I didn't mean to… I’ve never seen you like…" She shuddered, and Link's grip on her tightened as the reality of what had almost happened sank in.

"You should have announced your presence," Ghirahim told her, cold disdain tightening his words, and Link wondered why he had saved her to begin with. "What did you expect him to do, recognize you?"

“So you are alive,” she breathed, ignoring the question and wrenching herself out of Link’s arms to face him warily. “I didn’t want to believe it, not even after—Link, are you okay?” She whirled towards him again, grasping his hands. “Are you hurt? Why are you just standing there?”

Swallowing back a spike of irritation—so now she wanted him to fight, did she?—Link patted her hands.

“It’s okay,” he said awkwardly, wondering how he could possibly explain all of this. None of it was how he’d hoped for her to find out at all. “This isn’t—I don’t know what this looks like, but he’s not here to hurt us.”

“What my newest master means to say is that he is in excellent hands. My hands.” Ghirahim said it with relish, clearly delighted to be the one to break the news, and Link winced as he felt Zelda go rigid. “As adorable as it is to see you charge to your hero’s rescue for once, such a noble gesture is clearly unnecessary. Does he seem unable to defend himself to you?”

“...Link?” Zelda said, stepping back carefully. “Would you care to explain what’s going on?”

The sudden note of suspicion made him cringe.

“Ghirahim, you’re not helping,” he muttered. “Could you— would you give us some space to—?”

“Some privacy, perhaps?” Ghirahim suggested as Link stumbled over his words. “Why master, you know that you only need to ask.”

Chimes echoed throughout the chamber, and Link wished desperately that he would stop caressing the word like that. He’d have a hard enough time salvaging things with Zelda as it was—though from the terse wall of silence on her end, he thought he’d better start trying quickly.

Biting his lip, he turned towards her. “Zelda—“

“‘Master?’” she bit out, that single word speaking volumes, and Link groaned.

“I didn’t know!” he exploded, scrubbing his hands furiously over his face. “I didn’t—Zelda, I swear I didn’t know until this morning.”

“That Ghirahim was still alive?” she asked shrewdly, and Link hesitated.

“Well… no,” he admitted. “I found that out yesterday.”

“Then what was all that you fed me last night about an ‘empty sword’?” Zelda hissed, and Link thought he might not mind if Ghirahim summoned Koloktos again if only to put off this moment. “What about the note you sent this morning to say that you were sleeping in? It’s one thing to keep secrets about what happened in the past, Link, but to bring Ghirahim back to Skyloft where he could do untold amounts of harm and then try to hide it—” 

“You know I didn’t bring him back to Skyloft with me on purpose, right?” Link cut in desperately. “I wasn’t thinking, and—“

“It’s more accurate to say that I brought you,” Ghirahim chimed in helpfully from much closer than Link had hoped for, and he growled in exasperation.

“More privacy than that!”

Ghirahim’s soft laughter rang from an abruptly more generous distance, and Link sighed—a long exhale of exhaustion that Zelda echoed.

“What is going on, Link?” she asked. At least she sounded more worried than angry now that Ghirahim had retreated, though on second thought Link couldn’t say which he preferred. “Whether you intended to bring Ghirahim to Skyloft or not, you still lied to me about finding him. If he… is he…” Link jumped as Zelda’s cool hand slid along his forehead, pushing his hat up for better access, and a strange sensation of warmth trickled through him. “He’s not… coercing you, is he?”

“What? No!” Jerking himself free, Link felt the odd warmth fade away. “It’s nothing like that!”

“Don’t dismiss the possibility,” Zelda told him seriously. “Ghirahim has a way of manipulating people’s weaknesses, Link. He can turn their minds, or their hearts. I was certain when I chose you that your spirit was strong enough to withstand his tricks, but if he’s tried them on you now…”

“No,” Link said, his throat suddenly dry. “No, I’m sure he hasn’t…”

This time when Zelda held a hand to his head he didn’t pull back, barely daring to breathe as his body filled with trickling warmth. Could Ghirahim really have done something to him? Link almost wished he had—at least then he’d have a reason for feeling the way he did—but some deeper certainty told him that whatever he felt was entirely his own.

Sure enough, when Zelda finally stepped back and the warmth faded away, her silence felt somehow dissatisfied, and the tightness eased from Link’s chest.

“I am sorry,” he offered. “I should have told you from the start, I know, but Ghirahim is my—” Enemy? Partner? “—responsibility. I wanted to decide how to deal with him before dragging anyone else into it.”

Zelda huffed irritably through her nose, still not placated.

“How exactly is this ‘dealing with’ him, then?” she asked. “Whatever you’re doing here, he’s hardly acting averse to it—and why come here of all places?”

“Well… you were the one who suggested the sacred flames,” Link said hesitantly. Zelda’s wordless response was beyond his ability to interpret, so he hurried on. “It’s like I said before, I didn’t mean to bond Demise’s sword. As long as it’s mine, though, I might as well—“

“Wait,” Zelda interrupted him. “‘Bond Demise’s sword’... you meant that literally?”

“Um… yes?” Link’s brow furrowed. “I told you it was an accident.”

“You didn’t just… pick it up off the ground or something,” Zelda said urgently. “You actually, ritually bonded Demise’s sword?”

“On accident,” Link emphasized, wanting to get that point across.

“On accident,” Zelda repeated, her voice shivering strangely. “Oh, Link… I thought that you’d—”

And without warning, she burst into laughter. Bewildered, Link offered a hesitant grin in return that widened with relief when Zelda threw her arms around him, giving him a hug that he didn’t understand but was more than happy to accept. How could that news possibly have made things better?

“You had me so worried!” she gasped. “On accident, Link, really? How? Ghirahim must have been furious!”

“He wasn’t thrilled,” Link admitted awkwardly, scratching his neck and wondering where exactly Ghirahim had tucked himself away. Doubting that he would stay quiet for much longer if he thought the two of them were laughing behind his back, Link cleared his throat. “But… it is what it is. I know you said the sacred flames might not work, but I’ll never be able to lift the sword otherwise, so we decided it was worth a try to…”

“Link, listen to me,” Zelda said, taking Link’s shoulders firmly in her grip. “Whatever Ghirahim’s told you about your bond, I doubt that he’s been completely honest with you. Did you know that he is magically bound to obey any order you give to him now?”

Link’s smile froze, dread clawing at the base of his throat as he realized at last what must have caused her shift in mood.

“Oh,” he managed to force out, and Zelda sighed, misinterpreting his response. 

“I thought so. What you and Fi had was more of a partnership, Link, so I can hardly fault you for not knowing it, but you can imagine how the balance of power Demise forged with his own sword would be much more one-sided. Nothing less than pure submission was ever admissible to him—though it works to our advantage now,” she added, grimly triumphant. “His sword may be bonded to you, but there’s no reason you have to keep it. If we word things just right, we can send Ghirahim back to the demon realm where he belongs with the assurance that he will never harm another human again.” She actually clapped her hands, delighted to have found such a simple solution to their problem. “Everything can finally go back to normal!”

That nameless dread sank lower, wrapping icy limbs around Link’s heart. 

“Back to normal,” he echoed. Back to sparring in the morning, and flying in the evening, and other knights who walked on tiptoes around him and a mind full of clouds, and—he couldn’t do it. Not now that he’d remembered what it felt like to actually—

Zelda’s hand against his cheek brought him back to the present.

“Better than normal,” she amended softly. “Things will be different this time, I promise. We’ve tied up every loose end now.” Her hand wandered up the tip of his ear. “There’s nothing left from your journey to haunt you, Link. You can move on.”

She was wrong. Link knew it instinctively, with the sudden light of clarity that had eluded him for so long. Ghirahim would never stop haunting him if he tried to sweep him into the shadows now, if only from the depths of his own mind—only this time there would be no finding him again, with his blindfold lost to the wind. As much as he wished she could keep that promise… 

“I still need a sword,” Link said gently, shaking his head to dislodge her. Maybe he really had known all along what he wanted, but only now did Link realize just how far he might be willing to go to keep it.

Zelda laughed, the truth behind his words flying right over her head.

“The one on your back doesn’t count?” she said, pushing his chest playfully. “Eagus would be insulted! If you hate the Academy swords so much, I’m sure you could convince Gondo to make you something better. He’d probably enjoy the challenge.”

“I need a guide,” Link insisted, and this time Zelda paused, continuing again cautiously as if some hint of his intent had sunk in.

“You know that I’m always happy to go to the surface with you—or Pipit or Groose would, or any of the knights, I’m sure. And…” Her hands strayed up towards his collar, smoothing it absently over his chest. “I won’t hold you back either, Link. Not anymore. I hope you know that I just wanted you to be safe—but if you’re just going to go seeking out danger whenever my back is turned, then I guess it’s not working very well.” She laughed weakly, and Link realized with mounting frustration that she still didn’t get it. The danger wasn’t the point, not exactly. “At least this way, I’ll know that you have someone to watch your back.“

“I need Ghirahim,” Link said firmly, deciding that it might be best to just say it—though it occurred to him at once that he might have worded it better. Zelda’s breath caught, painfully audible in the sudden silence, and Link backpedaled hastily. “I mean—what I mean is, I want…” He sighed, willing the right words to come. “I know why you’re so worried, but Ghirahim didn’t trick me into anything. He… he told me the truth already, about how the bond works between us. I thought about sending him away like you suggested, but…” Link spread his arms out helplessly. “He’s willing to be both sword and guide for me, Zelda. How can I pass that up?”

“Oh,” Zelda said after a moment, her fingers still stroking gently at his collar. “Oh, Link… Ghirahim may be a sword, but that doesn’t make him Fi.”

Link’s face twisted sourly.

“I know that,” he said. Nobody knew that better than he did. “It could still work out, though. You‘re right, he doesn’t belong on Skyloft, but—but you’ve been wanting to move to the surface anyway, so that’s a good thing, right? We can move down together. And it’s like you said before, I can make Ghirahim—” Grimacing, he changed what he was about to say. “I can make sure that nobody gets hurt.”

“Even yourself?” Zelda said softly, and Link’s confused expression froze as her finger traced delicately along the shallow line that Ghirahim’s knife had carved earlier.

“I…”

Zelda sighed, her palm flattening against Link’s chest. “Give me Demise’s sword.”

Link’s stomach swooped in alarm. Backing up hastily, he shook his head.

“No.”

“Think about this, Link,” she urged, though with a hint of resignation as if his reaction had confirmed the worst of her suspicions. With a start, Link lowered the hand that had raised defensively towards Ghirahim’s hilt. “What you’re saying doesn’t make sense. It’s not even been one day since you found that sword, and already you’re willing to completely uproot your life to keep it? I’ve been trying to convince you to move down to the surface for weeks.” She sounded hurt, moreso as she added, “Have you already forgotten everything Ghirahim has done to you? To us?”

“Of course I haven’t,” Link insisted, his voice pained. “It’s… I didn’t mean it like that, but… Ghirahim had orders from Demise back then. Maybe now that he’s free of that, things will be—”

“No,” Zelda interrupted him, the word resonating with clear certainty. “I don’t know what stories of remorse he’s spun for you, Link, but Ghirahim does not regret any of what Demise made him do. Given his nature, I’m quite certain he enjoyed every moment of it.”

Link bit his lip. She was right, of course, although Ghirahim had never professed any hint of repentance to make Link think otherwise—but more unnerving than that was Zelda’s shift in demeanor. He’d heard that almost divinely self-assured tone from her before whenever she spoke with the goddess’s knowledge, and it never failed to raise the hair on the back of his neck. Link had figured he’d have his hands full just trying to explain things to Zelda. Could he possibly convince the part of her that was Hylia, too?

“At least wait before deciding,” Zelda pressed, sensing an advantage. “That’s not too much to ask, right? Whether it’s Ghirahim’s doing or not, Link, you haven’t been well. You need more time to make the right decision.”

“The right decision, or one that you agree with?” he hedged, his heart thumping uncertainly. “Those aren’t always the same thing.”

“I never said they were,” she snapped—divinely frustrated now. “I don’t know why you’re treating me like the enemy here, Link. I’m only trying to help.”

“What if you don’t like what I decide?” Link insisted, needing to hear the answer—and none came. Instead, Zelda hesitated, the moment stretching unbroken between them, and abruptly Link realized that her silence was answer enough.

“Link—“

“No,” he said bitterly, the resentment he thought he’d buried again overwhelming him without warning. “No, do you know what? This is actually worse than everything the goddess ever asked me to do. At least she allowed me to make my own decisions.” Decisions that he’d been perfectly primed and placed to make, of course, but they’d always been his own. “All I wanted from you was your blessing, but apparently I haven’t even earned your trust!”

“Of course I trust you, you birdbrain!” Zelda shot back angrily, and either that was completely Zelda or Hylia had a lower opinion of him than he’d thought. “It’s Ghirahim I’m not so sure of! He has some ulterior motive here, I know it. If you would just stop being so stubborn—“

A sound from outside the chamber cut her off, and Link’s head tilted automatically towards it, the two of them listening intently. Footsteps, he decided after a moment… and voices?

“Pipit,” Zelda said, and Link inhaled sharply as a few explanations he’d forgotten to ask for slotted into place. Of course Pipit hadn’t been content to let Ghirahim’s appearance slide. “And Groose. I told them both to meet me here as quickly as they could. We thought you might be...”

He tensed up slowly, not liking the way her sentence trailed off. For all that she had demanded the sword of him, not asked, Zelda had still made no attempt to take it herself—because she wouldn’t, or because she thought she couldn’t? With Pipit and Groose to back her up, though… unrestrained, Ghirahim alone was still more than a match for all three of them, but Zelda had to know Link would never let it come to that. She had to at least be considering…

“You should tell them I’m fine.” Backing up slowly and drawing his cane—the sword might give the wrong impression—Link wondered again where Ghirahim had gone off to. Whatever Zelda intended, there was a good chance that Groose would charge Ghirahim on sight, and it couldn’t come to that. “We can talk again after… I came here to use the flame, so that’s what I’m going to do.”

“You’ve made up your mind?” Zelda asked as he turned away, and Link flushed at her soft tone of disappointment. Fallen from divine approval, then.

“Yeah.” Trying to shake the thought that he really had let her down, he started to raise his voice. “Ghira—“

He grunted as Zelda launched herself at his back, almost knocking him to the ground. Her hands grasped the largest of the two hilts sticking up over his shoulder, and everything seemed to happen at once.

“Pipit! Groose!” she shouted as Link struggled through his shock to break free, following his every twist and turn with grim determination. “Come quickly!”

The discordant jangle of chimes rang over her frantic words, and Link’s alarm notched up further.

“Unhand me,” Ghirahim hissed, returning in an instant from wherever he had gone. The sound of pounding boots echoed louder now. “Remove your detestable grip from my blade lest I break those pretty fingers one by—“

“Don’t hurt her!” Link yelled urgently, an electric jolt of fear surging through him as Zelda’s hands started to slip with a pained gasp and Groose let out a roar. “Don’t hurt any of them!”

Ghirahim growled something under his breath.

“Then who can I hurt?” he demanded, grasping Link by the shoulders as if to pull him away physically—but his words sounded wrong to Link’s ears, growing fainter as he spoke as if from across an ever receding distance, and his grip lacked the strength it should have held. Something was very wrong, Link realized anxiously as the enormous sword running the length of his back began to gather heat, burning slowly against him. What was Zelda doing?

“Stop that!” he said, renewing his efforts to pull away, though of course she ignored him.

“Pipit! Groose!”

Alarm ringing through him, not knowing what else to do, Link ducked forward sharply, and remembered too late that Ghirahim’s blade lay mostly bare across his back when he heard Zelda’s cry of pain. Even as his blood ran cold, Link bent down further, driving his heels into the ground for balance, and at last felt Zelda’s grip fall entirely from the hilt as she tumbled off his back.

“Link, no!”

“Ghirahim,” Link breathed, righting himself dizzily and backing away. The slap of boots on stone thundered towards him, mere paces away. “Are you—“

Cold fingers grasped his forearm, and the air closed in like a vice around him for what felt like ages but must have been less than a second. When the feeling passed, Link swayed on his feet. The echoing clamor of footsteps and shouts had vanished entirely, replaced by the soft crackle of flames and a blazing warmth more spiritual than physical that told him immediately where they were. The radiant peace of Farore’s Flame was light, playful—and entirely inappropriate.

“She tried to trap me in my sword!” Ghirahim seethed before Link could gather himself to ask, his voice harsh and panting. The air writhed and warped around them, the temperature trying to plummet as the flame’s warmth clashed with his fury. “That upstart vessel would have sealed me away like she sealed my master!”

“Is she hurt?” Link said sharply, clawing at the bands of leather and fabric that kept his two swords bound to his back. If he had managed to wound her, even by accident…

“A scratch is all,” Ghirahim snarled, though the air ceased its writhing as his fury lost its sharpest edge. “I should never have saved her ungrateful life earlier. I should have stayed my hand when she acted the fool, and let you cut her down where she—”

“Don’t talk about her like that!” Link snapped. Letting the Academy sword fall to the ground without thought, he set Ghirahim’s sword point first against the ground. Running his thumb along its jagged edge as quickly as he dared, his hurried search yielded… nothing. A few drops of something wet, maybe, but cool enough to have been water from the fountains. Nothing to indicate that he’d left Zelda to bleed out, or… 

“Was that an order, master?” Ghirahim said softly, and Link took in a wavering breath.

“Can you block the door?” he asked, wiping his thumb on his trousers. Act now, think later. The flame’s small chamber might have felt like a refuge, but any moment now Zelda could come barging in trying to rescue him, this time with Pipit and Groose at her heels.

Ghirahim laughed, a sinister sound that made Link nervous.

“Oh, I can do far more than that,” he hissed, and Link’s head jerked up.

“Wait—”

But Ghirahim was already gone, the sharp ring of chimes and rush of displaced air announcing the demon lord’s departure. Clamping his teeth against a wave of nausea, Link ran his hand again along the flat of the sword. Whatever Ghirahim had in mind, he couldn’t actually hurt anyone. Link had made sure of that much, at least. Maybe he should still follow after to make sure nothing happened… but turned around like he was, Ghirahim would probably be back before Link could even find the door. 

The flame crackled merrily nearby, mocking him with the possibility that all this effort could easily be for nothing if the flames didn’t work. Maybe Zelda had some idea of what the sacred flame might do to the sword with Ghirahim still inside, but if so, she’d kept those thoughts to herself. What if Ghirahim really had somehow twisted him towards this path? That night in the forest… 

Link scrubbed exhaustedly at his eyes with his forearm. No. No, Zelda had already checked, and found nothing. Like everything he had ever done for the goddess, this decision belonged to Link.

"There," Ghirahim said with satisfaction, appearing again nearby, and Link jumped. "That should keep them occupied."

"What did you do?" Link asked warily when Ghirahim didn’t elaborate. No matter how he strained his ears to listen, no hint of sound emerged from the other room.

"Nothing that should pose any real danger, assuming they don’t just wear those swords for decoration," Ghirahim said, the fabric of his cape swishing dismissively. "You disposed of the threat easily enough yourself."

Link’s shoulders fell wearily. More cursed Bokoblins, then—a loophole, he realized with a sigh. Ghirahim himself couldn’t hurt his friends, but the creatures he summoned…

“So this is the flame of Farore,” the demon lord murmured, his footsteps pacing the room, and Link reluctantly let it slide. At least it hadn’t been something worse. Three half-trained students could have handled those Bokoblins just fine, much less three knights. “The goddess of courage… how trite.”

“If this works, there’s no going back,” Link reminded him, hefting the sword by the hilt as he turned to face the flame. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“I could ask the same of you, Link.” Two fingers slipped beneath his chin to lift it up, and Link imagined Ghirahim studying his face intently. “No second thoughts? You didn’t know what you wanted when we arrived here earlier, yet now you defy the goddess in my defense.”

“Don’t make me change my mind,” Link muttered, a pang running through him. He wasn’t defying the goddess, or anything so dramatic. He and Zelda had fought before—though this time, Link couldn’t shake the thought that some bridge between them had burned. If Zelda never came around… 

Heated breath brushed over him, and it occurred to Link abruptly how close Ghirahim was. His previous thoughts scattered as he shivered, his heartbeat drumming loudly in his own ears. A small, curious part of him couldn’t help but wonder just how close they were. If Ghirahim leaned in any further, or if Link rose up to meet him, would they…

“How does this flame work, exactly?” Ghirahim asked, releasing his chin, and the moment passed as quickly as it had come.

“I…” Link blinked, trying to remember exactly how Fi had described it to him. This seemed like a bad time to admit that he didn’t know. “When I used it with Fi earlier, she… went inside the flames, I think? And then the flames shot out of her into the sword.”

“She entered Farore’s flame,” Ghirahim said, his voice flat. “As easily as that?”

“I think so.” Link swallowed, hoping he hadn’t forgotten any details. What if Fi had neglected to mention some essential part of the process? “Maybe you don’t have to do that, though. If we just—stick the sword in the fire or something—“

Link felt the rising darkness before he heard it, a dull noise rising in pitch and volume that swept upwards as it hit its peak. When it retreated and Ghirahim stepped away, his footsteps clanked.

"I am my sword," Ghirahim said in a voice like ringing metal that struck Link’s core with dreadful familiarity. “I highly doubt that it will work otherwise.”

Link bit his lip so hard he tasted blood.

"You're sure about this?" he asked again. Ghirahim probably knew more than he did about this kind of thing, but nothing good had ever come before of him taking that form.

"As certain as you are," Ghirahim said, pausing briefly as if Link might admit to feeling otherwise. When he said nothing, Ghirahim laughed low in his throat. "Ah, sky child. If only you didn’t need me so…"

And with a reverberating snap, Ghirahim entered the flame. Anxiously, Link waited, growing more tense with each passing second.

"Ghirahim?" he said, starting to panic when he got no response. What if they had misjudged the danger? Nothing had succeeded in killing Ghirahim so far—Link sometimes wondered if it was even possible—but old magic like this...

"Ready the sword," Ghirahim ground out painfully, and Link breathed a quick sigh of relief, holding it out. "The goddess’s power is… I feel it…"

His halting words dissolved into clenched screams, and flames hissed towards Link, shooting into the blade. Grunting under the impact, Link held it aloft as best he could, cringing more at Ghirahim's rising shriek than at the fire that flickered along the edge of his hands. It didn't burn him like normal flames would, biting instead at the darkness hidden away inside him. For Link it wasn’t much, but if Ghirahim was in the middle of that fire...

Abruptly, the flames ceased their assault, and Link held his breath as Ghirahim went quiet. The sword hummed in his hands, power coursing up and down its length. Then a shattering noise split the air as it changed, and all of his held breath rushed out of him in a long, relieved sigh. It had actually worked.

Link hefted the blade experimentally in his hands, marveling at the fact that he could do so. It wasn't as light as the Master Sword had been—he would still need two hands to use it effectively—but at least he stood a chance at wielding it now.

Ghirahim walked towards him slowly. His gait had the uneven sound of limping, but Link resisted the urge to ask if he was alright, knowing that the demon would not appreciate his sympathy. Instead, he held out the sword.

"How is it?" he asked. Ghirahim stopped, regarding the weapon silently.

"I should have known that I couldn't help but be beautiful," he said at last, and Link grinned.

"Not mutilated, then?"

"Not entirely, no." He paused. "It feels incomplete.”

Link shrugged, moving to sheathe it before remembering that it had none.

"There are still two flames to go." A rumbling crash from the adjoining room shook the ground beneath their feet, effectively shattering the moment. Link jumped, whirling around. "What was that? "

"Koloktos, no doubt," Ghirahim said, and the breath froze in Link’s chest. No… But he went on, remorseless. "He must be attacking the columns."

"You brought back Koloktos?" Link almost shrieked, panic forcing his voice up an octave. "I thought it was just the Bokoblins!"

Running towards the room as quickly as he dared, Link stopped short as his blade rammed against the wall, pressing himself against it to feel for the door. Zelda was in there, because of him. He should have gone back himself—should have forced Ghirahim to reveal what he’d done instead of making assumptions—should have… 

"Are you just going to stand there?" he yelled angrily when Ghirahim did nothing.

"I am… unable to move," Ghirahim admitted in a stiff voice, and Link realized that the flame must have taken even more out of him than he'd guessed. "You underestimate your little goddess’s strength against creatures of darkness. Your friends will be fine."

"If they're not," Link started to say hotly, but then the stone beneath his hands started to shift. Eyes widening, Link stumbled back. They must have defeated the mechanical guardian after all… which meant they were free to pursue Link again. The whiplash between those two thoughts could have made him laugh, or maybe cry.

"Holding them back would exhaust the rest of my strength," Ghirahim warned, and Link’s head jerked in a nod.

"Can you at least get us out of here?" he asked.

"I can.” Ghirahim paused, considering it. “Barely."

"Good." Link backed up enough to be within arm's reach of the demon, listening intently. "I just want to talk to them first."

"If you think it will help…” Ghirahim murmured dryly as the door finally swung open.

"Link!" Zelda's voice, ragged but still alive, made Link's knees go weak with relief. There was at least one other person with her, but he couldn't pick out who. Pipit, or Groose? Both?

"I see that you all survived, albeit a bit worse for wear," Ghirahim announced—for Link’s benefit, he knew, and felt a rush of relief. Though the demon's voice rang out with all its usual confidence, Link recognized it for the bluff it was. "I must admit, I expected more from you. Link managed to defeat that creature all on his own, you know. Perhaps you'd like to lecture him again on daring to venture out without your permission?"

"Wait, who are you?" Pipit demanded. "Link, what's happening? This isn't the same guy from before. That isn’t even the same sword."

"It is," Groose said grimly, and Link winced at the vicious snarl in his voice. If Groose had hated Ghirahim before, he thought that Koloktos might have pushed him further towards loathing. "He can change, and do all sorts of stuff. Don't take your eyes off him for a second."

"Ahhh, we have met before, haven't we?" Ghirahim murmured. "Still sporting that unfortunate hairstyle, I see."

"That’s enough!" Link said sharply as Groose growled, stepping forward. "Listen to me, please. We're not trying to hurt anyone."

"Oh yeah?" Groose snorted. "So he just summoned that creepy robot monster to attack us on accident, is that it?"

“Something like that,” Link muttered, hoping his expression conveyed to Ghirahim exactly how little that had helped.

Zelda, who had watched without speaking beyond her initial shout of relief, now raised her voice.

"Ghirahim must do as Link tells him to. I'm assuming you ordered him not to attack us directly, is that correct? Which is why he resorted to using Koloktos to hold us back. And… I can see that you managed to use the sacred flame." She took a deep breath. "So much of the goddesses’ power would weaken even the most powerful demon. My guess is that Ghirahim can barely stand."

"An intriguing theory," Ghirahim said softly, his voice a metallic hiss. “Would you care to test it?”

Unfortunately, it appeared that they would. When Ghirahim made no move to disprove it, the other knights stepped forward, emboldened, and it was all Link could do not to back away.

"I don't understand," Pipit said slowly. "If Link controls this… Ghirahim… then how is he being kidnapped?"

"I’m not," Link snapped, rounding on Zelda. "Is that what you told them? Zelda, you know that I’m not!"

"Ghirahim has his ways," Zelda said, ignoring Link. "Pipit, you saw him with the sword yesterday. You know how attached to it he was, even then. Groose, you've met Ghirahim before. He is dangerous, and the illusion of power gained from having any control over him at all just makes him more so." Her voice became soothing. "Please, Link. We don't want to fight you. We just want you to come home."

Link wanted to scream with frustration. The worst part was that her version made perfect sense. In no time at all, the rest of the knights would be hunting him down across the surface, as certain as Zelda that they were saving his life. He could hardly expect them to believe otherwise, after what they'd already seen Ghirahim do... and Zelda was the goddess.

"Link, she's right," Pipit said reluctantly. "I hate to say it, but you've been headed towards a breakdown ever since you came back with Zelda all those months ago. Let's all just take a minute to cool off, okay?"

Link heard him step forward again, and this time he did back up, crouching as if to flee though there was nowhere to go.

"Don't come any closer." It occurred to Link suddenly that he was still holding out the sword, and he pointed it quickly at the ground, trying to look as reasonable as possible. "Ghirahim saved Zelda's life today, you know. Did she tell you about that?"

"No offense, but we were so busy fighting for our lives just now that she didn't get the chance," Groose snorted. "Just listen to her, buddy. She has your best interests at heart. Anyway, aren't you supposed to be the goddess's chosen hero or something?"

That stung more than Link had expected it to.

"We won't take away your sword," Zelda told him, still in that soothing voice. "You're right, I shouldn't have tried to do that. Let's just all go back to Skyloft together, okay? We won't touch anything of yours without your permission."

Link straightened slowly.

"Do you promise?" he asked, and thought he could feel Ghirahim tense behind him.

"...Of course," she said, her hesitation clear, and with a sinking sensation, Link knew that he couldn't trust her to keep it. That stung, too—but Link imagined their situations reversed, and knew that he himself would break any promise just to keep her safe. How could he expect any less from her? "I promise. The two of us can talk, just like you wanted."

"You know that I love you, right?" 

Once the words were out of his mouth, Link almost wished them back. There were too many people around to hear, and he didn’t know how he meant it—but he wanted her to know before he left. He couldn’t let her think that… 

"I know you do, Link," she said gently, and he relaxed. "I love you, too. Now come."

Link shook his head. "Please don't try to follow me." A pointless attempt, but he had to try. "I'll come back when I'm done."

Zelda gasped, and Link didn't wait around to find out what else she had to say. He held out his hand, and Ghirahim grasped it, the world compressing in on them once more.

They landed in the shallow pool outside the cistern, Link's boots splashing in the thin layer of water, and he closed his eyes as the world spun, fear and adrenaline-fueled focus coursing through him. Lightning raised the hair on his neck, and he barely dodged in time as it came crashing down exactly where he'd stood—

"Come back to me, Link," Ghirahim said, a hand brushing his cheek. Link's eyes flew open with a gasp.

"Sorry," he said automatically, and Ghirahim breathed a weak laugh.

"You are… hopeless," he groaned. "The goddess was right, as much as it pains me to admit it. I may need to… rest in the sword for a bit. Will you make it on your own?"

"I'll be fine," Link told him roughly. "Do whatever you need to do. I have a plan."

Ghirahim laughed again, dissolving into the sword in Link's hand. The very prospect… terrifies me. He didn't mention what had happened in the cistern before fading away in Link’s mind. There was no time, and maybe no need.

Link whistled for his Loftwing, and felt its immediate concern as it landed nearby, alighting gently over the water.

"I need you to fly fast, okay?" Link murmured as he flung himself up, holding the safety harness in one hand and the sword in the other. He still had time before the others made it out—time before they got back to Skyloft and mobilized a search. A bit of time for what he had in mind, maybe. Not much.

Link found himself chuckling mirthlessly as they rose through the air, though if the wind pushed a thin stream of tears from his eyes, it always did that when he flew. Act now, think later, and pray that he wasn’t making a mistake. Too bad the goddess likely wasn’t favoring his prayers.

"Fly fast."

Chapter Text

Sparks flew from beneath Gondo's hammer as he gave the metal against his anvil one final strike, settling back to observe his handiwork with a satisfied swipe of his brow. He'd have to double-check his measurements, but that piece should fit where he needed it to, which meant this blasted thing should finally work. 

He’d first got the idea for it while building Scrapper. Poking around at all those screws and scraps had got him to thinking… well, if a machine as complex as a robot could exist, then why not something much simpler? The image of his mother hunched over piles of greasy clothing was as well-worn in his mind as the old washboard she still used to wash it all, grumbling all the while. He could never properly thank her for that, much less all the work it had taken to raise him by herself, but he could build her a “washing machine” so she never had to scrub another dirty apron again… or at least, he hoped he could. His first few prototypes hadn’t gone quite the way he’d planned, but assuming he’d worked out all the kinks, then this next one should—

"Gondo!"

With a start, Gondo glanced back sheepishly. He should have been minding the shop, but he could never resist tinkering when things got slow. To his surprise, Link stood at the counter for the first time in months, hands cupped around his mouth to make himself heard.

"Hey there, Link!" he boomed back, ambling over to help him. "Whatcha got for me today?" He wasn't sure that he believed all the stories floating around of what Link got up to on the surface—it would have been a lot to swallow even if the poor kid could see—but Link had brought a bunch of interesting stuff to his table in those strange months before the clouds cleared away. Gondo would never forget the day Link had pulled an ancient flower from his pouch as easily as if it hadn’t gone extinct centuries ago, single-handedly turning Scrapper from a lifelong dream project into reality. 

Today promised to be no different as Link laid a long black sword on the counter, the bazaar's muted light catching the faintly etched diamond pattern carved across the blade. Gondo's eyes lit up with interest.

"I need a way to carry this," Link said, gesturing to the weapon as if there could be any doubt of his meaning. "On my back. Something that lets me stow it away and draw it quickly."

"A sheath, eh?" Not the most stimulating work Link had ever brought him, but at least he'd get a chance to examine the blade. Gondo had dabbled a bit in swordsmithing, but he'd never managed to produce anything close to that quality. "For a sword that size, you're looking at about—"

"I need it in five minutes," Link interrupted him, dropping a handful of rupees on the counter beside the sword, and Gondo choked.

"Five minutes?! It doesn't matter how much you pay me, I'd need at least a day—"

He cut off. There was a silver rupee in that pile, shining innocuously amongst the blues, greens, and reds. If he'd been a money-grubber like Rupin he might have taken it, but thank Hylia he was better than that.

"You'd better check your wallet again, kid," he said gruffly. "That's too much money."

"Keep it," Link insisted, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. "It doesn't have to be pretty, it just has to work. Can you do it?"

"I…" Gondo rubbed his chin, considering the problem. It wouldn't cover the blade, but if he fastened a strap to the back of Link's leather harness and snapped it below the hilt… "I'll have to leave the blade bare, but I think I can do that."

"Great!" Link's face lit up, though his fingers still peeled from the flat face of the sword's blade with obvious reluctance. "I'll be back for it soon."

"What's the big hurry?" Gondo asked, already digging into the bin that held his leather supply. He hated to rush any project, even one this small, but he suspected Link might snap his head off if he tried to take his time.

"Monsters attacking the forest," Link said after a moment. "I just have a few errands to run and then I'm off. Four minutes now!" He slipped away before Gondo could say anything else, moving nimbly across the large tent with his cane to feel the way. 

Gondo shrugged, scooping up the pile of rupees before turning back to his work. It wasn’t his business, really, though he'd been half tempted to ask if Link was in any condition to be fighting monsters. He had that pinched, peaky look of someone who'd been sick a week or three, especially around the eyes… but then, if Link thought he could lug that giant sword into battle then who was Gondo to say otherwise? Monsters or not, he had half a mind to finally go poking around the surface himself if there was treasure like that to be found. Link had never earned all that money working for the Knight Academy.

Hefting the sword to measure beneath the hilt, Gondo paused, a frown creeping unnoticed over his face. Now that he had it to himself, he couldn't help but feel something… ominous about the weapon, beyond the danger of a normal sword. Something that made him uneasy. He wanted to laugh at himself for his own superstition—the people in town had often mocked him for being a bit of a dreamer—but holding this sword, he found laughter strangely out of reach. Five minutes suddenly felt like too long to keep it.

Grimacing, Gondo tried to brush the feeling off, though he couldn't quite keep from sending sideways glances at the thing while he worked. Maybe he wouldn't be setting foot on the surface anytime soon after all. Maybe some things really were best left to the knights.

Each second that passed felt longer than the one before, marked by the impossibly spaced out ticking of a clock in someone's storage compartment that Peatrice had started to suspect was broken, and she let out a long sigh of despair. On slow days like today (like every day, it seemed), she often tried to lose herself in fantasies to while away the time, but somehow today's daydream just would not come together like it should. Determined, she closed her eyes, envisioning the man who would someday come along and save her from this drudgery. He'd be strong and kind, with blue eyes and… no! No, blue was a boring color. She preferred green eyes, or the kind of warm brown that melted hearts. He would certainly not be blonde, either. Blonde hair was beyond overrated. Red hair, on the other hand… that was something she could get behind. Yes, red hair and brown eyes. He would be tall, too. Tall men made Peatrice all weak-kneed, so he would definitely have to be tall.

...On the other hand, short men weren't so bad. Short men with blonde hair and blue eyes, and a tender smile and...

A familiar green tunic caught her eye, and Peatrice scowled as the reason for all her troubles came walking towards her through the bazaar. He'd been hard enough to get over even when he stopped coming around the shop, but now he was back for the second time in as many days! This was just like before, when he'd first started visiting her booth over and over and over. Not many people used her services so often. What had he expected her to think aside from that he liked her?

He did not, though, as he'd already made abundantly clear. She could only take solace in the fact that at least nobody else had managed to snag him yet, either. Oh, Zelda obviously wanted to from the way she practically hung on him, and it wasn't as if he pushed her away either, but they definitely would have hooked up by now if he felt the same. She got a pang of guilty pleasure every time she thought about it, though she'd never admit it out loud. Zelda was nice enough and Peatrice didn't dislike her, but it helped to know that even pretty girls got rejected.

Still, she'd thought she might at least stand a chance with someone who couldn't tell the difference.

"Welcome to the Item Check," Peatrice drawled, as if sheer apathy could drive him away. "Dropping off… picking up… oh, you've been here before. What'll it be?"

"Picking up," Link said, and she noticed with satisfaction that he looked uncomfortable, as if he wanted nothing more than to run away. Did he feel guilty for the way he'd led her on? Let him. "I need my gust bellows, please."

"Whatever." Turning around to search through Link's storage compartment, Peatrice wished she didn't have even his belongings memorized by heart. Then again, his stuff was always more interesting than everyone else's run of the mill valuables. "You want anything else while you're here? Looks like you have a quiver… a slingshot… a harp…" Maybe she could head off another encounter by giving him the item now. Maybe if she started charging him more for storage space, he'd stop visiting her entirely.

Hands raised on the point of refusing, Link hesitated.

"I'll take the harp," he told her. "The rest can stay."

"Sure." With a grunt, Peatrice pushed the compartment back into place, setting the items down on the counter with a thud. "One harp, and one… whatever this thing is."

"A gust bellows," Link said, gathering his items and slipping them into one of the various pouches he wore. "It helps in the desert, you know? To get rid of sand."

"Anything else?" Peatrice asked wearily, deciding that even the depths of boredom were better than this terribly awkward small talk.

"No," he said after a short pause, and it came to Peatrice suddenly that he looked tired, too. Blood smudged his cheek—how had she failed to notice that?—and his sad blue eyes drew her in. "Thanks, Peatrice."

Watching Link walk hurriedly away, Peatrice forgot to even say goodbye, much less comment on men who didn't know what they were missing out on. She'd heard all the rumors in town saying that he'd saved Zelda, and… maybe something more, too?  Some people called him a hero, though he didn't seem like the type—too quiet, too short, and not nearly broad enough in the shoulders. Still, if he was… well, that helped in a way. Girls in the stories fell in love with heroes all the time, and that love often went unrequited. Yes, she liked this idea very much. There was no shame in falling in love with a hero, even if he never loved her back. Added a bit to the fantasy of the whole thing, really.

Still, she thought, boredom settling in once more, he didn't have to walk away quite so quickly. She couldn't have been as unpleasant as that.

Only when the knights burst into the bazaar tent not long after did Peatrice start to guess that maybe it wasn't her he'd been running from at all.

Fledge kicked glumly at the ground as he walked down the deserted path to the graveyard, trying not to look up at the sky where Loftwings and their riders soared above. He should be up there with them—he had a test on advanced aerial techniques coming up that he wasn't even close to prepared for—but after trying and failing all morning to get them right, he'd finally given up.

There was no good reason for it. If he fell off his Loftwing while flying, a single whistle would have him right back on again. Still, every time he caught sight of the ground halfway through a move, he just… froze. The clouds hadn't been so bad, unthreatening in their uniformity despite the fact that nobody knew what lay beneath. Now he knew exactly what they'd hidden—trees, stone, and the distant, unforgiving surface—and for reasons he couldn't explain, that knowledge paralyzed him. Who would have guessed that after years of flying without problem, he would suddenly find himself afraid of heights?

Fledge sighed. Just one more fear to heap on the towering pile. Things had mostly improved since Link started helping him train, and he often surprised people with his strength, but he couldn't see how to muscle his way through this one. Maybe he was just a coward at heart, no matter how much he wanted to be brave. No amount of push ups would ever fix that.

Somebody pushed past Fledge with a mumbled apology, but lost in his own thoughts, it took him a second to recognize the familiar figure.

"Link?"

Link stopped, spinning around.

"Oh, hey Fledge," he said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Nothing!" Fledge said quickly, grateful that Link couldn't see his cheeks go pink. So few people hung out at the graveyard that he'd been hoping he could practice without anyone watching him… though he supposed he still could, at that.

An idea came to him then, and he brightened.

"Hey, Link? I know you mastered those aerial techniques I've been working on ages ago, but if you're not too busy, I was wondering if you could help…"

The pained regret on Link's face made the answer clear even before he finished the question.

"I'm sorry, Fledge," he sighed. "I would if I could, but I really have to get going. Maybe… maybe when I get back?"

"Oh! No problem." Link did seem to be in a hurry, practically backing away even as they spoke. He'd just have to figure it out on his own. "Where are you headed?"

Link’s expression turned strangely measuring.

"Over to Eldin," he said at last. "I've got something left to do there. Actually, I hate to ask for a favor that I can't return, but…" Reaching around his back, Link removed the sheathed sword the Academy had lent him, holding it out in front of him. Fledge took it curiously. "Could you take this back to Eagus for me? I meant to do it myself, but I ran out of time, and he'll have my hide if I lose another one."

"Of course! But why are you…" For the first time, Fledge really noticed Link, along with the much larger sword still strapped to his back. "Is that… the same sword from this morning?" He felt silly as soon as he said it—this sword was just big, while the other was enormous—but then he saw the red gem on the hilt that he could swear had glared at him before. Its reflective light now muted, Fledge would almost have called the sword asleep, though that made no sense either.

"It is," Link confirmed, nodding. "I think… I have a new sword now." Quiet satisfaction filled his voice, and for just that second Link looked lighter than he had in ages. "You're sure you don't mind?"

"Of course," Fledge said again. "You, uh, you be careful down there." He still hadn't set foot on the volcano himself, though he'd heard enough fiery stories about the place to want to keep it that way. "Are you meeting up with another knight?"

Link's grimace made him wish he hadn't asked.

"No," he said shortly, making as if to continue down the path before suddenly turning back. "Listen, Fledge… I know this sounds weird, but Zelda's about to come through and tell everyone that I need saving, but she’s wrong. You have to believe me." He stared at Fledge pleadingly, his blue eyes gazing right through him. "I’m exactly where I want to be."

"Saving… from what?" Fledge asked, a slow foreboding settling over him. Something wasn’t right here, though he couldn’t yet say what. "Did you two get in a fight?"

"You could say that," Link muttered under his breath, and Fledge’s unease grew. Link and Zelda never fought—or at least, not like this. "I just wish I had one person who would take my word over… well, never mind. The goddess knows best, right?" Link's grin had turned lopsided now, even a bit desperate. "You'll take that to Eagus for me?"

"Shouldn’t you maybe stick around and… I don’t know, talk things out?" Fledge suggested, squinting past Link into the sky. "I think I see Zelda’s bird—"

Panic flickered across Link's face, and he backed up a few steps.

"No time!" he almost shouted, whirling back the way he'd been going. "I just… I'll talk to you later, okay?"

Watching Link hurry down the path with his cane stretched out ahead of him, Fledge turned slowly back towards the Academy, trying to convince himself that they really would talk again soon—at dinner, maybe. None of that conversation had made any sense, though. What was Link supposed to need saving from… or, not need saving from? The volcano, maybe? But why would any of that make him act so strange?

Brow furrowing, Fledge picked up the pace, all pretenses of continuing flight practice abandoned. That really was Zelda's bird, diving straight for the Knight Academy with what looked like Pipit and Groose following close behind. He had this sword to take back to Eagus anyway, so if he hurried, then maybe he could find out what exactly had happened between them. It couldn't be anything too serious, no matter what Link seemed to think. He and Zelda had been friends for so long now, it was hard to imagine one without the other—and Fledge was friends with them both.

From the back of his mind, that red gem still glinted.

Zelda listened quietly as Pipit relayed news of the search to her, seated in her father's office with Mia kneading contentedly at her feet. None of it was good.

"We've been sweeping the forest, but so far no luck." Pipit grimaced, rubbing absently at his shoulder. A red potion had cleared up the worst of the injuries they'd sustained fighting the mechanical beast Koloktos, but the memory of pain had remained long after the wound closed, as if the body healed faster than the mind. She resisted the urge to rub at her own ankle where a fallen column had pinned her. If Groose hadn't been there to pull it off… "We have a few people in the air and on the ground, but it's a big forest and he's wearing green." Pipit forced a laugh, though it came out too tired. "He'd be easy to miss even if the light was still good."

The light was no longer good with the sun almost touching the horizon. Soon the knights would have to pull out if they wanted to reach Skyloft before dark, leaving Link to brave the night alone. No, worse than that—Link was not alone, wherever he was. He had his old nemesis for company, alive and determined to steal her best friend away from her.

Zelda refused to give him up, not without a fight, but for the moment Ghirahim had the upper hand. Despite her initial confidence that they would track him down easily, the day had passed with… well, almost no sign of him. Link had definitely made it to Skyloft before moving on, with a different story for everyone he met. He'd fed Gondo some tale about Bokoblins in the forest, but promised Strich to keep an ear out for desert cicadas. Luv had sold him one of her new heat-resistance potions while he chattered on to her and her husband about exploring Eldin. Only Peatrice had refused to say anything other than that she'd seen him—according to a bemused Pipit, she had declared passionately that she would never betray her "darling" and that "unrequited love counts for something, after all"—but unless they really were involved in some secret love affair, Zelda had to think that whatever Link had told her was as useless as all the rest: false trails, laid to cover any hint of a real trail he might have left.

Under different circumstances, she might have laughed. Zelda wanted to both punch and hug Link, then never let him out of her sight again.

"Call everyone back," she said with a sigh, forcing her hands to relax their grip on the edge of her tunic. She'd thought for sure that Link would hide in the forest… but she couldn't ask anyone else to brave it at night without provisions or a place to sleep. "The others might have had more luck. Keep an eye on his Loftwing, though, just in case." Watching the crimson bird had proven fruitless so far, but Link still might call for his bird, or… or something.

Pipit nodded and, to her surprise, offered an awkward half-bow before he straightened and hurried out, looking embarrassed. That was something new. He must have seen Link do it in the temple the other day, likely not realizing how sarcastically he had meant it. It hurt less coming from Pipit—something about it even felt familiar—but it put a certain distance between them that hadn't existed before.

A part of Zelda mourned that, though maybe it was inevitable. Her mortal power was a candle compared to Hylia's flame, but she'd used enough of it against Koloktos to make clear that she had something… more to her now than the headmaster's daughter she'd been before.

"It seems that Link is trying very hard not to be found," her father said from behind her, and she glanced back to see him scratching at his trimmed mustache. He had allowed her to direct his knights in the search for Link, though more reluctantly than she'd expected.  "Have you considered that it might be best to allow him to finish this quest he's embarked on? I can't help but think that enforcing Link's safety has not worked well for you so far."

Zelda shook her head. No chance of too much deference from him.

"This is different, father. The demon in Link's sword has no reason to be aiding Link the way he is, and every reason to want revenge." He was right about the other, though. Would Link have felt restless enough to seek out Ghirahim in the first place if she hadn't sheltered him so thoroughly that he saw it as his only option? "I can't let him go free without understanding what he's after."

"You've said as much before, but—"

"Ghirahim is the one who sent the tornado to steal me from the sky in the first place," she said shortly, and his expression darkened.

"I see." He grimaced, and she knew she'd made her point. "Well, maybe the riders we sent to the mountain and the desert will have found something. Link is no fool, though. He knows all that as well as you."

"I never said he was," Zelda snapped, then took a deep breath. She didn't want obedience from those around her, no matter what Link accused her of. She just wished it was not so hard to convince others of the wisdom of her words sometimes. "Link is not a fool, but he is…" Sick. Vulnerable. "...Hurting. I don't want to see him taken advantage of."

"I know," her father sighed as he heaved himself to his feet, face softening with concern. "You've always had a special place in your heart for helping Link. I just hate to see the two of you make each other so miserable." He laid a heavy hand on her shoulder, and Zelda leaned in, wondering if she was too old to hold on to him and cry. Probably. "If the knights will be returning soon, then I have things I must do. Tell Pipit I'm relieving him of his patrol duties tonight. You all need some rest." 

He waited for her to nod in mute assent before placing a final kiss on her head, shuffling out the door and leaving her alone.

As usual, he'd seen straight to the heart of things. Zelda still couldn't understand how two people with such good intentions could have failed each other so completely, but they had. Link might have returned from his journey physically, but a part of him had not—the part that was quietly good-humored, with a ready, if often sleepy smile. Those smiles came small and infrequently now, his sleepy quiet turned to cold silences that stretched for hours, and she missed her friend so desperately sometimes that it ached. If he needed her to step back, to let him fight with the rest of the knights and say nothing… she could bite her lip and do it, and keep her worries close to her heart. But she couldn't watch him self-destruct at the hands of a demon who had already caused both of them so much pain. Link had to understand that, right?

The sun sank ever lower as she waited in taut silence, and one by one the search parties returned. Karane came from Lanayru Desert with a short, regretful shake of her head, and Fledge from Eldin with the same stunned expression he had worn when he first volunteered, as if even he couldn't believe his own nerve. Pipit slipped in behind them, his dragging shoulders saying more than enough. None of them had caught any sight of Link, although Groose intended to remain in the forest searching until he could no longer see his hand in front of his face. From the look in Pipit's eyes as he described it, she could almost pity Ghirahim if Groose managed to catch him vulnerable.

"Link will be okay, Zelda," Karane told her softly, and Zelda realized she was biting her lip, tears pooling in her eyes. "He's been through a lot. He can get through this."

"Of course." With a sharp sniff, she tilted her head back to keep the tears from falling. Zelda hated it sometimes, the pressure to be something beyond human, even if she imposed it on herself. "I'm sure he's perfectly safe in a tree somewhere. Knowing Link, he probably slept through the whole search."

That brought a few weak chuckles, at least.

"Let's make plans for tomorrow, then," Pipit said briskly, rubbing his hands together as if he could single-handedly lift the room's mood. "We can start the search again in the morning. If we divide the land into sections—"

"No," Zelda interrupted him, massaging her temples. "Ghirahim will not remain indisposed for much longer, if he still is. Wherever they are now, by tomorrow they'll be headed to Eldin or Lanayru. The question is which flame they seek out first, and whether we focus on only one or split our strength to guard them both."

"Are you sure we need to take the sword?" Fledge asked suddenly, and Zelda glanced up at him in surprise. Beyond his initial report, Fledge had barely said a word, though he'd insisted on being the one to scout out Eldin despite her initial objections. "Isn't there… I don't know…" He colored, avoiding everyone's gaze. "...Some other way?"

"I'm afraid there isn't," she said regretfully. Not anymore. She shouldn't have pushed so hard for the sword from the start. At least Link would be in Skyloft then, and not off on his own—and the sword would still be in reach. "It's too dangerous to let him keep it. You have to trust me on this."

"Oh." Fledge said in a small voice. "It's just… he seemed so happy." He flushed to his roots at the sharp look Pipit sent his way, but Zelda felt only sympathy. They all wanted that for Link, but this wasn't the way. She still couldn't fathom the strength of Link's reaction when she'd asked to have the sword—and Ghirahim…

Zelda shivered, remembering the furious light in the demon's eyes when she'd placed her hands on his hilt. Almost as disturbing as Link wanting to wield his sword had been realizing that Ghirahim desired it just as much, if not more. At least Link would get a sword and a guide out of their arrangement, albeit one so unpleasant that it couldn't possibly be worth it. What did Ghirahim hope to gain?

Mia hissed suddenly from beneath her, swatting at her feet, and Zelda raised an eyebrow.

"What's gotten into you tonight?" she murmured, shaking her head as she nudged the Remlit with one foot. Pipit eyed the animal warily, inching away.

"The flames, then," Karane said firmly. "Where are they exactly?"

"Din's flame is in the middle of the volcano, and Nayru's is on an invisible ship in the desert." Zelda smiled ruefully at the look on everyone's face. "They were not meant to be easy to find."

"Obviously," Pipit said. "We have our work cut out for us, but if Ghirahim can get around by snapping his fingers then Link will have no problem reaching either one."

"He won't make it out again so easily, though," Karane pointed out. "Not if this flame was any indication. If we can just get there while Ghirahim is still weakened, we might be able to rescue him… though even finding the flames sounds difficult. I'm not sure how Link managed it in the first place."

"Every ship is an invisible ship for him," Pipit muttered, and Karane slapped his shoulder.

"The Fire Sanctuary might pose a problem," Zelda mused… unless they could use Luv's new potion? Link had needed his Fireshield Earrings originally. "As for the other… well, the dragons were originally tasked with protecting the flames. I'm sure they'll agree to aid us if we ask."

"That just leaves us with Link," Fledge said softly. From the expression on everyone's face, they all saw no "just" about it, and she wished she could put their worries to rest. Link might do what he could to evade them, but he couldn't be so far gone that he'd attack them directly... could he?

Zelda flinched at the memory of Link's sword stopping inches from her face, Ghirahim's enigmatic stare pinning her down as if to let her know he regretted the necessity of saving her. No, that had been an accident. Link would never… not on purpose.

"He'll come around," she said wearily, her eyes falling shut. She had more still to do, details to figure out and assignments to make, but this day had exhausted her in every way possible. She needed to rest her eyes, just for a moment. Then she could get back to work.

The other knights lowered their voices so as not to disturb her as her head slipped further down, but she didn't notice.

She could hear Ghirahim's cold laugh of triumph echoing up from the depths of her imagination, his diamond magic flickering at the edge of her closed eyes. How had everything gone so wrong so quickly? Less than three nights ago she'd believed that Link had finally turned a corner. He still hadn't opened up to her, not entirely, but for the first time in weeks she'd had hope that he might. Then he had gone to Ghirahim instead, dashing that hope to pieces.

Maybe she'd made a mistake in forcing Link to choose between Ghirahim and herself, but she could never have imagined that events would play out the way they had. Ghirahim had hurt him. He had hurt them both. Zelda wanted to blame it on the seditious brand of magic the demon had been so fond of using in the ancient wars—she'd certainly told the other knights as much, a tiny white lie that did far more help than harm—but truthfully, the pieces didn't quite fit. In the old days, friend had drawn sword against friend at his whispered direction, attacking without provocation and abandoning goddess and kin, but Link was not so fully in Ghirahim's grasp. He had only wanted to run, not attack, and had attempted to keep Ghirahim from even hurting them. In the end, Link had not so much turned against her as towards the demon, and that didn't make any sense at all.

Her mind strayed back to the carving she had found the night before everything fell apart, sitting now on the desk in front of her. Even behind closed eyelids, its vague smirk mocked her spiraling worries. Zelda had seen the intense study Link gave the things he eventually carved into wood, his lower lip slipping between his teeth as he mapped out proportions and angles with his quick, observant hands. Link had held her own face that way that same night, mapping it out carefully with hands that turned from tentative to desperate as his face twisted with a harshness she had never seen there before. Logically, she knew what must have happened—some of it, at least—but her mind resisted putting the obvious pieces together. How had such an encounter ever occurred? Had Ghirahim hurt Link then?

…Maybe it hadn’t hurt?

Something still existed between them that she didn't understand, something so vivid and important that fate itself recognized its significance. Why had that thread of destiny not dissolved upon fighting their final battle? What more could tie them together? What did Ghirahim want?

"Zelda," Karane said softly, and Zelda jumped.

"I'm awake," she said, flushing. She couldn't fall asleep just yet. She had to reason her way through this, she had to plan.

"You shouldn't be," Karane told her, kind but firm. "There's plenty of time to figure this out in the morning. Go to bed, and I'll let you know if there's any news. I'm good for hours yet."

"Get off me!" Pipit shouted suddenly, and Zelda gasped, her mind summoning diamonds and laughter and crashing waves of pain… but it was only Mia, attached viciously to Pipit's leg as he leaped through the air to dislodge her. "I'm telling you, this thing has it out for me!"

"I'll put her out," Zelda sighed, pushing herself to her feet. Karane was right. She couldn't think like this. "Mia's not usually like this. It's just—" The words seized in her throat as the truth came to her like the sun through parted clouds. "Link is still in Skyloft."

The others stared at her.

"What?" Karane asked after a moment, exchanging a glance with Pipit and Fledge. "How can you be sure?"

"I'm sure." Relief made her laugh, ignoring the others' concern. She should have seen it before. The sheer audacity of sending them all on this wild chase while he sat back the whole time and relaxed was just like Link… but only one thing had ever made the Remlits turn like that. "We'll have to do this carefully, but I think I know where he is."

Understanding came quickly as she explained, and in no time at all they'd put together a plan. Zelda looked at her friends' faces, Pipit and Karane mirrored images of determination and Fledge apprehensive but resolved, and her heart swelled with hope. Ghirahim would not get the chance to hurt anyone else, and Link… would come around eventually. How could he not, with so many friends determined to see him well again?

The darkness had already stolen so much from her: her past self and future lives. She couldn't change the curse that Demise had set upon them, but some things she would not let stand. In this lifetime, at least, it would not have Link.

"Would you… ahhh… would you like another biscuit?"

Bemused, Link shook his head, and heard Batreaux set down the offered tray with a clatter.

"What about tea, would you like some tea?" he asked instead, more dishes rustling in his wake. Link couldn't say for sure, but he thought Batreaux must keep a very messy kitchen. "If you'll give me just a moment—"

"I'm fine," Link assured him, and Batreaux hummed nervously.

"Are you comfortable? I could find you some more pillows."

"I'm very comfortable, thanks," Link said uncomfortably, already sitting in what felt like a sea of musty pillows. He couldn't help but feel a bit guilty, thinking about Zelda and the other knights worrying while he sat there getting doted on by a demon-turned-fussy grandmother. His host had been almost painfully accommodating since the moment Link knocked on his door, offering his home and watery tea and rock hard “biscuits” without hesitation. However, while Link had relaxed as time passed with no sign of a search in Skyloft, Batreaux had done the opposite. "It's enough that you're willing to let me stay here. Really, Batreaux, thank you."

"Oh, of course, of course," Batreaux said quickly. "Now, Link…" Link knew what was coming next, having heard the question twenty times before. "You know of course that any favor you ask of me, I will happily grant. I am forever indebted to you for allowing me to fulfill my dream of making friends with the people of Skyloft, but…" he hesitated. "Are you certain the goddess won't be angry with me?"

"She won't be," Link promised him yet again. "Zelda will understand. She's not even angry at me, really." He didn't think she was, at least, though he supposed he might find out if she managed to track him down.

"If you're sure…" Batreaux said, sounding no more convinced this time than before. Link wondered what sorts of tales about Hylia must have passed down through the demons over the years. They couldn't be the same ones humans told about a divinely loving protector.

A gust of wind rattled the scaffolding under the small home, causing it to sway beneath them. Batreaux, stewing in thoughtful silence, didn't seem to notice.

"I don't mean to pry," he said slowly, and Link's ears perked up. "It's none of my business, so if you'd rather not say then I certainly understand, but… that sword on your back…" Link tensed, and he went on more quickly. "Well, I may be a human now without the otherworldly senses I once possessed, but even I could feel its emanating darkness the moment you set foot in my home. I assume that if there is anything the goddess wants from you, it must be that?"

"You're right," Link said, shrugging uncomfortably. There was no real reason to hide it, after all. "It's hard to explain, but she wants to take this sword, and I… can't let her do that."

"May I take a look at it?" Batreaux asked. "I have some familiarity with cursed items, after all."

"It's not cursed," Link said, reaching hesitantly over his back to detach it. Batreaux sounded mildly reproachful, probably thinking of the cursed medal he had reluctantly given Link, which in Link's defense had been barely cursed against all, and not worth the fuss Batreaux made over it. "It's just a sword. It used to belong to Demise before he died."

"Ghirahim," Batreaux said, stunned, and Link's breath caught.

"You know him?"

"Know him?" he repeated incredulously. "Only from stories, Link. I am not old enough to know him. I don't imagine anyone is these days." Batreaux took the sword with great reverence, humming as he examined it. "Yes, that is the darkness I felt… though I must say, I would have thought this blade to have a greater presence. Why, I imagine even you could make use of this sword, and you are—forgive me for saying so—quite small."

"It used to be bigger," Link said, his fingers already itching to have it back. He had known Batreaux was a demon, but somehow hadn't made the connection that seemed obvious in hindsight. "What do you know about Ghirahim?"

"Oh, no more than anyone else, I think, and nothing more than stories. Oh!" Batreaux jumped, the wooden floor reverberating under his feet. "If that is his sword, then… is the Demon Lord Ghirahim going to appear in my kitchen?" He sounded flabbergasted by the notion.

"Not anytime soon," Link reassured him, taking it back eagerly when Batreaux offered it and running a hand over the hilt. No presence stirred beneath his fingers. "I think he's still recovering. What do the stories say?"

"I… well." He still sounded unnerved, though Link supposed he would too if a figure he only knew from stories could appear in his kitchen at any moment. "Well, I only know as much as any demon. He was the Demon King's sword, though I hear he was once a fearsome and bloodthirsty warrior in his own right, with dark magic to match. They say he had a way of swaying his enemies’ minds so that they fought for his side, which is no doubt why the Demon King bound him."

"Bound him?" Link repeated apprehensively, and Batreaux cleared his throat.

"Within the sword, yes. Demise never had much patience for those who might oppose him, as I understand it. The things the two of them did together, though… oh, all sorts of dreadful things." Batreaux shuddered audibly. "I prefer not to speak of it. I left that life behind me when I came to live here, you understand. I could never have dreamed that his sword would resurface in Skyloft of all places."

Link grimaced. Not a happy story at all, however he looked at it. Somehow, he had never thought to question how Ghirahim became a sword in the first place. He had assumed that he was just made that way, like Fi… or had Fi also been someone else before?

There was something else he'd mentioned that matched what Zelda had said—something that made Link pause.

"Would you know if Ghirahim had done something to me?" he asked, flushing. "To my mind?" Zelda hadn't found anything, but if it was even a possibility, he had to know before he threw his lot in with Ghirahim any further.

"Like he turned his opponents, you mean? Well, I suppose the goddess could tell you better than I, but—no?" Link shook his head vigorously. "Well, I suppose…" Batreaux shuffled closer, placing thick hands on Link's head. "I am not as sensitive to these things as I once was, but I could certainly look."

An insistent knock on the door froze them both in place as Link's heart leapt into his throat. Slowly, he rose to his feet, pillows falling around him with a cascade of gentle thumps. Would the knights bother to knock if they thought he was here, or just rush in?

"You told me this place has a back entrance," Link said quietly, hooking the sword in place on his back. "Where is it?"

"I'm afraid it leads directly into the scaffolding," Batreaux replied, his voice louder than Link would have preferred. "It would be all too easy for you to lose your footing out there. Just stay put for a moment. It is not unheard of for me to have a visitor this late…"

He left before Link could protest, leaving him feeling uncomfortably exposed. Batreaux's small kitchen might have been out of sight of the doorway, but that felt like scant protection when Link was effectively cornered. Maybe he should try to bury himself in pillows.

The door creaked open, and the wind blew furiously through the house, carrying the earthy smoke of dinner fires and the high pitched squeal of Keese. Then a bright young voice met his ears, and Link sagged with relief.

"Hey there, Uncle Bats! How's it going?"

"Kukiel!" Batreaux sounded equal parts relieved and disapproving. "You know better than to come here at night! It's not safe to be out after dark." The Keese’s cries grew louder as if to punctuate his words.

"Aww, but I wanted to play the scream-as-loud-as-you-can game," Kukiel whined. "I tried to play at home, but my mom just yelled at me. Pleeeeaaaase can we play?"

"Well…" He could hear Batreaux hesitating. "Okay, one quick game. But after that you must go straight home!" Link wished he would have tried a little harder to dissuade her. The last thing he needed was screams attracting anyone to the area… though on the other hand, anyone with ears on Skyloft knew how much Kukiel liked to scream.

"Great!" Kukiel beamed. "We'll scream on the count of three. One… two… three!"

Kukiel’s screams were impressive, though nothing compared to the enormous sound roaring out of Batreaux for as long as he had breath. From the other room, Link winced and put a hand over his ears. Even the Keese went silent with surprise.

"There you go," Batreaux said as soon as the echoes had faded away. "Now, I need you to—"

"Again, again!" Kukiel insisted. "I think I can scream louder than you this time if I try!"

"I—very well," Batreaux said, flustered. "Just once more, mind you."

This time, their screams made the floorboards shake, and Link wondered how securely attached this little house was. He supposed it wouldn't pull free any time soon, but it seemed worth mentioning later, just in case. Batreaux didn't have a Loftwing to catch him like the rest of them.

"Okay, Kukiel, that's enough," Batreaux said as the sound finally died down. The Keese outside squeaked furiously now, as if in competition. It was strange to hear them again, after so many nights without. "It's too dark for you to be out alone. Let me walk you home—"

"One more time!" Kukiel pleaded, and Link bit back a groan, already knowing the answer. Batreaux was such a pushover. "This is the last one, pinky promise! I've got a scream inside that's just gotta come out!"

"Kukiel…" Batreaux sighed. "This is absolutely the last time, do you understand? Remember that you promised."

"I'll remember," she assured him. "On the count of three! One… two…"

The Keese . Realization struck as the screams began again. The Keese were back in Skyloft because a demon was back in Skyloft. As soon as Kukiel was gone, he had to leave. If Zelda noticed their presence and put two and two together—

With a short tug of resistance, the sword on his back tore free, and all thought came to an abrupt halt.

"No!"

Arms snaked around him from behind before he could do anything else, pinning him in a grip so firm that he could do little more than struggle and shout.

"Let me go!" he yelled, finally hearing the footsteps that had been lost in all that screaming as they retreated with his sword.

"I'm sorry," his captor whispered frantically in his ear, and he realized with a sinking heart that Fledge held him in that unrelenting grip. Link hadn’t really expected him to take his side once Zelda had her chance to speak, but he had hoped. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

"Thank you, Kukiel," Zelda said from the doorway, and Link's struggles stopped, his chest still heaving. "You did us a big favor."

"If you say so," Kukiel chirped. "I was just playing my favorite game."

"I-I-I, uh, th-that is, Y-your Grace—" Batreaux could not stop stammering. "You understand that I wasn't trying to—to h-hinder you in any way—"

"I understand, Batreaux," she said kindly. "I'm really not upset. It's good to know that Link has such good friends."

Link ducked his head as he heard her approach.

Wake up, Link thought desperately at the sword, but his mouth refused to make the words. If Ghirahim had still not appeared, it must be because he could not. Link was on his own.

"Keep a good hold on that sword, Pipit," she murmured, stopping in front of him. "We don't want to take any chances."

"Zelda, please," Link whispered. He couldn't stop shaking, and Fledge's grip on him tightened convulsively. "Don’t… don’t do this."

"Link, please don't be mad. It's the right thing to do." Her hand brushed across his bangs, and Link flinched back. She sighed. "Karane, take Kukiel home. Everyone else… let's go."

"What's happening?" Kukiel asked loudly, her bright voice sounding worried now. "Where are they taking Link? Did he do something bad?"

"Hush now," Batreaux murmured, and he sounded resigned. There would be no help from him, not that there was anything he could do. Maybe he also thought it was for the best—nobody aside from Link himself seemed to see anything worth redeeming in the sword spirit. "This is for the adults to deal with. Let the nice knight take you home."

"But Uncle Bats!..."

Her protests faded into the distance as Karane lifted her with a grunt and carried her away. Fledge maneuvered Link's arms gingerly until they were clasped around his back, and Link let himself be moved, despair spreading through his limbs as they started to walk. Once again he was blind and cornered, separated from his sword with no way out. He tried to pinpoint Pipit's location from the sound of his footsteps, but even that effort seemed pointless. Assuming he could break free of Fledge's grip, he'd still have to grapple with Pipit for a bare-bladed sword, and before he managed that he'd be taken once more. After all that running around, he'd been embarrassingly easy to catch in the end.

Link sagged in Fledge's grasp as the future spread out before him in his mind, dull and lifeless. Nothing would ever change, would it? He would wear out his hands on pointless carving with trips to the surface for mushrooms and flowers until Zelda decided he was "better", and even then he'd always have someone dogging his tracks, looking after him as always. As for Ghirahim… well, he'd be lucky to ever hear Ghirahim's voice again, assuming Zelda didn't just throw the sword into Eldin at her first opportunity.

...Would she?

"What are you going to do with the sword?" Link mumbled, surprised by how his voice shook. She must have heard him, but long seconds passed and she didn't respond. "Zelda?"

"I don't know," she said at last, and her tone made Link's chest tighten. Whatever else happened, he had to think of a way to save him. If he behaved… maybe he could convince her to let him sheathe the sword in Ghirahim instead, and give him an order to never return. It would take some time, but Link thought he could bring her around eventually. If only one of them could make it out of this alive, it might as well be Ghirahim.

"I don't like this," Fledge said uncomfortably. Link raised his head slightly, but without expectation. "It doesn't feel right."

"I know," Zelda said grimly, and he knew exactly who she'd decided to blame. He would have to start convincing her soon. "Believe me, this is for the best. Things are going to change, Link, I promise. We'll find a way to make this right."

"It's going to be okay," Pipit assured him alongside her, awkwardly trying to inject cheer into the overwhelming tension. "Whatever it takes, I'm here for you… because I owe you one, you know? I might never have realized my feelings for Karane if you hadn't pulled my head out of the clouds and made me see." His voice softened, growing more fervent. "Thanks to you, I get to experience passionate, unfettered love every day. You deserve the same, and I'm not going to let some demon take that away from you."

Link said nothing, his own breath rasping in his ears. Pipit's words echoed endlessly through this mind with the ringing force of a hammer. Passionate, unfettered love… that couldn't be what he felt, right? Link wasn't sure that two people who had once tried their hardest to kill each other could even share that emotion, or that Ghirahim was capable of feeling it. Still, something in him couldn't stand the thought of separation, and it wasn't obsession or magic or some kind of curse. It felt like something… passionate.

Unfettered…

Subtly, Link tested Fledge's grip on his arms. It might have loosened, but only by a fraction. He might break free if he caught Fledge by surprise, or he might just end up wrestling to escape while Pipit took the sword further away. Still, he decided with growing determination, he had to do something, even if he was doomed to fail. There would be nothing passionate or unfettered about his life if Zelda got her way. At the very least, if he ever spoke to Ghirahim again, he had to be able to say that he'd tried.

"You're planning something," Fledge whispered in his ear, almost too quiet to hear, and Link stiffened. Fledge didn't sound upset, just... nervous.

Not quite daring to hope, Link half shrugged a shoulder.

"You'll never make it," Fledge told him, still in the softest voice he could manage.

"I have to try," Link whispered back. The rough sound of footsteps and heavy breathing, and then…

"I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

The ground beneath Link's boots had changed to the plaza's uneven cobblestone. If they were taking him to the Academy, then the sky must be to his left, his way uninhibited. Pipit's quick footsteps came from his right. If there was ever a time to break free, this was it. Fledge's hands trembled around his wrists, and Link decided that he couldn't wait for him to make up his mind. He had to do it now, before it was too late.

Three… two...

"Go Link!" Fledge shouted, releasing Link's arms, and a second later he heard the dull smack of flesh hitting flesh. Both Fledge and Pipit cried out in pain—he had probably never thrown a punch in his life—but within seconds the hilt of a sword pressed into Link's hands. "Run!"

Link didn't need telling twice. He ran, ignoring the clamor that rose up behind him and praying that no loose cobblestone jutted out from the ground to trip him up. Behind him, he could hear the drama playing out.

"You punched me!" Pipit yelled, disbelieving.

"I'm sorry!" Fledge said in a panicky voice, while at the same time Zelda screamed, "Link, stop!"

Panting, Link surged forward. None of them could call their Loftwings at this time of night, but Link didn't need to. He was headed straight for the surface.

The ground beneath his feet turned abruptly to wooden slats, then disappeared. Link launched himself into the air, legs still flailing, and began to fall. A shout from nearby reminded him belatedly of the night patrol meant to guard against this very thing, and he swung his sword wildly with a feral yell, hoping that whoever had spotted him would leave him alone. Sure enough, the dismayed shouts of the patrolling knight soon fell away, and he was left plummeting alone through the night.

It was then that Link realized he couldn't pull out his sailcloth and hold a sword at the same time.

Gritting his teeth, Link fought against the force of the rushing wind to swing the sword around his back, increasingly aware that he had no idea when the surface below might suddenly strike. Fumbling his fingers over the leather strap, Link tried and failed to fasten it, slicing his finger with a hiss as it nearly flew out of his hands. In his mind's eye, the ground grew ever closer, but necessity left no space in him for panic. If he could only… just…

His sword secured with a snap, and Link wasted no time in unfolding his sailcloth, his shoulders jerking with familiar pain as it caught. He laughed with relief and exhilaration, counting the seconds until he landed while his heartbeat drummed against his ears. Fifteen seconds, and his boots hit the dirt. Not his closest call ever, but it ranked up there. 

Luck had placed him on the ground instead of stranded in some treetop, but he knew there must be trees nearby. Unhooking his cane, Link began a quick search for cover, walking as quickly as he dared without caring if he stumbled. The knight that had seen him fall would be here soon, searching out his landing spot with lanterns to light up the night, and Link had no intention of getting caught again so quickly. 

"Ghirahim?" he said, his voice carried away by the wind, and finally he got a response.

You have… an alarming habit of cutting yourself on your own sword… Ghirahim whispered in his ear, and Link's knees gave an alarming tremble as he breathed out a weak laugh of relief. He really had wondered if he would ever hear that voice again.

"Your sword just likes slicing me up."

True, Ghirahim murmured. Link had never heard him quite like this. If he hadn't known better, he would have called that voice… sleepy. I suppose your plan did not go as planned?

"Could have gone better," Link muttered, finally finding a tree and pressing himself against the trunk. "Could have gone worse."

Mmm. He was fading away already. That flame had taken more out of him than Link had thought, and he worried distantly about what they would do after the next one. Try to do a little better this time, then… for both our sakes. Then he was gone.

Link waited, listening intently for the knight's return. He thought he heard a voice calling out—the beat of the Loftwing's wings was lost in this heavy wind—but eventually the knight gave up, and he was left alone. With a silent prayer of thanks for Fledge, Link abandoned his tree and slipped further into the darkness, determined to put some space between himself and where he'd landed. He had a second chance at this, and this time he wouldn't waste it.

The shadowy forest melded in around him as he walked, swallowing him up unnoticed, and Link grinned at the realization. Others might fear the forest at night, but it looked no different to him.

Chapter Text

Ghirahim woke slowly to the sound of music.

For long moments he only listened to the rippling chords and melodies, awareness a small and fragile thing that he didn't dare examine for fear of losing it entirely. Only as time passed and memory stirred did he start to question this peaceful awakening, reaching out with his mind to discover where Link's long, desperate night had taken them.

Leaves hung above in a sheltering canopy, and through the dappled spaces between he could see a night sky just turned morning, the stars fading one by one as the rising sun chased them away. Link had settled himself high in the tree's branches, his back pressed firmly against the thick trunk, and Ghirahim paused in his examinations to appreciate the familiar image. His own dark sword laid, blade bare, across Link’s lap, and the boy's fingers plucked hesitantly at a golden harp as if trying to remember how to play.

A tranquil scene of solitude at first glance, though spreading his awareness further, Ghirahim found it rudely intruded on by one of the goddess's child knights crouched beside the tree's base—the oaf with the terrible hair. A number of appealing ways of dealing with the matter came to mind, but with another look at Link, he restrained himself. The fool could do nothing but watch for the moment, with any chance of springing an ambush long since past. If he tried to lead anyone else to their hiding place… well, that could be dealt with, too. For now… 

With a shimmering trail of magic, Ghirahim emerged to lounge on the branch above Link, looking down. The music didn't stop, but the tension slipped visibly from his young master's shoulders, and he let out a long breath.

"I was hoping you'd wake up soon," he admitted, plucking out another chord. "I don't know if I could hide here for much longer."

"Not if you kept up that racket, certainly," Ghirahim agreed, and Link huffed under his breath, playing a final run of notes before pressing his hand against the vibrating strings to still them.

"Nobody lives on the surface yet. Almost nobody." He frowned for a moment, then shook his head dismissively. "I haven't heard anyone at all since we landed. There's not much they can do until sunrise… but they saw where I fell. They'll know that I can only walk so far."

"Mmm." Ghirahim decided not to enlighten him to the contrary just yet. "Your friends must also realize that you're not bound by walking at all with me at your side."

"I'm sure they do," Link said. Putting his hand to the harp once more, he started to pick out a vaguely heroic-sounding melody. This one flowed more easily from his fingers than the last, though his mouth twisted wryly as he played. "So… the desert flame next?"

"Perhaps." With a long sigh, Ghirahim leaned back, resting his head against the bark of the trunk to listen. This new song prickled with some kind of power, and he followed it along absently, trying to place it. "Once I’ve recovered."

Link nodded, though his attention was focused on his music now. Ghirahim took the opportunity to examine himself for the first time since entering the flame, running both eyes and hands down his long, pale body in search of anything… different. Outwardly he appeared unchanged, yet he couldn't shake the sensation of an inner shift, as real as if it was carved beneath his skin. He felt rubbed raw somehow, exposed, like some protective shell had burned away, and he wasn't at all sure that he liked the feeling.

His sword, though… now that was another matter entirely. Still black as smooth obsidian with a gleaming red diamond at the base of its hilt, the harshly jagged points along the sides had smoothed down to a more sinuous edge, with a startlingly familiar diamond pattern etched along the face of the blade. Demise had crafted that sword, and in many ways Ghirahim himself, after his own dark image, yet under Farore’s power his oppressive touch had started to chip away. Beneath it was a blade more like himself than Ghirahim would have thought possible, and he could have passed the whole morning just staring at it.

Even so, the process felt incomplete. That thought scratched at the back of his mind with an urgency that drove him towards the next flame despite the pain that awaited him there—and there would be pain. Maybe they hadn’t quite matched the tearing agony of Link's goddess-blessed sword carving into his core, but the flames of Farore were all-encompassing, putting Ghirahim in a sleep so deep afterwards that only dimly strange impressions of the previous day remained. Time was a luxury they could barely afford now, yet he thought he would need another day still before he could face that again. At full strength, the flame had nearly devoured him. If he tried it at anything less…

Eyeing the shadows under his master's eyes, Ghirahim thought that he wasn't the only one in need of rest.

"Did you sleep?" he asked, and Link shook his head, eyes tight. "Do you need to?"

"No." Link paused for long enough to flick a finger towards his pouches. "Stamina potion."

Ghirahim did not protest that the one was no substitute for the other, though he strongly suspected that was the case. Instead, his eyes narrowed, sweeping over Link searchingly.

"Something happened," he said, not needing Link's tight shudder for confirmation. For as calmly as he played that instrument, fear and frustration still boiled beneath his skin.

"What did you do to my blindfold?" Link asked, and Ghirahim raised an eyebrow at the sudden change of subject. "I still had it when I found you on that mountain, but when I woke up again in Skyloft it was gone."

"That's not what has you all wound up," Ghirahim said accusingly. Not entirely, at least. "You were slipping in and out of consciousness on the flight back from the mountain. I could hardly tell one state from the other with that scrap of fabric on your face."

That scrap of fabric had also somehow led Link to Ghirahim's mountaintop, if what he'd told the spirit maiden later that night held any merit, though neither had elaborated on exactly how. A pity perhaps that he'd tossed the thing so carelessly to the wind, though Ghirahim had found the act immensely satisfying at the time.

"What did you do to it?" Link repeated, and Ghirahim's lips twisted.

"Well, I didn't tuck it against my heart like a favor, if that's what you mean."

Nodding morosely, Link sighed.

"So it's on the surface," he said, looking so dejected that Ghirahim nearly let out an undignified snort.

"Yes, well." Settling back against the tree trunk with a groan, Ghirahim's eyes half slid shut. "I can hardly be expected to know which parts of your poorly planned wardrobe are secretly magical artifacts if you don't keep me apprised. I suppose your earrings allow you to read minds?" The music stopped again as Link half raised a hand to his ear, looking startled. "No, I imagine if there's anything else, it would be your hat. Enchanted to stay on your head, no doubt."

"We'll just have to find it again," Link bit out, resuming the melody a bit faster this time. "Fi could have done it. She helped me find things that fell to the surface before."

The challenge in his voice was unmistakable, and grating.

"Do you expect to manipulate me so easily?" Ghirahim asked incredulously, shifting on his branch to stare down at him. "I'm tired, and I see no reason to interrupt more pressing matters to track down a… a security blanket."

"I do!" Link shouted, the music halting abruptly with a discordant note that he didn't bother to silence. The strain he had struggled to hide earlier was all too apparent now. "Zelda took the sword, Ghirahim, your sword. If Fledge hadn't come through for me at the last minute then I would be under guard in my own room right now and you would be sealed inside your sword, maybe even on your way to Eldin. Do you know what that would mean? Do you know what this means?" He gestured to his sightless eyes, glaring helplessly. "It means that someone could wave this sword right under my nose and I'd never know. Laugh all you want, but that security blanket is the only reason I found you in the first place, and if Zelda manages to take you again, then the only chance I have of getting you back is if she gives you back." He laughed himself, a short, bitter sound. "So far you haven't given her a lot of incentive to do that."

"Should I feel guilty for that?" Ghirahim asked stiffly. "You knew what I was when you tracked me down." Snapping so that he loomed over Link and ignoring the way the branch trembled beneath him, he leaned forward. "You know there is not a thing I do that you are not capable of changing on a whim. If you want this to work out so badly, then perhaps it’s time you tried taking a firmer hand with me.”

His own hand ghosted along Link’s jaw.

"Don’t you want this to work?" For once, Link did not rise to the bait, craning his neck so his light eyes pierced Ghirahim's dark ones earnestly. "I do, more than I probably should."

Ghirahim drew back, and immediately berated himself for doing so. He had wanted this boy’s devotion, but something in that raw honesty felt like more than he had bargained for, rubbing up against those newly exposed parts of himself that Farore’s flame had left bare. Link had made a choice—Ghirahim over life as he knew it—and had already gone to remarkable lengths to defend it. Perhaps some reciprocation on Ghirahim's part would not be so misplaced, given the circumstances.

Discreet movement from below caught his eye, and he welcomed the distraction.

"One moment," he murmured, ignoring Link's unnervingly piercing expression, and disappeared. Sure enough, their hulking spy was slowly slipping away. No doubt the sky had finally lightened enough for him to go retrieve the goddess and her dogs, perhaps in hopes of leading the rescue charge himself.

What a pity.

Ghirahim appeared before him with a wide grin, and he reared back.

"Li—mmph!"

"None of that, now," Ghirahim sang softly, throwing a hand around his mouth to stifle the noise. This human was much bulkier than Link, though he still managed to subdue him without much trouble. Summoning a dagger, he waved it lazily across the boy's line of vision before pressing it against his neck. "You may be only a mouse underfoot, but you could still alert the hawk, and we can't have that."

To Ghirahim's satisfaction, the soft sound of a harp drifted once more from the treetop above. Link must have missed the scuffle. The fool still struggled feebly despite the dagger, trembling against him—from fury, Ghirahim realized with amusement, not fear.

"Let's see what your little mind has to work with," he said briskly, delving in with a tiny trickle of magic. Most humans had a weak point in their loyalties: some doubt or insecurity brittle enough for Ghirahim to shatter and exploit. Not all of them, unfortunately—he had searched briefly once when he first encountered Link, and found it impossible for his magic to take root—but enough that he had used the ability to great effect in wars past. For all the trust they placed in it, he had proven the weakness of the human heart time and time again.

Now, however, Ghirahim's searching tendrils rammed up against a near impenetrable loyalty to the goddess—or to Zelda, rather, the mortal form he’d grown up with. Whatever Ghirahim hoped to achieve with this buffoon, he would not coerce him into anything that might harm her. Frowning, he felt around for another way in, annoyance stealing across his features. His hatred for Ghirahim himself, while flattering, offered no help…

Then he found the gaping hole: a thick vein of guilt ensnaring the boy’s mind, overlaid heavily with a jealousy he had tried very hard to repress. Intriguingly, much of that centered around Link. What had this naughty brute of a boy been up to?

It was an opening, and he took it, his dark magic slipping in quickly and expanding until it consumed everything. Letting the boy go, Ghirahim watched him sway on his feet, flinching as the demon circled in front of him and sending him a hateful glare. No, he did not care for Ghirahim at all.

"You will remember that I belong to Link, and act only according to his wishes," Ghirahim told him, and some of that hatred diminished as guilt wracked his features. "What is your name, boy? Quietly, if you please."

"Groose," he muttered after a moment, and Ghirahim smirked.

"Hmmm." Really, there was no accounting for the ridiculous names these people came up with. "And how much did you overhear… Groose?"

"I…" His lips peeled back in a snarl. "Not much. Buncha yellin' up there, but I couldn't make it out."

"Is that so?" It might have been true, or he might have been hedging still, though that wouldn't matter once Ghirahim decided what to do with him. While this Groose was one of those Link had ordered him not to harm, he could still find a way around that if he wanted… if he wanted. "Stay here like a good boy and make no sound until I tell you otherwise. If you do, Link will be… most displeased."

Guilt painting his face once more, Groose nodded without speaking. His overblown feelings of obligation to Link—and by extension, Ghirahim—held him with as strong a bond as shackles now.

A snap of his fingers brought Ghirahim back to their tree, and Link's hand stilled against his harp.

"Did you see something?" he asked, and Ghirahim chuckled.

"Only a bird."

Far from being reassured, Link grimaced, slipping the instrument back into its pouch.

"If the Loftwings are out, the knights could get here any time now,” he muttered. “We need to go."

"So we do." He studied the stubborn set to Link's jaw. "You're still thinking about that blindfold."

"We should get it," Link insisted. "Zelda knows where the flames are, and she'll have plenty of time to plan for our arrival. Unless you think you can face another flame already?" Ghirahim didn't bother responding. They both knew well enough that he couldn't. "Maybe we hold them off long enough to use the flame—hopefully we do—but after that…" He shrugged uncomfortably. "It just seems a bit too optimistic not to think she might take you again. At least this way I'd know where she's keeping you."

"You know she could take the blindfold just as easily as the sword if she finds it on you," Ghirahim pointed out, and Link's eyes flared.

"She wouldn't dare," he said grimly. Ghirahim almost asked, but something about Link's face made him reconsider.

Link had a point, loathe though Ghirahim was to admit it with how heavy his limbs still felt. He would have liked nothing better than to lay low somewhere on the surface where they could actually relax... but events could certainly play out as Link thought. Of course, if Link believed that just knowing the sword's location would be enough for him to retrieve it, then he was the foolish optimist.

"I do not know how Fi did things, but I cannot find an item just by knowing what it is," he said instead, tossing his head. "I must have something of similar energy or resonance in order to track it down."

"No, that's how Fi did it," Link said, scratching thoughtfully at his chin. "Here.”

And with a small smile flitting across his face, he removed his earrings, holding them out for Ghirahim to take.

"You're not serious," Ghirahim said flatly, though he took the red earrings to examine.

"They don't help me read minds, but they do protect me from the heat." Despite his innocent tone, that grin stood prominently on his face now. "I got them from the same place I got the blindfold. And…" A large blue scale emerged from the pouch to join them. "This one too. Will these work?"

Ghirahim stared at Link, and then at the small items in his hand. They did share a similar energy despite their obviously differing origins. Still expecting this to fail, he focused his attention outward… and discovered to his surprise that there was a matching resonance out there, weak but traceable.

"These will do," he said grudgingly, committing the signature to memory as he returned them to Link's hands. Maybe there was no real reason not to retrieve the artifact and several good reasons to do so, but… "I truly despise that rag."

"Why?" Link asked curiously, reattaching the earrings, but Ghirahim ignored the question. He didn't feel like putting it into words.

"This shouldn't take long," he said instead, watching as Link fished out a vividly green potion, feeling the marked stopper carefully and sniffing the contents before drinking it. "I have somewhere we can rest afterward."

"You don't see me arguing," Link muttered, though already he'd perked up a little. "Just give me a minute."

Opening yet another of his numerous pouches, he removed a handful of charred… discs?... which must have been food from how he attempted to gnaw at them. Ghirahim took it as an opportunity to dispense with his own unfinished business, popping down from the treetop to where his puppet stood waiting below.

"Good news!" he chimed softly as Groose straightened from his slouch with a mutinous scowl. As expected, he hadn't moved an inch from that spot in Ghirahim's absence. "I've discussed the matter with Link, and it seems he has a task for you after all. Do it well, and you might even start to make up for all the trouble you caused him in the past. Now, listen closely."

If he kept his touch here light, the goddess would hopefully not even discover his interference until the deed was done, and the two of them were well beyond her reach. Maybe Link really could retrieve the sword on his own, but Ghirahim hated to rely on such an ill-defined plan. At least now they had something of a contingency plan waiting in the shadows—one Link would never approve of, true, but Ghirahim had warned Link about allowing him such free reign.

By the time he had sent Groose toddling on his way, Link was brushing stale crumbs from his face.

"Batreaux really isn't much of a cook," he said by way of explanation, shaking his head ruefully. Batreaux? "Where were you?"

"You have your own needs to tend to, and I have mine," Ghirahim said vaguely. "All of which are taken care of. Are you ready?"

With a final, soft stroke of the sword's hilt, Link nodded. Raising himself carefully to one knee, he reached over his back to attach it to its leather fastening, then held out a hand that Ghirahim took. 

"Any idea where we're going?"

"We'll find out soon enough," Ghirahim muttered, closing his eyes in concentration. He never did like flying blind like this—so to speak—but his best guess was that the blindfold had fallen somewhere in the land's deep woods.

Sure enough, when his eyes snapped open a flicker of a second later, his first impression was overwhelmingly of green.

Thick trees towered over them, their enormous leaves overlapping to block out the sun so completely that only thin, green light filtered through. Well-worn paths crisscrossed through narrow gaps in the dim woods, maze-like and strangely numerous for such a deserted patch of forest. Over it all, a thin coating of mist hugged the ground, barely eddying over Ghirahim’s ankles as he turned in a careful circle.

"How odd," he mused slowly. This was certainly not somewhere that Ghirahim had ever set foot—a feat, considering how broadly he had traveled. "I'm sure we were flying somewhere else when the blindfold fell."

"Maybe the wind carried it," Link said, sniffing in slowly and starting to relax beside him. "Or a bird." He froze, his own voice lowering. "Ghirahim, where are the birds?"

He was right. The ambient chirps from birds and bugs had vanished, leaving a somehow deafening silence.

"I'm not sure," Ghirahim said, surprising himself by speaking in the same hushed tones as if to avoid announcing their presence further. Something about a forest without them felt unnatural, even suffocating. He had intended to come as close as he could to the blindfold's presence, but though the resonance felt much stronger now, he had missed by a good couple miles. "We might have startled them. Hold on."

Another wave of diamonds brought them to a nearly identical patch of forest, and Ghirahim frowned. They should have come out almost on top of the blindfold this time, but instead it felt roughly the same distance away in another direction. Grabbing Link more tightly, he tried again, and then again. Very little changed around them, unless perhaps the mist thickened slightly, but they never came out any closer to their target than they had the first time.

Gritting his teeth, he tried again.

"Wait," Link gasped, and Ghirahim looked down to find him swaying unsteadily. "Let me go."

He released his grip, and Link sank immediately to a crouch, looking pale. All of that traveling must not have agreed with him.

"I don't understand," Ghirahim said, irritation not quite masking his unease. "I should be able to take us straight to it."

"Maybe you're still tired," Link mumbled, swallowing hard, and Ghirahim wasted an offended frown on him. Even exhausted, he had never traveled anywhere but where he meant to go. "Is it too far to walk?"

"...No," he admitted. It could only be an hour's walk or less from where they were, and all this pointless popping around was certainly not helping him recover. Still…

"Let's walk," Link said firmly, pushing himself to his feet. "Quickly. This place feels…" He shivered, and didn't finish.

"Impeccable instincts, I'm sure," Ghirahim said under his breath. He would have preferred to give the quest up entirely, but doubted that Link would be so easily dissuaded just yet. "Follow me, and keep your wits about you."

"I usually do," Link shot back, unhooking his cane and ignoring Ghirahim's scoff of disbelief. "Lead the way."

That was easier said than done. Multiple paths meandered from where they stood, their endings lost in silent trees with no way of knowing where they might lead. It was enough to boggle any human mind, but Ghirahim had a distinct advantage over such simple beings. After a moment's consideration he picked a path headed in roughly the right direction, and they forged ahead, the only sound their own soft footsteps and the tapping of Link's stick in the dirt.

The journey might have been peaceful with no creatures or humans around to disturb them, but the silence hung so heavily that Ghirahim found it impossible to relax. Wisps of mist swirled over their feet, more substantial now despite the advancing sun hidden overhead, and Ghirahim felt the beginnings of a small, incessant itch spread across his skin. Irritably, he ran long fingers across his arms, but the itch persisted.

After long, uncomfortable minutes filled with nothing but looming trees and mist, Link started to hum, and Ghirahim realized that a sound more unbearable than silence existed after all.

"Would you please desist?" he hissed when he could stand it no more. Link stopped, abashed.

"Sorry," he said, a wave of color warming his face, and Ghirahim grunted. He could understand the desire to fill these ominous woods with noise, but that particular tune felt far too cheerful for such a dark, solemn forest.

Eventually, they reached a clearing. Ghirahim came to a halt, turning in another slow circle.

"This can't be right," he muttered. Somehow the blindfold's presence had shifted, moving from the fixed point he had followed thus far. Now he looked back to where it led disbelievingly. "I'm certain that is where we came from. Link, don't wander off!"

"What?" Link stopped, looking confused. "I'm not going anywhere. I just thought…"

"Don't think," Ghirahim snapped. "Don't move. Just wait for me to figure this out."

"…Okay." He sounded dazed, and Ghirahim shook his head. Next time, he was going to force Link to sleep rather than downing that useless green potion.

Deciding that they had no better options, Ghirahim turned to face the way they’d come.

"Follow me."

Link followed, muttering inaudibly under his breath and pausing every few moments to shake his head. Ghirahim could only guess at his thoughts, though with the unspoken threat of the forest hovering over them and the itch on his skin growing fiercer, Link's exhausted ramblings took up less than half his mind. The mist was noticeably thicker now, hovering halfway up his knees, and he quickened their pace with a brusque command for Link to keep up. A few minutes later, when the humming started haltingly once more, Ghirahim ground his teeth and ignored that, too. This would all be over soon enough, with plenty of time to repay Link for putting him through it when they were done.

The object of their efforts felt closer, so Ghirahim tried to put off the thought that they were simply retracing their steps, blaming it on the monotony of the forest and the rising mist. Once they reached the next clearing, though, it became impossible to ignore.

"Again?" he said, staring in the blindfold's direction. There could be no denying that he was facing the way they had come, but according to senses that had hitherto been reliable, that was also the direction they were supposed to go. "That's impossible! It doesn't make any sense!"

"What's impossible?" Link asked, bouncing from foot to foot. He almost looked a second away from dancing, as if that tune still played in his mind even after he stopped humming.

"We're going around in circles," Ghirahim growled. "We have to be! There's no other explanation."

"Why don't we just follow the lights," Link suggested.

"Lights?" Ghirahim spat. "What li—"

The words stuck in his throat, and he whirled to face the danger he hadn't seen coming, that itch on his skin more pronounced than ever. Leaning against his cane, Link's eyes shone strangely crimson in the dim light.

"What lights, Link?" he tried again cautiously, and Link gestured.

"Those ones." Ghirahim wished there was anything in his expression to suggest that he'd said something odd, but there was not. "I think we're supposed to follow them."

"There's nothing there, you deluded halfwit," Ghirahim said harshly, hoping Link took offense. That would be better than… than… "You cannot see."

The light in Link's eyes flickered and steadied. His head tilted too smoothly to the side, and he smiled. 

"Why not?"

A chill ran through Ghirahim.

"Forget about the blindfold," he said abruptly, reaching towards him. "We're leaving."

"No!" Link's voice rang with command, halting him in his tracks. "No teleporting. Don't take me anywhere."

Teeth grinding furiously, Ghirahim let his hand fall.

"Very well, master, " he said, investing the title with scorn. "We will continue on, but keep your eyes closed, and do not under any circumstances look at those lights."

Link looked back longingly.

"But—"

"Eyes closed!"

His order went unheeded. Time weighed down like a physical thing as Ghirahim hurried them both along, his tension growing steadily with the crimson gleam in Link's eyes. The boy had finally ceased his constant humming, but the music still felt hauntingly present in the air around them, the silence a mere facade.

This time he expected it when he arrived at the clearing only to feel the blindfold's presence behind him. His skin practically writhed with the force of the ancient magic he now recognized was determined to keep them lost, which meant he could trust nothing here, not even his eyes. Especially not his eyes.

That should have given Link an advantage, but it did not.

"They're brighter now," he said urgently as Ghirahim swept around. "I think we're supposed to follow them."

"I told you to stop looking," Ghirahim said, his patience wearing thin. This was taking too long. "Your mind is playing tricks on you, nothing more."

"I… no." Link's face clouded with uncertainty, though he went on stubbornly. "I think—"

"Don't think!" Rounding on Link, Ghirahim's temper at last got the better of him, his anger warping through the air with a thunderous crash. "Don't speak! That was never a problem for you before!" Link flinched, and he made an effort to restrain himself, wondering if he'd gone too far. "Just follow me and—"

"No, you follow me!" Link snapped, flaring in turn, and Ghirahim's anger flashed to horror in an instant.

"That's enough," Ghirahim growled, feeling strangely out of breath as his legs carried him where he did not want to go. "Release me, or you will live to regret it. Your screams will tear your throat by the time I'm done with you. Are you listening, sky child?" Link only turned, walking into the mist that swallowed him up to his waist, and Ghirahim felt his first true moment of fear. "Link!"

"It’s okay," Link said, his soft voice reverberating strangely. With every step, he relied on his cane to guide him less and less, walking the path with a familiarity he should have lacked. "The lights will take us where we need to go, I'm sure of it. Just follow me."

He could do nothing else. The orders were written on his core now: where Link went, Ghirahim would follow.

"Let me go, you arrogant brat!"

Ghirahim insulted and pleaded, making wild promises and threats that he had no real intention of keeping. Link didn't silence him, but he also didn't listen, humming that dreadful tune as he walked. All the while, the fog crept higher, though Link seemed not to notice. If anything, his footing grew more certain until he abandoned his cane entirely, slipping it into his belt and retrieving his golden harp instead.

Eyeing the harp like something deadly, Ghirahim renewed his protests.

"Put that away, Link," he pleaded. "I'm tired of that song. I want to hear something else." Link's singing was bad enough, but an instrument like that might give those notes real power.

"I like it," Link said, plucking at the strings hesitantly at first, then with more confidence as he picked up on the melody. Soon it echoed through the forest, each soft note of the harp reverberating through him. 

Ghirahim started to give in despite himself, thought slipping mercifully from his mind as the lively tune carried him away. There were  lights in this forest, glowing softly and bobbing ahead of them. Link's following steps were like a dance, light and mischievous, and a part of Ghirahim wanted nothing more than to join him in it. He had always enjoyed dancing when the chance arose… no!

Icy fear racing through him, Ghirahim ran to get ahead of Link.

"Snap out of it," he hissed, grabbing Link by the shoulders to pin him down. That haze of red clung to Link's eyes like a veil, but he stared up through it as if it didn't exist. "None of what you see here is real. You cannot see!"

"You're real, and I see you," Link said simply, and Ghirahim found himself again without breath. Brushing past him, Link continued on his way.

Ghirahim gathered himself enough to try again, his feet following after automatically.

"I thought you were stronger than this, hero of the goddess," he said, sneering this time, and Link's fingers stumbled over the strings of his harp. A frown crossed his face, and Ghirahim pressed on eagerly. "What of your goddess, Link? What of Zelda? If you don't stop now, you'll never see her again."

Link's frown deepened, and he played a few notes of something else before shaking his head.

"You talk too much," he said flatly, picking up the now terribly familiar melody once more. "Stop talking."

Dread filled Ghirahim, but he obediently went silent, trailing after Link like a shadow.

The fog had risen to Link's neck. Before long, it would swallow him whole, and he was sure that they would be lost in truth. Ghirahim thought he knew how the paths had grown so worn now, and wondered what had happened to all those lost souls lured in by the woods before them, whose feet had prepared the way. The music of the forest lulled him once more into numb complacency, and he thought with a detached sort of misery that he’d have little chance of finding anyone to carry his sword out of here once Link was gone. It seemed unlikely that anyone else who might find it would escape the forest’s thrall.

Ghirahim sighed—and started at the sound that emerged from his lips. Of course. Link had ordered him not to speak, but he could still… could still… 

The lights seduced him, the music cloying his thoughts, and he decided that the first thing to do was to drown it all out. Casting in his mind desperately for something that might work, he remembered the song Link had played not long ago in a friendlier tree top. Holding the melody firmly in his thoughts, Ghirahim started to hum, covering his ears to block out all other noises… and the harp stopped.

Whirling around, Link stared at him, tense fingers hovering over the strings. Ghirahim stared back, still humming. After a long pause, Link looked away, plucking aimlessly at the golden instrument, but the old melody fell apart each time it tried to form in a jumble of discordant notes. Continuing to hum, Ghirahin watched intently, not quite daring to believe this might work as Link's meager efforts stopped again and he tilted his head, listening once more. Finally, Link brought his hand to the harp and, with excruciating slowness, began to pick out a new song.

His song. The Song of the Hero.

Those first notes swept around them like a breath of fresh air, and Ghirahim felt his hopes rise with them. What started as a prickling power grew warmer and brighter until each quivering note slipped through him like sunlight, filling him with steely resolve.

The red haze did not fade from Link's eyes, but he continued to play, staring at Ghirahim with growing awareness. A few times he opened his mouth only to close it again, but Ghirahim waited patiently. Finally, Link spoke, his voice a rough croak.

"...Help me."

Stepping forward and humming louder, Ghirahim gestured meaningfully to his throat. Link seemed to understand, licking his lips before speaking again.

"Tell me… tell me what to do," he whispered.

"Don't stop playing," Ghirahim said, finally letting his end of the song drop, and Link nodded shakily. His hands trembled on the harp without Ghirahim's voice to guide him, but he played on. "I can help you. Order me to take you to safety."

"Take me to…" Link's voice cut off, and he looked away, jaw clenching. "I’m sorry. Take me to the blindfold."

Ghirahim growled deep in his throat, but he didn't need telling twice. Scooping Link up in his arms and holding him well above the mist, he ran, sprinting through the forest at supernatural speeds. A few times Link almost lost the melody, his hands freezing in panic as the thrall threatened to consume him, but Ghirahim's humming set him straight again and he played on. The two of them passed clearing after clearing, Ghirahim spinning about to run the way they had come and feeling the blindfold's presence grow closer each time, until finally they emerged in an open space that was different from all the rest.

"There it is!" Link shouted, staring fixedly in one direction while his hands continued to play. Following his gaze, Ghirahim saw it: a blue scrap of cloth fluttering from a branch above. Snapping his fingers at once, there was a loud, reverberating ‘crack,’ and the branch broke off, plummeting to the earth.

"Let me down," Link said urgently. "Tie it around my eyes."

Ghirahim set him down, grimacing as the fog nearly swallowed him up. Feeling blindly through the mist for where it had landed, he finally found the blue cloth, grasping it in his steely grip as if something else might try to take it. The fog was so thick now that only the sound of the harp led him back.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, grasping Link’s face between his hands. There was no time for hesitation, except… "You won't be able to see if I…"

Link laughed, the music swelling with him.

"You think I want to see here, like this?" he said incredulously, grim despite his mirth. "I chose this a long time ago. Just do it."

Ghirahim affixed the blindfold with deft fingers, tying it firmly around Link's eyes, and the red light was doused as if by water. A hush fell over the clearing as his hand on the harp went still. Link let out a long sigh—and spun around, raising a furious fist as if at the forest itself.

"Do you think you can make me forget who I am?" he roared, and to Ghirahim's shock, golden light illuminated his hand, three perfect triangles arranged to form a single, larger one. The fog burned away before it, revealing tall trees that should have towered over Link, though he somehow held his own. Scooping up a handful of dirt from the ground, Link held it up to them. "Do you think you can have me? Someday, my body will join this dirt, and even then you cannot have me. I am the hero of the goddess, in this life and in all others, but my choices are still my own, and I do not. Choose. This!"

"That's enough!" Ghirahim shouted, turning his head. He was sure if he stared at that light for too long, he would go as blind as Link. "Let it be. We need to go!"

Link continued to glare, the blindfold not nearly enough to mask the intensity of his anger, but to Ghirahim's relief, the golden light flickered and died, and he nodded. Grasping Link by the shoulders, Ghirahim summoned the diamonds that consumed them, whisking them both to the outskirts of the forest and safely out of its reach.

Trees still surrounded them, but not incredibly old or tall, and the chirping of crickets nearby that might have once gone unnoticed made Ghirahim weak with relief. This was just a normal forest. Looking up at the darkened sky shook him anew, though. He would have said they were in those woods for maybe a handful of hours at most, but the sun had dropped well below the horizon now, with true night just starting to settle in.

Link sank to his knees as soon as they were out, hugging himself as tremors wracked his body. Ghirahim only watched for a moment, feeling distinctly out of his element, but eventually he knelt beside him, placing a single hand on his shoulder.

"You're an idiot," he muttered. It appeared to do the trick, because Link laughed weakly despite himself, leaning up against him and shaking harder.

"You're released from all orders," he mumbled. "All of them. I'm sorry. Just… please don't hurt my friends. I'm sorry."

Ghirahim said nothing, not knowing what there was to say. Somehow, words felt wholly inadequate here. Link shuddered, rubbing a hand across his mouth.

"Nobody should have that power over anybody else," he whispered fiercely. "Nobody. I don’t want it over you. I don’t want it!"

"I know." His thoughts flew to Groose up in the sky, waiting to act under his orders. Too late to do anything about it now, even if he wanted to.

"Thank you," Link said, and Ghirahim stiffened. "You got us out of there. You… I'm here because of you."

"I'll add it to the list," Ghirahim said, and this time managed to earn a stronger laugh. For another long moment they knelt there together, listening to the comforting sounds of the forest. Finally, Link stood up, and Ghirahim followed suit.

"I guess that was probably a mistake," Link admitted with a shaky laugh. "But it feels… good… to know I can find you again."

He turned to face Ghirahim, tightening the knot on the blindfold that had caused them so much trouble, and though Ghirahim still preferred him without it… maybe there was comfort in that fact. He wondered what exactly Link saw through it.

"Agreed," he said. "On both accounts." He hesitated, a calculating light entering his eyes as he considered Link shrewdly. The boy had not so much as mentioned what seemed the most important fact of all. "You still have the Triforce."

"What?" Link said, somehow managing to look startled by the accusation, as if he hadn’t nearly called on its power minutes before. "No I don’t. I can’t… I already used my wish to defeat Demise. I don't think it would do anything else for me now."

"Oh really?" Ghirahim muttered, his first instinct to scoff at such a blatant falsehood. However, grabbing Link's gauntleted hand to examine, he found… nothing. He had not imagined those blazing triangles burning through the fog, yet no sign of their existence remained in either the leather encasing his hand, or Link himself.

Turning that hand over, Ghirahim found bits of dirt leaking out from between clenched fingers. Link still hadn't released his fist.

"What are you holding?" he asked, and Link frowned, cracking his hand open at last to feel its contents.

"Dirt, I think. Maybe an acorn?" Link shuddered, dropping it. "Any seed that comes from that forest would have to be cursed."

"Maybe." Looking down at where it fell, Ghirahim thought for a moment that he saw it flash golden—a trick of the light, perhaps, though he imagined how the radiant light from Link's hand must have swallowed it in his fist. It must have been the Triforce, whatever Link thought. Those golden triangles were unmistakable, but… something to be dealt with on another day. "I'm ready for a place to sleep, I think. Somehow, I did not find that experience all that restful."

"You're right," Link agreed, sounding equally exhausted. "It might be a little early for it, but I think I could sleep for a day and a night."

"It's night already," Ghirahim informed him quietly, and Link paused.

"A night and a day, then," he amended. He looked unnerved, and Ghirahim could guess at his thoughts. Had they spent one day in those woods? Two days? More? "We can make plans for the next flame later. Would you… please lead the way?"

Ghirahim was more than happy to oblige.

On their way out, though, he paused to kick a bit of dirt over the acorn, tamping it down with his foot before taking Link's arm and carrying them away. It was an impulsive gesture, one he didn't dare examine too closely, though neither did he feel any desire to undo it once done. Who could say what might sprout from such a seed? With any luck, maybe even something… good.

Chapter Text

Brightly colored threads of light arced across the sky in an ever shifting pattern, foretelling meetings and proceedings that Link could only ever guess at. It was a beautiful sight—his only sight—his own personal set of constellations… but for once he didn't see them. Over and over, he ran his thumb along the torn pads of his fingers, dully noting the small stab of pain with each caress. The calluses he'd once built through constant practice on the harp had long since peeled away from disuse, and in the haze of music and light he hadn't noticed his newly tender skin blister and bleed on the unforgiving strings. Only after awakening had he felt the aching throb, and realized what must have happened while under the forest's thrall.

That cheerful music still sang at the edge of his memory, each enchanting note humming just out of reach. Sometimes, when he tilted his head at exactly the right angle, Link thought he saw a shimmer of green: a faint new thread tied to his chest, binding him to something in those now distant woods. The forest didn't like to lose its prey. It would draw him back someday and it would have him, if not in this life then in another. Each time he saw that thread, he knew it with a certainty that made him shiver.

"How much longer will you be pretending to sleep?"

A red diamond appeared to hover over Link, its blazing thread descending towards his heart like so many others. Scowling, he tried to turn away, but a warm hand caught him in its grip, holding him in place.

"Let g—" Clamping his teeth on the words before they could escape, Link waited sullenly as Ghirahim prodded at his injured hand with uncharacteristic silence, tracing deftly around his blistering sores. It occurred to Link suddenly that for all his threats in the forest, Ghirahim had never once drawn a blade on him. A single word from Link would have disarmed him quickly enough, of course—but he could have tried.

A tremor ran between them, though whether from Ghirahim or himself he didn’t know. Jerking back, Ghirahim's thumb swept harshly across Link's torn fingers, and he tore his hand away with a pained gasp.

"Get up," he said, ignoring Link's indignation. "Do what you must to get ready. We have less than an hour until sunset, and it will work to our advantage if we move at night."

Flicking his fingers to clear the pain, Link shook his head more out of confusion than denial. His mind still felt muddled from the day before, but he should have at least thought to wonder when—and where—he had woken up. All he remembered was collapsing as soon as they reached Ghirahim's safe place, exhaustion knocking him literally off his feet. Shifting in place, he noticed to his surprise that the surface beneath him felt soft, and creaked when he moved. Somehow, he'd slept the night in a bed.

"Am I home?" Link wondered aloud, only realizing as he said it how unlikely that was. If nothing else, the smell was all wrong.

"Hardly," Ghirahim confirmed with a scoff. "This is just somewhere I've maintained over the years. I thought you might prefer it to sleeping in a tree, though there is a certain charm in your tendency to... nest."

"So it's your home," Link said tentatively, and the red diamond withdrew.

"No."

The demon's cold voice was a distant, metallic echo of its normal self, and his feet clanked against the ground as he stepped back. Belatedly, Link remembered Ghirahim's grip on his hand—warm, when it was usually cold—and put two and two together.

"You're a sword," he blurted out. Ghirahim heaved a long-suffering sigh, though amusement glinted through his voice.

"If you intend to keep spouting inanities at me, you may as well spare my patience and keep them to yourself."

"That's not what I…" Link felt his face heat up as words failed him, his scattered thoughts too hazy to pin down. "You're in your other… your sword… You're different! You sound…"

Ghirahim was laughing at him. Link clamped his teeth shut to keep from embarrassing himself further, crossing his arms and turning his head angrily, though Ghirahim’s strong hand reached out to turn it right back around.

"You are correct," he said, and Link grudgingly decided that he liked the mirth in Ghirahim’s voice, even if it came at his expense. "I thought that taking the required form ahead of time would allow us to act quickly should the need arise. Even you must agree that your plans until now have been borderline disastrous."

"That's one way of putting it," Link muttered. It wasn't like Ghirahim had come up with anything better, despite all his magic and powers. Link had almost everyone against him and so little to work with, but he was trying. "At least we have… this… now."

He gestured vaguely towards the blindfold.

"I suppose we do," Ghirahim agreed. He didn't sound entirely pleased, though, working his fingers beneath the blindfold's fabric to loosen the knot. "No need to wear it all the time, of course."

The red diamond winked out of existence as the blindfold fell around his neck, and Link's hand shot out towards where it had vanished, afraid on some childish level that Ghirahim might have gone along with it. Where he should have found the demon's chest, his hand instead struck something smooth and hard, with sharp ridges that dug into his palm.

Ghirahim inhaled sharply through his teeth, and Link started to pull away, flushing… but curiosity made him hesitate. Spreading his fingers slowly, certain that Ghirahim would stop him at any moment, Link ran his good hand along the glassy surface to map out the four corners that formed its borders. The thin line where stone met skin caught his attention, and he traced along its edge with fascination, but again that diamond drew him back. Pulsing with heat and a flickering, erratic rhythm not quite like a human heartbeat, its edges matched precisely with the red diamond Link saw behind his blindfold. This was more than just jewelry or some kind of ornament. This was a part of Ghirahim, maybe even the core of him.

"This is where I attacked you," Link said, not quite a question. Although its surface had seemed perfectly smooth at first touch, further examination revealed hairline fractures spidering out beneath his probing fingertips. For a moment, he felt the visceral crack reverberating through his sword as it splintered through Ghirahim's chest, red light spasming wildly. If a thousand years had not erased the marks he'd left, then maybe nothing ever would.

He scratched at one unthinkingly with a fingernail, and jumped as the demon jerked beneath him, letting out an involuntary grunt. "Does it still hurt?"

"I would call you bold," Ghirahim said, his voice strained, "but I think ignorant is more accurate." Pushing Link firmly aside, he practically fled across the room, his footsteps a series of clanks against the stony floor. "There is water in a basin to your left. Try not to trip down the stairs when you're finished."

With that, he vanished, leaving Link startled by his hasty retreat. Sighing, Link pressed the heels of his palms against closed eyes in a weak attempt to pull himself together. Maybe he didn't know what had just happened or why Ghirahim had allowed it, but it still felt bold—dangerously so, even if the demon lord no longer had any intention to hurt him. 

The warm bed dragged at Link, his worn limbs making a compelling argument for another hour or two of sleep—or five, or ten— but instead he swung his legs over the edge, waiting for the unseen world to stop spinning. Ghirahim was right, sort of. It made the most sense to move under cover of darkness, when most Loftwings couldn’t fly. Then again, they'd already given Zelda more than enough time to prepare for whatever they managed to come up with. They were walking into a trap, and Link could see no way around it.

Walking. Link grimaced as he tried to do just that, rising up unsteadily. If his fingers hurt, then his swollen feet ached from all that walking.

The basin of water Ghirahim had left for him was small, but enough for his purposes. Cupping some water in his hands, Link drank deeply, swishing it around in his mouth to wash out the stale taste of sleep and splashing a few handfuls across his clammy face. The stubble he found there stopped him short, and he felt at his chin uneasily, trying to measure its length. Was that a week’s growth? Two?

…Nothing to do about it now. There wasn’t nearly enough water to bathe with, so instead he stripped down to the waist, washing himself as best he could and shivering in the rapidly cooling air. Only once he’d finished did he start to rinse the dried, sticky blood from his hand, soiling the remaining water as he slowly scrubbed it clean.

Link frowned as he worked, trying to distract himself by placing the pervasive scent that filled the air. It wasn't quite like the trees of Skyloft, or even Faron, though it had that same woodsy feel. Where else could he have...

With a pang of nostalgia, the memory surfaced. Zelda had returned once from one of her many expeditions carrying something she'd called a pine cone, sticky with a sap that left his fingers unpleasantly tacky when touched. She'd thought he would like the scent, and he had—it smelled pleasant and fresh, if slightly sharp—but that sap had clung to Link’s hands for the rest of the day, refusing to wash off properly even with soap. He'd ended up stuffing it into the back of his closet where the smell had lingered for almost a week before fading. For all he knew it was still sitting there, gathering dust with the rest of his small treasures.

Only a few months could have passed since then, though that time felt insurmountably distant now. For a moment, he tried to lose himself in the memory of that day, and the quiet, easy companionship he and Zelda had shared… except, he realized bitterly, it had only been quiet, not easy. Nothing had come easily between them since the day that tornado came and stole her away, and if that part had been Ghirahim's fault, he still didn't know who to blame for all that came after.

Standing here with his throbbing fingers, though, all that misery seemed dim in hindsight. A part of him even missed it, though he wanted to kick himself for thinking that. Maybe he just missed what he and Zelda should have had between them that they'd never been able to find… or maybe Zelda was right and he couldn't be trusted to know what he wanted, if so little time away could make him homesick.

Abruptly, Link could no longer stand to be alone with his thoughts. He needed company. Shaking water from his hands with disgust and pulling his undershirt over his still damp chest, he felt his way back to the bed, searching through the items he'd left piled up in his exhaustion until he found his cane. Leaving the rest to deal with later, Link walked carefully towards where Ghirahim had disappeared, grasping at the handrail as he descended. His stomach felt hollow almost to his spine, but he ignored it for now. It wasn't like he had anything to fill it.

A cool draft greeted him at the base of the stairs, whistling through a half-open door that thumped softly against the frame with each gust. Link followed the sound curiously, half reaching for the blindfold still looped around his neck before leaving it where it was. Ghirahim couldn't have gone far without Link to carry his sword.

Pushing his way through, Link shivered as he caught the full brunt of the cold breeze.

"That's a good look on you, sky child," Ghirahim's voice called with clear amusement, and Link turned towards it. "Following up on what you started?"

Link pulled self consciously at where his half-damp shirt clung.

"Can we talk inside?" he asked, ignoring the remark for now. If he’d known it was so cold, he would have grabbed his tunic.

"Hmph." With a snap, something warm settled across Link’s shoulders, which he recognized as the soft fabric of Ghirahim's mantle. "I'd rather not. I chose this place for its view, which I intend to enjoy."

"Oh," Link said, deadpan. "Well, in that case."

He walked slowly, careful to avoid the long garment's trailing ends. In slightly the wrong direction, as it turned out. With a noise of disgust, Ghirahim grabbed his arm and yanked him down beside him.

“Over here,” he snapped. "Are you trying to go wandering off a cliff?"

Raising a silent eyebrow, Link made as if to pull on the blindfold again, smirking when Ghirahim immediately caught his wrists. He still didn't know what the demon had against the thing… but the expression faded when Ghirahim refused to relinquish his grip.

"Wait," he said, a vague sort of panic starting to eat at his gut as his hands were led up towards the other's face. "Please don't."

"If not now, then when?" Ghirahim asked impatiently, though he did stop. "Avoiding it won't help."

"I…" Link licked his lips, his heart hammering. Ghirahim was right, but… "Later. The last few days have been… later."

"Fine," Ghirahim said after a moment, releasing him, and Link couldn't hold back a long exhale as he gently massaged his wrists. His stomach had twisted nervously at the thought of… forcing him. "Although I don't understand what you're so afraid of. It's only a memory, and not even an unpleasant one, at that."

Frowning, Link kept his thoughts to himself. He didn't like explaining the helplessness those relived moments carried, or the anticipation, or the waves of sensation rolling in from nerves heightened to the point of screaming. Worse were those teetering seconds before and after, when the lines of reality blurred past recognition. He wondered if he might eventually learn to anchor himself, keeping one foot in the real world even as the rest of him went tumbling into the past—but not tonight. Not with the woods so close behind, and the hurdle of another flame looming just ahead.

Ghirahim didn't press him. Instead, he leaned back with a sigh, allowing the distant chatter of bugs and birds and the wavering howl of the wind to replace conversation. Link did the same, breathing deeply through his nose as his eyelids fluttered shut. That pleasantly sharp scent was stronger out here in the open, and he tried to imagine those prickly, leafless trees Zelda had described standing tall around them, catching the whistling wind in their sharp needles. Something about the fresh air whipping across his face reminded him of flying, and the low din of nature surrounding him felt soothing in a way that the cramped room inside had not. Link almost thought if he could sit there for long enough, his battered soul might even start to heal.

Unfortunately, the weather had other plans. It didn't take long for that rushing wind to bite at his ears despite Ghirahim’s mantle, and Link soon thought longingly of where the rest of his clothes sat discarded on the floor upstairs—and of the demon sitting lost in thought beside him who'd become increasingly impossible to ignore, radiating heat like a furnace. If he could just get a little closer… 

Link debated within himself for almost a full minute before another sharp gust convinced him that he had nothing to lose. As unobtrusively as he could manage, he inched towards Ghirahim, ready to leap back at the slightest hint of protest or mockery, but it never came. Instead, Ghirahim shifted to meet him, and before Link quite knew what had happened, he found himself pulled against the demon's side, one arm wrapped around him with warm fingers combing idly through his rough hair.

Tensing beneath that soft touch, Link considered pulling away. Ghirahim had always wielded physical contact like a second weapon, to annoy or disturb or unsettle, which meant this must have some calculating edge, too. Resolutely, Link tried to find it, but…

Warmth poured off of Ghirahim in waves, his fingers scratching soothing circles against Link’s scalp, and his determination wavered. Eventually he gave up, letting his head fall wearily on Ghirahim's shoulder. Maybe the demon was wrapping Link around his finger, and… maybe he didn't care.

"I never expected to belong to anyone but Demise," Ghirahim said, breaking the silence, and Link's breath stilled. His metallic voice reverberating through Link's ear pressed up against him, Ghirahim sounded contemplative. "The demon king was never supposed to die. I thought I would serve by his side for… eternity, I suppose." He laughed bitterly, more to himself than Link. "Who can say how many insufferable masters I will be forced to live through now?"

Link considered that, fidgeting with the edge of Ghirahim's cloak. Aside from the horrible ease with which Ghirahim belonged to anyone, he would have expected Demise to be the most 'insufferable master' of all—but a certain wistfulness to the demon's words made him choose his own next words carefully.

"Was that… what you wanted?" he asked at last, speaking into Ghirahim's shoulder. Ghirahim didn't answer right away.

"Wanted," he repeated slowly, as if the very concept had little bearing on their conversation. Shaking his head, he went on with a reverence that turned Link's stomach. "Demise was powerful, Link. He took what he wanted. What was anyone else's desire compared to that? Though that power made him blind, I suppose. He could never quite see that any strength existed beyond power." He chuckled, a light rumble. "Certainly, he never predicted you."

Link hesitated. He wanted to ask about the story Batreaux had told, of Demise binding him to the sword, but… Ghirahim himself had never alluded to a time before Demise, as if he'd existed as a sword forever. It was like he didn't remember it… or just preferred not to? Maybe it helped not to dwell on what was lost, or—or to believe that nobody's will counted for anything in the face of such overwhelming strength.

Either way, Link searched quickly for something else to say, realizing only as he spoke that he might have looked a little harder.

"Do you wish Demise was still… your…" He bit his lip, certain he had wandered into dangerous territory. Sure enough, Ghirahim's form stiffened beneath him, straightening slowly.

"If you wish to fill the night with your questions, I believe I'm entitled to the same," he said pointedly. "How did you lose your previous sword?"

Link's mouth fell open in indignation.

"I didn't—!"

Of course. Ghirahim had no way of knowing where Fi had gone, though that hadn't occurred to him until now.

"I didn't lose her," he maintained, the pit of loss inside him widening. "She asked to be released. The goddess made Fi to defeat Demise, and we did, so…" He shrugged with an indifference he didn't feel. "The sword absorbed his last remaining essence when we defeated him. Watching over that… that's her duty now."

"I see," Ghirahim said, his voice unreadable. "She did strike me as particularly single minded, I suppose, and every sword needs its purpose—but does that truly require her full attention?" Throat tight, Link shook his head helplessly. He didn't know how these things worked. "You clearly miss her company, incomprehensible though that may be. Tell me, sky child: given the opportunity now, would you take Fi as your sword instead?"

Link opened his mouth to respond—and realized that he had no idea how to answer. The silence between them stretched, until he closed it with a snap.

"This partnership of ours is only several days old," Ghirahim pointed out softly. "Perhaps now is not the time to be making vows of undying affection, hmm? Although…" A smirk curved around his voice, and Link shrank back in alarm as he leaned in. "It is tempting. As appearances are not your area of expertise, I feel obliged to inform you that a bit of scruff suits you well."

Link knew he was meant to feel flustered—no doubt Ghirahim just wanted to change the subject, and had gone with the fastest method of doing so—but raising a hand to his face once more, all he felt was that same pang of guilty unease. How long had they spent wandering around that forest, leaving Zelda and the other knights with nothing to do but worry? He had wanted to avoid them until his task was finished, of course, but he'd never expected that to take more than a few days.

By the time he noticed Ghirahim's steely breath brushing his cheek, it was too late. Still caught in that wave of uncertainty, Link felt the familiar teetering between realities as the old helpless fear rose to meet him—warm, humid air filling his lungs, too much, too fast. He was trapped, defenseless, at the mercy of a creature who had none. He was… he was…

"Honestly," Ghirahim muttered, drawing back, and Link gasped in air that felt cold now by comparison. "I hope you learn to manage this soon, boy. I am not in the habit of competing for attention, even with myself."

Flushing, Link scrambled for the blindfold still draped around his neck, tying it off with shaking hands. Whatever Ghirahim thought he could read in his eyes, Link wanted to keep to himself this time.

For once, Ghirahim had no disparaging comment.

"The sun is fully set now," he said instead, withdrawing further to leave a cold gap in his absence. "I am much less familiar with the desert flame's location, so anything you might recall will be helpful."

Link's shoulders slumped wearily, but he nodded. It was time to move on.

"The goddess hid Nayru's flame on an invisible ship," Link told him. "The sea's all turned to sand, but the ship is still out there somewhere."

"Marvelous," Ghirahim said dryly. "So we've a desert to search for a ship we can't see?"

Link shook his head quickly.

"The ship's skipper always said that if I wanted to visit, I could get a ride from him at the docks. He's all broken down now, but there's a Timeshift Stone there that can take us to him in the past." Too bad they couldn't just stay in the past. Zelda would definitely have talked to the Thunder Dragon by now, and he'd be scouring the desert for them in the present.

"And we're just supposed to wait for this skipper to show up? I imagine you're in need of food, too," Ghirahim added. Link shrugged, but his growling stomach spoke for him, and Ghirahim tsked in annoyance. "I would almost rather take our chances searching the desert than be stuck waiting for… How often does the skipper come to dock?"

"I don’t…"

Link started to respond, but his own thoughts distracted him. Why couldn't they hide in the past? Zelda and the other knights would never think to look for them there… but the Timeshift Stones wouldn't be enough. Activating those would just bring anyone else from the present back with him.

"You look far too thoughtful for your own good," Ghirahim said suspiciously. "I almost hesitate to ask what you've thought of."

Link bit his lip, also wondering if he was about to suggest another scheme that would spin wildly out of control.

"Ghirahim… do you think you could get us through the Gate of Time?"

A stunned silence rose between them.

"Again, you manage to exceed my expectations," Ghirahim said at last. "Or is it the other way around?"

"I mean—" Link hurried to defend his idea, "—Zelda will be looking for us now, not… then. The only way anyone would even see us there is to use a Timeshift Stone, or else go through the Gate themsel—"

"No, I see the plan's merits," Ghirahim interrupted him. He still didn't sound enthused about the notion, though. "I assume the Gate is functional, then?"

"As far as I know," Link shrugged. "We can always think of something else if it isn't."

The more Link thought about the idea, the more he liked it. They could get both flames while they were there, and never have to worry about what the other knights had planned. Impa had managed to guide Zelda through the past without incident, after all. Why couldn't Ghirahim do the same?

"How is the gate guarded?" Ghirahim asked, and Link shrugged again.

"On this side? By nobody." Everyone who knew of its existence knew better than to try and enter. "Groose sleeps in the temple sometimes, but that's it. On the other side? I'm not sure."

"Now that sounds almost too good to be true," Ghirahim muttered under his breath, laughing softly as if he found something funny. "There are… complexities to consider, but I guess it's possible that this will not come to disaster, if we don’t overlinger. It might even be our best option."

"Glad you agree," Link retorted, a bit offended now that his idea had been received with such skepticism. "We only need to stay there long enough to use the flames. As soon as that’s done, we can go home."

“You really think so?” Ghirahim said, with such casual incredulity that Link was cut short, momentarily winded. Of course he’d be going home. All this running and hiding… it couldn’t last forever.

The question appeared rhetorical, because Ghirahim didn’t wait for an answer. Instead he rose smoothly to his feet, pulling Link alongside him. 

“If we’re doing this, then let it be done. Get dressed, and we'll find you something to eat.”

The warm weight of his cloak vanished with a sharp snap of fingers, and shivering, Link agreed.

While Ghirahim went to forage for what food he could in the small radius the sword allowed him, Link was left behind to pull on his mail and tunic and sort through the remaining items he'd left cluttering the floor. Running a hand under the bed to make sure he hadn't missed anything, his fingers caught the folded corner of his sailcloth, and again felt that stab of regret. Moving to stow it away, he instead found himself running the fabric through his fingers. The time he'd spent trapped in the forest might have flown by for him in its own cruel way, but for Zelda it must have dragged through days of fruitless searching. Frustrated as he was, Link had still never meant to put her through that.

"Mushrooms," Ghirahim announced dubiously on top of the chimes that signaled his return. "Potentially edible, though it occurs to me that you humans are fatally susceptible to the wrong varieties, so I do hope you know the difference. What's wrong?"

"I…" Link hesitated, knowing exactly how well his request would go over. "Do you think there's a way to—to send some kind of message to…" Ghirahim's silence turned withering, and his hands tightened around the sailcloth. "…Just to let Zelda know that I'm safe?"

"Oh, of course, master," Ghirahim said, brightly acidic. "That seems a worthy cause to risk our significant efforts over!" His voice turned scornful. "Have you considered that the girl perhaps appreciates your smothering as much as you do hers?”

Jaw clenched, Link stowed the sailcloth silently away, certain that Ghirahim could find a way if he really wanted to. Anyway, it wasn't like he thought Zelda was made of glass or anything. He just… he knew how she worried.

Unceremoniously, Ghirahim dumped the foraged food into Link's arms, who accepted it stiffly.

"Thank you."

"Don't come to rely on it," Ghirahim snapped. "Now if you wouldn't mind hurrying, I'd like to be out of here before sunrise."

Link almost retorted that maybe next time he would be the one to go foraging, which would certainly speed things along, but…

Prodding at one of the mushrooms, Link felt the venom run out of him. He recognized the slashed cap as one that Zelda had specifically pointed out as edible all those months ago. Between her and Ghirahim, he just might survive on the surface after all.

"Thank you," Link said again, more sincerely, and this time Ghirahim paused.

"I'll wait for you in the sword," was all he eventually said, a run of chimes punctuating his sentence. 

Sighing, Link dug into his meager meal, discovering ruefully that he'd remembered their bitter flavor all too well. There had to be a way to get a message to Zelda… or at least some sort of sign to show that he was okay? The food disappeared too quickly, leaving him neither satisfied nor full, and he still hadn't come up with anything. Reluctantly, Link decided that she would just have to wait until he made it home.

"I will make it home," he whispered fiercely under his breath as he at last hooked the sword to his back, Ghirahim appearing beside him once more.

"Having second thoughts?" the demon asked shrewdly.

Shaking his head, Link held out a silent hand. After a pause of appraisal, Ghirahim took it, and the two of them vanished into the night.

If Lanayru Desert was hot during the day, it was somehow just as cold in the evening, with the heat sapped from sand and sky by the setting sun. Zelda shivered, pulling her Loftwing up to hover over the abandoned ship lying stranded in the middle of the rolling desert. Off in the distance, the Thunder Dragon flew in constant vigil, lightning splitting the cloudless air in a trail behind him. He had let her pass with no more than a nod, of course, and she hoped he understood her desire for solitude. At the very least, he would ensure that nobody else disturbed her.

A tall flame flickered at the bow of the ruined vessel, burning an unnatural blue. With a gentle nudge, she guided her Loftwing to land beside it, slipping from its back.

"I'm sorry to keep you up so late again," Zelda murmured to the violet bird, stroking its beak in thanks. The animal gave her a reassuring cry, and Zelda smiled in spite of herself. Sometimes she thought the Loftwing knew her thoughts better than any person. "I hope you don't mind settling here for the night. I'll join you as soon as I'm ready."

Sunset always seemed to linger in the desert, with magenta clinging to the flat, dusty horizon long after the forest had gone dark, but she'd still pushed her Loftwing to the very edge of safe flight more than once this week, and she could feel its exhaustion. Tomorrow, she’d be sure to give the bird some rest. Even if she chose to burn the candle at both ends, Zelda couldn’t keep asking others to do the same.

For now, she gave it one last pat before letting her hand slip away, turning to face Nayru's flame.

Like so much else, this ship drove home just how drastically the world could change over time: a vessel that in her memories sailed the vast ocean with its noble task of protection, now stranded in a sea of sand with its burning treasure laid bare to the open sky. Walking forward, Zelda glanced around before sinking gratefully beside the azure fire, warming herself in its glow. At least the ship had served its purpose for as long as necessary. Now, she hoped it would serve as a beacon.

Link still might choose Din’s fire first. Eldin had promised to remain vigilant, just in case… but when Link had strengthened the Master Sword, the desert had followed the forest, and she suspected that he would naturally mirror that pattern now.

In any case, if she had to choose, Zelda preferred to pass her nights beneath Nayru's flame. It was nothing against Din, but she had always felt a certain kinship with the Goddess of Wisdom. Maybe if she knelt before the flame long enough, some portion of Nayru’s wisdom might pass on to her.

She could certainly use it.

“Nayru,” she murmured, and paused, looking around again self-consciously. Zelda had prayed here before, both out loud and in silent meditation, and she still couldn’t quite figure out how to do it. Hylia’s memories of the golden goddesses were dim, even impersonal, though she didn’t think they had felt that way in the making. “It’s… well, it’s been ten days now.” Zelda’s face twisted, and she took a deep breath. “Ten days since Link vanished."

Ten days with no sign of Link… or, almost no sign. His Loftwing had been acting strangely all week, soaring low over the trees as if searching for something and occasionally breaking into a sharp dive, only to pull short of the treetops again with an angry shriek. At first, Zelda had tried to follow him, hoping the bird might lead her to its master, but the Loftwing always managed to lose her… or maybe she lost him? Zelda couldn't figure out how she ended up so turned around each time, but after days of failure, she'd eventually abandoned it as a lost cause. It wasn't until the night before that Link's Loftwing had finally settled down—the night when the Triforce had flickered and spun in its place above the fallen Statue of the Goddess.

The memory of that night still made her deeply uneasy. Though she couldn’t find anything wrong with the Triforce exactly, standing near it now gave her the unsettling feeling of something… coming apart? Maybe it was finally time to seal the relic away more permanently, though she’d already increased its protections in the meantime. 

Was that what Ghirahim wanted? The Triforce, to resurrect his old master?

"Maybe he's just trying to wait me out,” she murmured. “Maybe he thinks if he waits long enough, I'll give up on him.” Her eyes hardened. "It's not going to work."

In some ways, it was working. She had considered many ways of keeping Link from the sacred flames at first, from ambushes and magical traps to protections placed on the flames themselves, but the passing days had stripped her plan down to something much simpler. People could only upend their lives for so long to find someone so resistant to being found, and the knights had other duties. Zelda still had Groose's help, of course, along with Pipit and Karane, but even they could only do so much.

In the meantime, Ghirahim had now had ten days alone with Link. Ten days for the demon to whisper in Link’s ear… If anyone could reach Link at all now, she knew it had to be her, alone. 

What if they didn’t intend to return for the flames at all? What if the demon lord had only humored Link to start with, and every moment she spent here waiting was another moment for him to carry Link further out of her reach?

"I still don't know what Ghirahim hopes to gain from all this," Zelda said, her eyes rising to stare up at the blue flame pleadingly. "If it's revenge, is it on me or Link? 

The flame only flickered, cool and detached, and Zelda wondered bitterly if her prayers fell on deaf ears. The Goddesses had left this world in Hylia’s hands long ago, after all—and now here she was, the only one left to hear her own prayers. More than Zelda, not quite Hylia; not enough for anybody.

Worse than that, though… worse was that she did feel one divine presence watching, one so dreadfully familiar that it made her question how complete her memories of the goddess really were. Hylia may have shed her divine form, but she was the goddess of time, which made her as present now as ever. From the edge of time Hylia had guided them once, both hero and reincarnation, exerting her influence through them in her battle against Demise. Now, from the edge of time she seemed content to merely watch, secure in the knowledge that events had worked out for the world’s good. 

And they had— they had, Zelda knew her logic all too well—yet…

"Why couldn't Link have just talked to me?" Zelda asked miserably, exhaustion flooding her as she realized how pointless all this praying was. What could Nayru do for her anyway? Bring Link back? The goddesses were never so direct. "Why was it so much easier for him—for him to turn to…"

Her shoulders shook, tears blurring her vision. Sleep. She needed it desperately—but rest and sleep were not the same, and hadn't been for longer than Link had been missing. All those nights when Ghirahim had chased her across the surface in her mind, his laughter a constant threat on the breeze… if she had confided those in Link, might he have done the same? 

Worse were the nights when she couldn't escape, and Ghirahim tore her soul piece by piece from her body, reveling in the rising crescendo of her screams—not nightmares, those, or not only. Memories. A part of Zelda hoped fervently that Link was only confused somehow, and that a few days kept apart from the demon lord would set him straight. The alternative was that he knew Ghirahim had tried to kill her, and that—that he'd decided it didn't matter enough to—

Curling in on herself, Zelda sobbed, shaking against the cold, wooden deck. The flame looked on in silence, and she hoped fervently in that moment that Nayru did not. She didn't feel very wise at all right then—only hurt and afraid, and so very tired. Her long days of searching had worn away all of her certainty, and now she didn't know what to believe. Maybe she was wrong, and Ghirahim meant no harm towards Link or herself or any of her people… but would that lessen the sting of Link's betrayal?

Eventually, her tears ran dry, and Zelda opened her eyes to stare blearily at the flame once more. She had expected to feel something after all that crying. Instead, she only felt empty.

"Forgive me, Nayru," she said with a hollow laugh, pressing her forehead against the ancient wood. "Maybe someday I'll learn how to pray."

For another long moment she stayed there, listening to the sound of her own hitched breathing against the crackle of fire and distant whine of cicadas. At last, she raised her head, looking dully at the floor in front of her—and blinked. Frowning, she sat up slowly, brushing at the sandy wood with trembling hands. Although time had worn most of the planks down to almost perfect smoothness, a closer look revealed a curiously precise matrix of pitted dots carved into the wood itself. Weathered and nearly illegible as the marks were, their arrangement still struck a familiar chord. They almost looked like…

Zelda's breath caught, and she fumbled at her belt for a slingshot even as she cast her eyes around for a Timeshift Stone. She was certain she'd seen one somewhere… there!

Her hands shook so badly that it took a few tries to even set the shot, and her first attempt fell far short of its intended target. Pausing to breathe deeply, Zelda forced herself to stillness before trying again, her second shot flying smoothly to strike the distant stone. Violet light erupted from its center, expanding steadily to envelop the ship's deck, and in an instant the surrounding air became wet and warm. Torrents of rain slapped her across the face, and the deck rolled beneath her over the turbulent water, sending her tumbling to her knees before a hissing flame that burned brightly despite the downpour. Looking around wildly, Zelda caught a familiar sight in the sudden, heaving chaos: the tip of a green hat disappearing just at the edge of vision.

"Link?" she breathed, not believing her eyes. It should have been impossible, but… "Link, wait!"

Stumbling to her feet, Zelda lurched forward, fighting to keep her balance as she ran to where her friend had disappeared. She knew what she'd seen, even if it was just the briefest glimpse. She just needed to catch up—

Zelda shivered in the abruptly freezing air, water pouring from her dress to pool beneath her on the dry, gritty deck. She'd crossed the edge of the Timeshift Stone's reach, yet there was still no sign of Link. Had Ghirahim spirited him away again, or… 

Whirling back around, she dove into the storm once more, searching desperately.

"Link!" she called out, her voice swallowed up by the wind, and got no response. Could she really have imagined him?

Stubbornly, she waded through the downpour to fall before the flame, searching blindly in the water for the marks she'd found before. Those would say for sure whether her mind was playing tricks on her.

To Zelda's great relief, she found them there again, so freshly carved in this era that the shavings hadn't quite washed away. Running her hand along the cipher she and Link had created together, Zelda read the message to herself. It wasn't long.

Safe. Sorry. Home soon.

It wasn't signed, though it didn't need to be. They had never shared their creation with anyone else. Zelda's muscles turned to water at the realization that after days of searching, she'd been only seconds away from really seeing Link. Seeing him… holding him… but he was safe, and that was what mattered. Safe, with another flame under his belt.

"He's really here," Zelda whispered, the rain pelting her face now unnoticed. He couldn't have used a Timeshift Stone with her there the whole time. He had actually passed through the Gate of Time—a risky prospect considering his current company, though he had no way of knowing that.

Lightning forked across the sky above, and sudden fear flooded her.

"I have to go find him," Zelda muttered, staggering to her feet. He was somewhere in this downpour, without even Ghirahim's dubious protection assuming they'd used the sacred flame. "I have to—"

Something in Nayru's steady blue flame caught her gaze, and Zelda stared up at it intently. No… no, that was foolish. Link would be fine on his own for a night, even in these conditions. Praying at the flame may have brought her knowledge, but wisdom was what she chose to do with it—and in that moment, the wisest course of action would be to rest while she could, as much as she could. Whatever else tomorrow brought, it would certainly bring an early start, and she needed to be prepared.

It took Zelda a few tries to hit the Timeshift Stone in the rain, but eventually she found herself beneath a clear night sky, shivering and drenched but filled with newfound resolve. Remaining in those clothes seemed like a good way to freeze, so she quickly stripped her dress away to dry. Bare skin pebbled in the blue light as she leaped to open up her bedroll.

Lucky for them both, her Loftwing had settled for the night outside of the Stone's radius, and it cawed in sleepy confusion as she approached, wrapped in a thick, downy blanket with her hair still dripping wet.

"I hope you don't mind sharing your warmth with me tonight," Zelda told her bird, and it cried again more loudly, making space for her with its wing. On the point of entering its embrace, Zelda paused, looking back at the flame.

"Thank you," she called out, just in case, before curling beneath her Loftwing's wing. The goddesses appreciated it when their blessings went acknowledged, after all.

Of course, wanting to sleep and actually sleeping were not the same thing, though Zelda's eyes fell resolutely shut as if they were. If Link was sending her messages… that must be a good sign, right? That he wanted to talk to her, and he wanted to come home. He had to have known that the odds of his message ever reaching Zelda were slim, but with the storm raging around him he'd tried… and in so doing had given himself away.

Zelda shifted uncomfortably against her Loftwing at the thought, realizing just how easily she could betray his trust. That didn't sit well with her, no matter how great the need. This might well be her last chance to retrieve the sword before it became almost impossible… but… could there really be wisdom in acting on what she didn't understand? Simply waiting for him to come home was an act in itself, though—one with potentially dire consequences.

Safe. Sorry. Home soon.

Half-formed plans drifted through her mind, each with its own drawbacks and merits… but of all the thoughts that kept her from sleep, one kept circling back. That day at the Earth Spring those long months prior, when Link had finally tracked her down across forest and mountain only for Impa to whisk her away with barely a word of greeting… 

Thinking of the tip of Link’s hat vanishing into the storm, Zelda wished now that she had stayed.

Chapter Text

"Link, wait!"

Link stopped, wiping water from his face that the rain quickly replaced as he strained his ears to listen. For a moment he'd thought he heard…

As if taking advantage of his distraction, the deck beneath him heaved, and Link fought to keep his balance as torrents of wind and rain buffeted him from behind. Grimacing, he pressed on, reserving every bit of concentration for the battle of staying upright and pointed vaguely in the right direction. He'd always had enough trouble navigating this place when the deck wasn't rolling beneath him, and in a storm like this, any errant wave might send him flying overboard.

He had to have just imagined hearing his name on the wind.

Link's cane skittered across the wet boards beneath him before striking the wall with a hollow thud. Relieved, he leaned up against it, feeling around for the heavy cabin door and fumbling with the handle. The wind and rain cut off together as he slipped inside with a weary sigh. 

"Hey there, zrrt! Did you do what you needed to do, vrrm?"

"I did," Link said, smiling gratefully and pushing damp hair out of his face. The ship's crew had almost fallen over themselves to accommodate him once they'd recovered from the shock of his sudden appearance, much to Ghirahim's amusement. "The deck is free now. Thank you."

"Phoo-weep! It was no problem! You stay here as long as you need to, vrrm. We can't thank you enough for getting rid of Scervo, bzzt, and saving our captain!"

"Thank you," Link said again, sincerely, and the robot gave a satisfied bzzt .

"Guess it’s back to work then. We need all hands on deck, vrrrrm! What a storm!"

A small rush of robots whooshed past him on their way out, each with a "thanks, vrrm!" as they passed, and Link laughed. This place might be a desert in his time, but it felt good to think that on this side of the gate, the ship still sailed.

They had not found Skipper waiting at the docks, or even aboard his ship. According to his apologetic crew, the old robot had gone off to his retreat to see his family for a few days, though they expected him back at any time… or at least, they had before the storm. Luckily, with the ship left visible awaiting its captain’s return, Ghirahim had spotted it floating off the shoreline and taken them both there himself. After all of Link's worrying over how to reach the flame unhindered, he couldn’t shake the thought that it had been almost too easy in the end.

Of course, the robotic crew required none of the same accommodations that a human would, which meant there was not a soft corner or speck of food to be found on the entire ship. With a laugh that became a groan, Link settled onto the hard floorboards, unlatching his sword to rest his back against the wall. That cozy bed in the little mountain home felt ages away… which it was, now that he thought about it. At least he was warm here—if wet—with a safe place to rest and another flame under his belt. 

Small mercies, maybe, but they added up. Link felt almost serene even as the ship jolted him. Running a careful hand up his newly changed blade—the diamond pattern felt more pronounced under his fingers, but the sword had stayed roughly the same size this time, and Link wondered if it would be too large to wield single-handed after all—he wrapped it loosely in his sailcloth, settling it across his lap where it wouldn't go flying with every jerk of the ship. He'd even managed to leave Zelda a message that he thought had some chance of reaching her, if she was watching the flames like he thought she was, and if it survived the ravages of time.

A small chance, he supposed, though one worth taking if it might help her rest easier. He'd not minded having something to occupy his hands, either. Now, he had nothing to do but wait for Ghirahim to wake up. Again.

Maybe Skipper would come back once the weather died down. Link wouldn't mind his company.

Though he didn't expect to sleep with the ship pitching so hard beneath him, Link's exhaustion eventually took him over, his dreams melding fitfully with the waking world in a way that had nothing to do with serenity. Voices called out, half waking him, until he couldn't be sure who was really there and who wasn't. Zelda comforted him, promising to keep him safe as Ghirahim's sword disintegrated in her hands (and even if he couldn't see, he knew). Ghirahim awoke in the night to coldly state that he had changed his mind, that he would not be chained down to a blind child any longer, and Link was left alone to wander the ship in a neverending storm, the deck falling away beneath his feet to drop him, flailing, into the dark ocean below.

Through it all a golden light flickered, illuminating nothing but growing steadily brighter to form three blurred shapes he couldn't make out. The back of Link's hand itched fiercely, and he woke to the wavering creak of old hinges, scratching furiously at his gauntlet. The sharp tossing of the ship had finally ebbed to a gentle sway, but the light patter of rain on wood still echoed faintly through the cabin. Disoriented, Link rubbed at his eyes, trying to remember… what? The light was gone, but it couldn't have existed in the first place. Link never saw in his dreams… or at least, not since the visions of Demise that came to him in the weeks before Fi awakened.

That soft squeal of the cabin door distracted him, shifting lazily back and forth in the restless breeze. Link considered rising to close it, but decided that such movement was beyond him at the moment. He thought he could even fall asleep again if he tried, though a persistent ache in his back let him know he'd regret this cramped position come morning… or was it morning already? From inside the musty cabin, it was impossible to tell.

Listening to the rhythmic cracks and squeals as the wooden hull met the crash of each wave, Link wondered idly how the heavy door had come loose in the first place. Had the storm blown it open during the night, or—

"Come with me," a low voice whispered in his ear, two hands resting on his shoulders, and Link reacted without thought. Jerking back, his head met the wall with a crunch, and his mind rode a sickening wave of pain as he briefly forgot who and where he was.

Distantly, he heard muttering, and the hands on his shoulders tightened to lift him up.

"This is Impa. Impa," the voice hissed, and Link's lips parted in recognition. "Hold on to your sword, Link. I'm getting you out of here."

Impa steered him to his feet before he could protest, pushing him forward with an iron grip. Link clutched his wrapped sword awkwardly as he stumbled through the door with her, and the salty breeze rose to a swirling crescendo of wind that gusted up around him. The deck dropped away beneath his feet, and Link had time to let out a yell, wondering wildly when they would hit the water below.

Then it was over, the ground coming up to meet him more gently than he'd anticipated. Link took in a deep breath, and coughed at the smoky air that filled his lungs.

"What… where…?" he choked out painfully. Wherever Impa had taken them, they were nowhere near the salty-wet spray of the ocean.

"Uncover your weapon," Impa said, ignoring his spluttering. "I do not think he would know to follow you here, but…"

Long unused instincts flared to life at her wary tone. Swallowing hard and blinking back tears, Link fought not to sway as he readied himself, the stationary ground wobbling beneath him after the pitching of the ship. His throat stung less with each breath he took, and he realized that the fire he smelled was either further away than he'd thought, or less recent.

"Who—?" Link started to ask, only to be hushed impatiently. A full minute passed before the Sheikah woman finally relaxed.

"Perhaps we are safe after all," she said at last, sheathing her weapon with a metallic rasp as a self-satisfied smirk entered her voice. "No doubt he thought he had you cornered on that ship. It's a great relief to find you well, Link, but I will take care of this threat myself. You must return to your own time, and warn Zelda if she does not already know."

"About what?" Link asked, following suit and attaching his sword at the back. With the rush of unexpected adrenaline already fading, a hovering anxiety swooped in to take its place. How had he managed to be found by Impa, the only person this side of the Gate of Time who knew who he was? Under other circumstances it might have been a happy reunion, but if she somehow knew about—

"Ghirahim." Impa's incredulous answer made his heart sink. "I saw him pull you through the Gate of Time, but the two of you vanished so quickly that I don't think he noticed me. It took all night to track you down." She paused uncomfortably. "To be honest, Link, I—I feared that I would not find you in time."

"Oh," Link said weakly, catching the implication. "No, he… didn't hurt me."

"What I do not understand is what he expects to accomplish by passing through the gate at all, or why he needed you," Impa muttered. "Did Ghirahim let slip his intentions? He always did love to flaunt his advantage."

"I… He…" Link stammered, torn between the truth and something less incriminating.

"I'm surprised that he left you armed," Impa continued, her voice circling around behind him. "I would have expected—"

She cut off with a sharp gasp, and Link bit his lip. Maybe the decision wasn't his to make after all.

"Where did you get that sword?" Impa's shock deflated any fleeting hope that the flames had altered the blade past recognition. "It might have changed since the last time I saw it, but I would know it—where is he?" she demanded suddenly. "If that sword is here, the demon cannot be far."

"He's inside the sword," Link said stiffly, turning back around to place himself between her and his weapon. Impa's silent disapproval burned like a hot coal, and he hurried to explain. "The sacred flames are… hard on him. It might be hours before he recovers enough to come out."

"Well then," Impa breathed, horror creeping into her voice as she drew back. "Well. That explains much, and not nearly enough. Why would you seek to strengthen this demon? Why pass through the Gate of Time to do it? And why—" Link grunted as she pinned a finger against his chest— "did you move him from his frozen tomb in the first place?"

"How did you—?" Link gaped as realization hit and words failed him. It was Impa who abandoned Ghirahim in that desolate mountain cave. He could imagine the scene all too well: the Sheikah warrior gathering the spirit's near shattered remnants from the pit where Link had entered Demise's final battlefield, and leaving him frozen and forgotten in a place so remote, he would never have the chance to seek out his master again. Link couldn't even say that she'd been wrong to do it, any more than he'd been wrong to fight him in that pit in the first place, but the thought of it still twisted his stomach.

"I am waiting, hero," Impa said impatiently with another jab, and Link felt a wave of indignation, the cuts on his fingertips tingling where they had worn themselves away against his harp.

"I am the hero," he said, brushing her hand aside. He had proven that much, at least. "And I'm here to cleanse the sword, and reform the demon within—or at least, I intend to try." A lofty goal, that, and not one Ghirahim would appreciate hearing, but he was asleep and had no say in Link's aspirations. "As for how I found him..."

Delving into his pocket, Link fished out the blindfold that he'd gone through so much to retrieve and presented it to her.

"A Bind of True Sight?" Impa said, surprised, and Link's eyebrows shot up.

"I… didn't know it had a name."

"It is of Sheikah origin," she informed him, taking it in her hands to examine. "Our emblem is woven into the fabric. Through it, the wearer may eventually see the lines of destiny that determine all things, although as those lines become clearer, the wearer's natural sight grows dim. Few would dare wear this, Link—though I suppose in your case, the sacrifice must have been small."

"I suppose so," Link said dryly, holding out a hand for the cloth's return. She had no idea.

Instead, Impa hesitated.

"Seeing fate's design is not enough, Link. One must interpret, a skill that can take years. What in that pattern makes you believe that this demon is capable of redemption?"

Link frowned, both at her reluctance to give back what was his and at the question itself.

"That wasn't what I saw, exactly," he said at last, raising a hand to his chest where the red thread sprouted out, unseen. "It's more of a… connection. There's something that ties us together still, something real and visible that I could follow. It led me to a mountain, and..." Link remembered the biting cold, the dark surge of power encircling him as the sword recognized its new master. "I didn't intend to claim the sword, but I think maybe that's how things were supposed to be all along. Maybe he was meant to replace the weapon that I lost."

"You are taking a great risk for a great many maybes," Impa observed, and Link scowled as he recognized pity in her voice. Maybe he hadn't hid his bitterness as well as he thought. "I understand that you must feel your sword's loss keenly, but to go as far as this… wouldn't the more obvious conclusion be that you are meant to meet each other in battle?"

"I thought so at first, but…" His voice faltered. "I didn't… want to. And… the feeling was mutual." Grimacing, Link ducked his head. "I know firsthand what Ghirahim is capable of, believe me, but—but he can't be held accountable for everything he did under Demise's control, right? He had no more power to resist his orders then than he has to resist me now."

"You know nothing of what Ghirahim is capable of," Impa said harshly, and he stepped back at her sudden venom. "You still have not explained why you couldn't use the flames in your own time."

Link frowned.

"And you still haven't returned my blindfold," he retorted, holding his hand out again. Again, she ignored it.

"You are running from something," Impa said, half to herself, dry grass crunching beneath her feet as she advanced. Link's jaw clenched, and he shifted surreptitiously to the balls of his feet. He could almost see the path of her thoughts spiraling to their inevitable conclusion, like a winding thread. "Not from Ghirahim, though that would be wise. What is Zelda's opinion of all this?"

"It was her idea in the first place," Link said, his face as blank as he could make it even as his heart pounded. It wasn't even a lie, exactly. "She said that if I cleansed the sword, it would be fit for me to wield."

"Is that so?" Impa said, and his heart sank. She didn't believe him.

He had no warning past the scuff of a shoe. Instinct alone sent Link dodging to the side, and he felt Impa glide past him, her grasping fingers just missing the sword.

"What are you doing?" Link snapped, wrapping a fist around the hilt as he faced her again. He had no intention of drawing it, but she would have a harder time taking the sword by the blade.

"Taking Ghirahim into my custody," Impa said firmly. "You as well, if you try to stop me. Her Grace can determine what to do with you once we find her, but the two of you are too dangerous to leave wandering around."

"We're not trying to hurt anybody," Link protested, hoping he didn't sound too urgent. He couldn't let her drag Zelda into this. "If you don't want us here, just take us to the gate and we'll—"

He cut off in shock as Impa's weapon rasped free of its sheath.

"I hope you're telling the truth, but you learn quickly enough not to trust anyone when Ghirahim is involved," Impa growled. "I will take you to the gate, but first you're giving me that sword."

"I'm not—"

"Link! Impa! Stop!"

The two inhaled in unison as an unfamiliar voice called out, footsteps bounding quickly to meet them.

"Wait!" the stranger panted, out of breath as he skidded to a halt nearby. Young and male was all Link could determine, maybe even somewhere around his own age, though he was sure he'd never met this boy in his life. "What are you doing?"

"Who are you?" Impa demanded, and Link knew she hadn't relaxed an inch. He certainly had not. "You may dress like a Sheikah, but I would know you if you were."

"You wouldn't," the boy gasped out, coughing, "because I came through the gate after him. My name is Sheik."

Link gaped. He hadn't known there were any Sheikah left, though he realized now that he had never given it much thought, either. Despite the well-timed interruption, Link felt an anxious pit form in his stomach as he wondered how Sheik had known to follow him in the first place. If he had talked to Zelda before crossing through the gate, then not only would she be waiting on the other side for him with as many knights as she thought were necessary, but Impa would also find out just how creatively he had stretched the truth. What she determined about Link's loyalties then was anyone's guess.

"I leave that gate unguarded for one night and the whole world starts wandering through!" Impa snapped, oblivious to Link's rising tension. "The hero coming through is bad enough, but if you are Sheikah then you should have known better."

"And you should know better than anyone that the turnings of fate sometimes require us to do things that we otherwise would not," Sheik retorted. "I came here hoping to retrieve the hero and his companion before any great damage could occur. I didn't think I would find the two of you pointing your swords at each other!"

"Not me," Link protested hotly, but the two ignored him.

"I came to aid the hero as well," she growled. "Instead I found—his companion?" She stopped suspiciously. "So you already know?"

"Of course," Sheik said. "It is Ghirahim who poses the greatest threat to this timeline. Where is he now? In the sword?"

"Yes…" Impa drew out the word slowly. "If Link is to be believed, that is."

"I'm… sure he is," Sheik said, sounding taken aback. "I understand your suspicion, Impa, but this is a situation best resolved in its own time. Whatever you were trying to do—"

"That is exactly what I was trying to do!"

If they intended to talk over him like a wayward child, then at least he could take advantage of the situation. Slowly, Link loosened his grip on the hilt, moving his hand so the blade's base sliced lightly across his leather gauntlets to the skin of his palm beneath. Blood oozed down the sword, the engraved metal growing slippery with it, and Link waited. All he had was a theory, an observation that might not mean anything, but his blood had always awakened the voice of the sword in the past. If he hadn't just cut his hand for nothing, then maybe…

Again? Ghirahim whispered in his ear, amused, and Link let out a low, relieved breath. It had worked. This is growing absurd, sky child. If I leave you to wander unsupervised for much longer, you will eventually cut off your own—

"We've been found," Link breathed without moving his lips, and Ghirahim went silent. "Sheikah. I'll do what I can. Be careful."

For a long moment after, there was no response. Then, in a voice so weak Link had to strain his ears to hear it before it vanished, Ghirahim murmured, You really do have the worst luck…

Link closed his eyes with a sigh, pressing his hand tightly against his tunic. Maybe Ghirahim could find some way to speed up his recovery now that he knew the danger. Short of bathing the sword in his own blood, it was the best he could do.

"Can't we give Link the benefit of the doubt?" he heard Sheik saying as he turned his attention back to their conversation. Link thought he might like him from that alone, though he wasn't quite ready to trust him. "I don't think he could have accomplished what he did if his mind could be swayed so easily."

"It's a simple request," Impa retorted, as implacable as stone. "He has no good reason not to comply."

"It's my sword ," Link argued, cutting in wearily. "I don't like giving up my weapon—and she didn't even bother to ask."

"Fine then," Impa said. "Link, would you let me carry your sword?"

Link's eyes narrowed.

"Link…" Sheik sighed reluctantly. "It's a fair request. We are trespassing outside of our time here, and Impa has good reason to mistrust the demon accompanying you. Just for now, would you mind…?"

Scowling, Link considered his options. This could easily turn into the cistern all over again, only this time Ghirahim couldn't get him out. Then again, if he gave up the sword and Impa refused to give it back… What would Ghirahim do?

"Give me back my blindfold," Link said abruptly, pulling his sword free. Ghirahim would have fought, or taken them somewhere safe. Link didn't have those options, and he could only work with what he had. "Impa can keep the sword until we reach the gate. I want your word that I'll have it back, though."

Sheik didn't object to those terms, he noticed. Either he hadn't talked to Zelda, or he wanted Link to think he had not.

"As soon as we cross the gate, the sword will leave my jurisdiction," Impa agreed, and Link flinched as the sword swiftly left his hand. The blindfold she placed there in its stead was only a small salve to his pride.

"How did the two of you end up here, anyway?" Sheik asked, and Link realized that he still didn't know where here was. The smoky air gave no clue to their surroundings, thought it hovered as an incessant irritant in the back of his throat.

"It seemed like a good place to hide when I thought we were being pursued," Impa muttered, though she seemed in a better mood now with Link's sword in her hands. "If you are not averse, we can stay here and rest for a few moments while I prepare another portal. You look as if you could use a rest," she added, and Sheik barked out a laugh.

"It shows, does it?" he said ruefully. "Unfortunately we cannot all be Impa and cross half a mile in a single bound."

"Glad to know my legend lives on," Impa said, grass crunching beneath her as she turned. "Although it's appalling to think how far the Sheikah's standards must have fallen. I think some of these buildings are still standing. Follow me."

"'Still standing'?" Link asked reluctantly, allowing Sheik to lead him by the arm as they walked. It wasn't really necessary, but at least he didn't try to pull him along, or grip too tightly like some people did. "Where are we?"

Their good-natured ribbing stopped abruptly.

"Kakariko Village," Sheik said at last, his voice sad. "Home of the Sheikah."

"What's left of it," Impa added, her good humor gone, and Link swallowed. Suddenly the smoke took on an ominous new meaning.

Sure enough, the ground beneath his feet turned from dry grass and stone to the hard-packed dirt of a path, though Link had a hard time finding any other similarities to a village. There were no people, for one thing, and the scent of food was conspicuously absent in all that smoke. Every now and then he thought he caught the creak of an old hinge or the whistle of wind through wood, but without any accompanying signs of life, they only emphasized the wrongness of the place around him.

"Where have the rest of the Sheikah gone?" Sheik asked, and Impa grunted.

"Most take refuge in the temples. Others have scattered. There is talk of rebuilding once the earth settles and the fires die down, but who can say when that will be? I suppose…" The pace of her footsteps slowed. "If there is anything good to be gained from all this, it's that your presence here means we will find our place eventually."

"Of course," Sheik said after a moment, but Link felt Sheik's grip on his arm tighten.

"Why are there fires?" Link asked, and Impa laughed without humor.

"Zelda told me of your people's legends. 'They burnt forests to ash, choked the land's sweet springs, and murdered without hesitation,'" she recited, and Link's stomach turned. "Did you think those were only words? The land may have healed a thousand years from now, but in this time it bleeds from the demons' attacks."

Clamping his mouth shut, Link didn't ask about the specific demon whose name hung unspoken in the air between them. He didn't think he wanted to know.

"Here we are," Impa said eventually, leading them up creaking stairs into a room that smelled no less of smoke despite being enclosed. The wooden door fell shut behind them with a slap as if it hung partially off its frame. "This building was an inn once, so I guess it's as good a place to rest as any."

"Thank you," Sheik said with a weary sigh, pulling Link down beside him onto something soft. "It was a long run here."

"It won't be a long run back," Impa assured him. "The portal will only take a few minutes to prepare. The sooner you are all through the gate, the better."

Link agreed fervently. Anything had to be better than this perpetual uncertainty. The broken door slammed shut again as she left, and Link toyed unthinkingly with the blindfold in his pocket, wondering if he should put it on.

"She won't take it," Sheik said, and Link twitched in surprise.

"What?"

"Impa," he clarified. "She won't run off with the sword without you."

Grimacing, Link released the blindfold. That was easy for Sheik to say. All of Link's friends had turned into threats overnight, and he hated it. Was what he wanted really so wrong?

Sheik sank deeper into his seat with a sigh while Link perched on the edge, unable to relax. Though he knew he should be planning for whatever happened at the gate, the smoke-filled air gnawed at his thoughts. He thought he'd smelled its like before, though he couldn't remember where or when. Cookfires didn't come close to approaching that all-encompassing stench, but the sulfuric reek of volcanic smoke didn't quite describe it either—

Skyloft was on fire. Reeling from the unexpected chaos, Link turned helplessly, watching clouds of black smoke rise above flames that licked the air, devouring the only home he'd ever known. In the distance he heard a scream, but from where he stood there was nobody to be seen. Where were the townsfolk? How many had escaped on their Loftwings, and how many were...

Link shuddered and ducked his head, stomach churning as he remembered that final Silent Realm. It was only a vision, he reminded himself angrily. Would he now be haunted by things that had never even happened? 

Except it had happened here. His leg shook nervously up and down, and he didn't think he could stop it.

"I brought you some food," Sheik said, shifting to pull something from his pack, and the frantic rhythm froze. Link had almost forgotten that half of the twisting in his stomach came from hunger. "It's not quite warm anymore, but it shouldn't be cold yet, either. Here."

A bottle was placed in his hands, and Link opened the stopper hesitantly, mouth watering as he caught a whiff of the sweet aroma.

"This is from Skyloft," he said wonderingly, raising it to his lips. Sure enough, the familiar flavor of pumpkin and spices swirled across his tongue, its earthy taste and creamy texture evoking his deepest memories of home. Pumm's recipe, he thought, and wondered how Sheik had gotten it. He had to force himself not to chug it all at once, pulling away reluctantly to breathe.

"I thought you might appreciate it," Sheik said, with a laugh that fell just short of actual amusement. "I have bread with me, too, if you're still hungry."

"Thank you," Link said, holding the bottle to his nose and breathing in deeply to ward off the memory of flickering flames. The gesture of kindness meant almost more to him than the food itself. "You didn't have to."

"It was nothing."

The soup disappeared quickly, as did the bread that followed after, though he didn't think he could have gone any slower if he tried. Sheik sat quietly beside him as he ate, and Link found himself wishing that he would speak again. Aside from wanting to fill the silence, there was something in the cadence of Sheik's voice that rang almost familiar at times. Maybe it was just hearing Impa's accent in an unfamiliar voice.

"I didn't think anybody knew where I'd gone," Link admitted eventually. It seemed a safe enough line of conversation, and one he needed an answer to. "How did you?"

Sheik hummed in acknowledgement, though he waited another moment before speaking.

"The Sheikah have many ways of observing fate's patterns," he said, with the air of someone choosing their words carefully. "There are seers with artifacts like the blindfold you carry who dedicate their lives to understanding those patterns, while others learn to read the movements of the stars. If fate veers off its course, or if darkness threatens the world, we intervene. This was the reason that Impa went searching for Zelda all those months ago when Ghirahim tore her from the sky."

Link thought about that, twisting the empty bottle of soup in his hands.

"I knew it was dangerous to go through the gate, but I didn't think it would be such a big deal," he muttered. "You could really see this in the sky?"

"Your actions will always be more significant than others', simply because of who you are," Sheik said solemnly. "However, the greatest danger is Ghirahim, if not for the reasons you might think. His presence here is a paradox." Seeing Link's blank look, he added, "An impossibility. In this era, Ghirahim's sword still rests on the mountain where Impa left it, and two threads cannot occupy the same space in the pattern of fate. The timeline may tolerate inconsistencies for a short while, but eventually it will work to resolve them, and nobody can predict exactly how."

"...Oh," Link said weakly. No wonder Ghirahim had been so adamant about the need for haste. "I didn't know."

He hadn't even considered that the Ghirahim of this time still needed saving. Their battle had happened so recently here—what sort of condition must he be in? Link wished he could do something to help him, but between Sheik and Impa he didn't think he'd have the chance. Even if he could get to him somehow, if he helped Ghirahim here in the past, would he still have been there for Link to help in the future… or was that another paradox?

Frowning, Link shook his head, dismissing the convoluted thought. Time was more confusing than he'd ever had the need to think about before.

"You're hurt," Sheik said suddenly, and it took Link a moment to remember what he was talking about.

"Oh." Link pulled his stinging hand away from the sticky bottle of soup, and winced. The bleeding hadn't stopped after all. "Yeah, the sword must have slipped when Impa was dragging me around, I guess. Sorry about the bottle."

"Let me see," Sheik said, taking Link's hand gingerly and peeling back his gauntlet. Link heard him rummaging around for a moment, followed by the hollow 'pop' of a cork pulling free. Cool water drizzled across his hand, and he hissed as a rough cloth dabbed at the cut. "It's not bad. Cleaning this one should be easy. Now these..."

Link tensed as Sheik's hand drifted to brush against his injured finger tips.

"These are very strange injuries," Sheik murmured. "Still fresh, unless I miss my guess, but starting to heal. How did you obtain them?"

"It's a long story," Link said, fighting against the instinct to yank his hand away. It felt abnormally cool wherever Sheik's fingers touched, almost numb, the hot pain fading slowly away.

"We still have some time before Impa returns," Sheik pointed out. "Maybe just the short version?"

"I guess…" Link grimaced. What was he still afraid of? "We were in this… forest."

He tried to tell the story briefly, uncomfortable with reliving things so soon, though under Sheik's gentle probing he found himself giving details that he hadn't meant to share: how the forest's haunting song had emerged slowly from the rustling leaves, wrapping its silvery threads around his thoughts and limbs so delicately that he did not recognize its influence until it was too late. How he had dragged Ghirahim into the abyss alongside him, binding him with commanding words of his own. The green of the forest he kept to himself, tucking it away with every other precious memory of sight, but he told Sheik of Ghirahim sprinting with him through the woods as he played to hold back the encroaching fog, until—

He cut off, recalling clearly for the first time the golden thrum of power in his veins. That sacred light flowing through him couldn’t possibly have been what it felt like. The Triforce had been useless in his hands ever since he'd wasted his wish. Link had left it in Zelda’s care not long after defeating Demise, to keep safe in case some dire need arose to threaten them once more.

"That sounds terrible," Sheik said, and he shook himself, saving the mystery for later.

"It's over now."

To his own surprise, he realized that answer wasn't all bravado, either. He actually did feel lighter, and he thought that maybe speaking it all out loud had robbed the forest of some of its power. It helped somehow that he didn't really know Sheik, as if by seeing it through a stranger's eyes he could distance himself from his own story. Speaking those same words to Zelda, on the other hand… Link had the sinking feeling that they wouldn't come nearly as easily.

"Not all magic is good or evil," Sheik said, though despite his words Link thought he sounded shaken. Maybe he hadn't felt it so distantly after all. "Some magic is only mindless, and old. There is no shame in being caught up in its web."

Link shook his head slowly, taking his hand back and flexing it. The pain had vanished completely. Running a thumb up his palm and along his fingertips, he felt smooth, unbroken skin.

"It is evil," he muttered. "It's wrong to take away someone's freedom like that."

Before Sheik could respond, Impa laughed incredulously.

"And yet you intend to ally yourself with this sword?" she asked, and Link's back straightened slowly. He had heard the door open as she returned, but had been too caught up in his telling to pay it much mind. "With this demon? Have you not been told of the worst of Ghirahim's crimes during the war against Demise?"

"I have heard," he said stiffly, remembering what little Zelda had told him, and the tidbits more he'd gained from Batreaux. "A bit."

"Is this really the time for that?" Sheik asked, but Impa ignored him.

"I think I finally see why we differ, Link. You too, Sheik. You may have grown up with the aftermath, but none of you fought in the war."

"What?" Link said, taken aback. "Yes I did. Even before I fought Demise there were—"

"Your task was difficult, yes, but that's not what I meant," Impa said impatiently. "I am talking about the war, when the demons and their monsters came pouring from the earth with such strength that the goddess herself could not stop them. There were battles that changed the shape of the land, clashes between hordes of forces so great you could hardly imagine them. If you wish to bear this sword, Link, then at least you should know the true extent of Ghirahim's crimes before so thoughtlessly choosing to pardon them."

Link stayed silent, a black pit of dread forming in his stomach. He didn't think he could stop Impa from continuing if he tried, though a part of him wished he could.

"The tales you know from Skyloft called the war with Demise 'unmatched in scale and ferocity, the likes of which would never be seen again.' I can only hope that is true. As it was, the goddess Hylia was forced to send what little remained of her people skyward, to protect the Triforce from Demise's grasp and preserve the race from dying out completely. There was one battle in particular that turned the tides in Demise's favor." Impa exhaled, brief and bitter. "To call it a 'battle' is generous. 'Slaughter' would be more accurate."

"What happened?" Link asked quietly, and Sheik's hand slipped to rest on his knee.

"The night before the attack, Ghirahim swept through our ranks like a shadow, slipping in and out before anyone knew he was there. He carries a particular hatred for the Sheikah, you see, as we do for him. Wherever he touched, dissension took root behind him." Impa's harsh words captivated Link, and he listened with halted breath. "Every anxiety, every old grudge—every dark emotion that might breed violence flowered overnight. Men and women who had been friends for years drew swords on each other and—"

Impa cut off, swallowing tightly, and Link realized with horrified comprehension that these were not old, nameless deaths to her. Less than a year had passed since Link defeated Demise, and the end of the war could not have been long before that. Not nearly long enough to grieve for what had happened, if any length of time could ever be enough.

Zelda. She had all of the goddess's memories. When she looked at Ghirahim, did she see the same thing happening in Skyloft? Would Fledge draw his blade on Groose, if Ghirahim commanded it? Pipit on Karane?

"The hordes of monsters who attacked the next morning fell upon an army already divided. Hundreds died before we could retreat." Impa's voice hardened further, if such a thing was possible. "So do not speak to me of redeeming such a serpent. His betrayal is far beyond what you have the right to forgive."

Link's mouth tightened. He felt sick, dizzy from so much smoke. It was no less than what he'd feared, but hearing the truth spoken straight out by someone who had lived it made it impossible to ignore.

"We should leave," Sheik murmured, his grip tight on Link's leg now, but Link shook his head stubbornly.

"Did the order come from Demise?" he asked, the question coming out weaker than he'd intended in the burnt shell of Impa's hometown. "If it did, then—then he couldn't have disobeyed even if he'd wanted to."

"You speak as if Ghirahim did not abandon the goddess willingly to begin with," Impa said coldly, and Link's eyes widened. Somehow he'd thought… "Demons are not always born such, you know. Sometimes it is a title bestowed. I do not know if Ghirahim chose the exact shape of his servitude to the Demon King, but that betrayer pledged himself to Demise long before he was bound. Wield his sword if you must, but do not excuse his crimes to me, or believe for a second that he feels even a sliver of remorse for what he’s done. Better, I think, that his sword was left to rot, and his wicked soul abandoned for all time."

Link said nothing. Even if he'd dared to argue otherwise in the face of Impa’s fury, he couldn't escape the thought that she was right. Of course she was. Entire armies falling to pieces under his own careful prodding? Orders from Demise or not, it must have been the highlight of Ghirahim's existence.

Closing his eyes, Link could hear Ghirahim's laughter in his mind as it would have sounded: wild and shrill as his master's forces cut through the confused mob of humans to claim their bloodiest victory yet. Whether by force or by choice, he'd been made into a weapon, inside and out, and swords never shrank from violence or pain. 

Still, Ghirahim was more than unthinking steel. There was more to him than the sadistically cruel weapon he'd become in Demise's hands. There had to be. If there wasn't… 

Air. Link needed air. His breath came too quickly, the smoke rasping against his lungs, but try as he might he couldn't slow it down.

"We need to leave," Sheik said, more forcefully this time. "Is the portal ready?"

"It is," Impa said. "But first—"

Her attack came too swiftly for Link to react. Something sliced through the air towards his face as Sheik yelled in surprise, but with a familiar chime and a 'clang' the motion halted as quickly as it had started. Belatedly, Link flinched.

"As I thought," Impa said softly. "Not quite the hours you promised me, Link, but at least now we will have no… surprises."

Raising a hand in front of his face, he found Ghirahim's arm shielding him, and let out a shuddering breath.

"If this is the sort of gratitude a hero can expect, I am more pleased than ever that the calling never held any allure for me," Ghirahim remarked, though Link didn't trust his lighthearted tone for a second. "You have something that does not belong to you, by the way."

"I would not have hurt him," Impa said calmly, stepping back. "The sword remains with me until—" She cut off abruptly, and when she spoke again a few seconds later, her voice was tight. "Restrain your demon, Link."

"Link has no taste for dominion, I'm afraid," Ghirahim said with a dry chuckle. "One of his more charmingly naive quirks. I should cut off your hands for the impudence of laying them on my blade, but for his sake alone I will refrain."

"Lower your weapon, Ghirahim," Sheik said firmly, and Link's eyes widened as he finally caught on. "This is pointless. You are outnumbered, and you cannot hurt anybody."

"Can't I?" he said, and Sheik inhaled sharply. Link bit his lip hard, desperate for Fi's cool-toned descriptions. "Return my sword to its rightful owner and I will happily oblige, Your Grace." He paused artfully as the room went silent, then continued with malicious amusement. "Oh—or should I have kept that juicy little tidbit to myself? Your faithful hound did mention how she dislikes surprises."

For a long, tense moment, nobody spoke. Then Impa gasped.

"How did you know?" Zelda's voice asked quietly from where Sheik had been, and Link felt his heart sink like a stone.

"I did not spend all those weeks tracking your aura to be fooled by such a flimsy disguise now," Ghirahim said disparagingly, his cloak brushing against Link as he tossed it behind him.

"Your Grace," Impa said, stunned. "You—how did you—?"

"You never knew all my secrets," Zelda said, a bit teasingly, though the lightness faded as quickly as it had come. "I'm sorry our reunion had to take place under such circumstances, Impa. I will make it up to you. Link… I got your message."

Link winced. He didn't need to see to imagine Ghirahim's glare piercing him through.

"You might not believe me, but I promise that I didn't come here to stop you," Zelda said in a rush. "I just thought I could maybe help you, and—and see for myself that you were okay." She hesitated, and Link thought about how deftly he'd been maneuvered, first into giving the sword to Impa, and then into sharing his stories. "Are you… okay?"

He blinked slowly. Whatever he felt at that moment, "okay" didn't seem to cover it.

"Oh, I'm sure he's only processing his stinging sense of betrayal," Ghirahim said brightly. "I hope you enjoyed having your hero's confidence again, Your Grace. Winning it back again after today might take awhile."

"Ghirahim, that is enough!" Zelda said sharply, her voice breaking with a patience frayed to its limits. "I told you to lower your weapon. Link, please…" She sounded tired, an exhaustion beyond lack of sleep that he shared to its depths. "Can you just make him stop?"

"I told you—" Ghirahim started to say, but Link interrupted him.

"Lower your weapon, Ghirahim," Link said tonelessly, and felt Ghirahim stiffen beside him. They were cornered now. It was pointless to keep pretending otherwise. "You will not attack or harm anyone, or allow anyone to be harmed as a result of your actions. You will not transport myself or anyone else without permission. You will come with us willingly, and not impede our progress in any way." Link wondered if this was what defeat felt like. He had thought he'd felt it before, but never like this. "Is there anything I'm forgetting?"

"Silence would be appreciated," Impa suggested, and Link's hands balled into fists before falling limp again at his sides.

"No, that should more than suffice," Zelda said, though she sounded unnerved. "Impa, would you lead the way?"

"Of course, Your Grace," Impa said, recovering quickly from her surprise. "Follow me."

Zelda took Link by the hand and pulled him forward, with Ghirahim following behind. If Link had thought the demon would come quietly, he was wrong.

"I expected more of a fight from you," Ghirahim said in his ear. He should have been too far away for Link to hear so soft a whisper, but mere distance had never stopped his voice from reaching Link before. "Why the change of heart?"

"There was nothing we could do," Link said under his breath in the same quiet tone. Nothing that he was willing to do, at least. Who could say how far Ghirahim would have gone?

"That has rarely stopped you before," Ghirahim said shrewdly. Link gritted his teeth, sick of being questioned and examined and doubted by everyone. "Don't tell me that dog's words affected you?"

Link didn't answer.

"Because if you are under any false impressions of my character, you had better resolve them now. I have never pretended to be anything other than what I am."

"I know that," Link said shortly. They were outside now. Somehow the smoke seemed thicker than he remembered, more difficult to breathe.

"I will admit she has a way with words," Ghirahim said more quietly still, his voice reduced to a soft, malicious hiss. "Her riveting description of my greatest achievements… it was almost poetic."

Link stopped, whirling around to face him.

"Stop talking to me," he growled, only realizing as he said it what he was doing.  Shaking, Link turned away before he could take the words back, stalking forward so Ghirahim couldn't see his face. More than anything, he felt disgusted.

With himself.

This time, he expected it when the wind rose up around him, the ground falling momentarily away. The clear, fresh air that met him before the Gate of Time was a relief at first, though he found to his dismay that the scent still lingered, in his hair, his clothes, even his skin.

"Her Grace will accompany Link through the gate first," Impa announced once they had all arrived. "I will follow after with Ghirahim and the sword."

Link nodded grimly, and Zelda clutched his hand.

For what he suspected would be the final time, he entered the gate, Zelda still walking quietly at his side. The Gate of Time ticked and turned, and Link felt an inner sense of relief as his proper time settled in around him, like something unseen clicking into place. Unfortunately, the sensation was fleeting.

"Zelda? Link! You found him! Oh, thank the goddess!" Link stiffened as footprints came bounding up to greet then, and Pipit grabbed him in a tight embrace that was not returned, pulling back again to examine him. "Link, you look like hell! What happened? You were gone for so long!"

"Link's been through… an ordeal, Pipit," Zelda said, with a surprisingly wan attempt at good humor considering she finally had everything the way she'd wanted all along. "He'll feel better, with time."

"But what—"

Pipit went suddenly silent, and Link was sure he knew why.

"Well?" he demanded, turning around. He thought he knew already what Impa's answer would be, but he wanted to hear it from her own lips. "We're through the Gate of Time now. I want it back."

The silence stretched uncomfortably around the room. Abruptly, Ghirahim laughed.

"And you have the nerve to call me deceptive," he chuckled. "What false promises did you feed him, Impa? It must have felt like negotiating with a child."

"I agreed that the sword would leave my jurisdiction once we crossed through the gate, Link," Impa said tightly. "Not that it would enter yours. Zelda?"

"I…" Zelda hesitated. Link waited, something black settling over him. "Maybe it's okay if he…"

"Be strong, Your Grace," Impa murmured, and Zelda took a deep breath.

"You're right. I'm sorry, Link, but you must understand—"

Link turned on his heel and walked down the steps without a word, not reacting when Pipit came immediately up beside him. He didn't want to talk to any of them.

"Take him up to Skyloft, Pipit," Zelda called in a pained voice after them. "Help him get cleaned up, and… and settled in. I'll be with you soon."

"Sure thing," Pipit said. "Come on, Link. You're riding with me for now, but you'll be on your own Loftwing soon enough. He missed you, you know."

Link said nothing.

"Masterfully done, Your Grace," he heard Ghirahim say behind him as they left. "That pause for dramatic effect before dashing his hopes completely? I don't think I could have dismantled his spirit so thoroughly if I'd tried."

Chapter Text

Warm wind gusted around Zelda as she brought her Loftwing to a gentle landing in front of the old Temple of Hylia, her wide, white sleeves billowing out behind her. Late afternoon cast shadows like fingers across the long courtyard, the shade from the enormous Goddess Statue swallowing her whole. Sliding from her Loftwing's back, Zelda squinted up at it. Barely visible from down below, a warm glow emanated from inside the statue's sheltering hands where the Triforce still floated, gleaming steadily. Nothing about it looked amiss, and yet… 

Shivering, Zelda rubbed her forearms. She had gone to examine it more than once since the night it flickered and spun in place, and standing in the triangles’ presence felt increasingly unsettling, as if the air itself shivered with uneasy anticipation. Yet another mystery to be solved, she thought wearily, though in the meantime she intended to hide the thing away again in the Sacred Realm and be grateful to have it gone. The risk of having it out in the open grew greater by the day, and the holy relic had long since served its purpose, for better or for worse.

Groose straightened from his post at the temple door as she approached, hands rising automatically to his hair, and Zelda combed fingers through her own windswept hair with a grimace. She had hoped that Groose's mood would improve with Ghirahim's capture, but his eyes still looked deep-set and sullen as they had now for over a week. 

"Impa's gone," he said shortly, and Zelda felt her heart dip even further. "I’m sorry. She had to return to her post, though she said you should call on her for help if you need it, or… for any other reason."

"Thank you, Groose." Maybe it wouldn't hurt to cross through the gate for a final farewell. "Was there any trouble?"

As expected, Groose shook his head, though his lips still pursed sourly. He’d seemed to grow increasingly bitter and withdrawn as the search for Link dragged on, and though he hadn't said as much, she thought he blamed himself for not being there when Link escaped. Searching the forest had been a good idea, of course, and they’d had no way of knowing that they would need the extra hands on Skyloft. Telling him that hadn’t made a difference, though.

"Go home," she said softly. "Rest. I'll take it from here."

"Are you sure?" Groose's brow furrowed. "I don't like leaving you alone with—"

"I'm sure," Zelda interrupted him. As much as she'd come to rely on him, Groose's presence in this conversation could only be a disaster. "Why don't you go find Link? Maybe he'll… talk to you."

That last bit came out more quietly than she'd intended. Link certainly hadn't been willing to talk to her, or to anyone else who’d tried.

"Yeah, maybe…" She had expected that Groose would take longer to convince, but something flickered in the back of his eyes and he nodded reluctantly, scratching at his chin. "Okay. If you see Impa again, tell her… actually, never mind. I guess we already said our good-byes."

"Of course," Zelda said, watching as he trudged off to call his own Loftwing. Too many old wounds had split open in recent days, not all of them her own.

The temple loomed over her. Zelda knew she needed to go inside and confront the result of her own decisions, else all this had been for naught. Instead, staring at the decorative stone doors while the wind lashed her hair across her shoulders, she stood there and wondered how it had all gone so wrong.

Zelda had not gone through that gate with the intent of stopping Link, whatever Link believed and for whatever that was worth now—little, she supposed, in the wake of what had happened. She had only hoped to observe the truth of things for herself, and maybe offer help in a form that Link would not immediately push aside. Only when she’d discovered Impa missing from her post had she started to suspect that Link might need her in another way entirely.

If she'd revealed herself then, might it have all gone another way? Still, she couldn't help but wistfully recall the freedom she'd felt in those brief few hours existing as someone else— anyone else. And Link…

Listening to Link unburden himself to Sheik in a way he never would have done for Zelda herself, she had despaired at ever finding a way to confess the truth to him. Then, of course, he'd had to find out anyway in the worst way possible. Still, she might have salvaged even that if at the gate she hadn’t—no.

No, Impa had set her right at the gate. Link had almost had her convinced otherwise... but the danger of letting Ghirahim run free was too much to overlook, whatever the cost to herself or Link. Squaring her shoulders, Zelda pushed through the doors. For better or worse, she had made her decision. Now she might as well claim the fruits of her hollow victory.

The sword she sought laid deceptively still on the raised stone plinth where she had left it, encased in a golden glow. Steeling herself, Zelda walked forward to examine the blade, white dress swishing around her sandaled feet. The flames had already altered it drastically, the pale gold diamonds that ran along the black blade's length startlingly reminiscent of the spirit encased within, but the jagged hilt with its gleaming red gem gave it away. Leaning in closer, she found the inverted Triforce symbol untouched as well—Demise's ancient vow to challenge the gods, and claim for himself the power they had intended for mortals' aid.

Tonight, she decided. She would seal the Triforce away tonight. Whatever else happened, she could not allow even the slightest chance that Ghirahim himself might find a way to use it.

With a deep breath to quell her fear, Zelda took the hilt in her hands, holding the blade aloft. The golden glow that encased the blade faded away, along with the sealing magic she had used to trap the demon inside.

"Lord Ghirahim," she called out in a thankfully unwavering voice. "We need to talk."

Chimes echoed throughout the large room, their clamorous peal crashing back in on itself. The hair on the back of Zelda's neck stood on end as a cloud of diamonds coalesced to form the demon lord himself, lying on the stone floor several paces away. His eyes snapped open, narrowing in on her face, and he grimaced, raising a hand to his brow.

"I could imagine a more pleasant sight to wake up to," he muttered. "Bangs do not suit you, girl. Whoever told you otherwise was humoring you." Looking her up and down, his white lips twitched into the barest of smirks. Even stretched out on the ground he managed to look picturesque, his cloak fanned out perfectly around him. "Wearing white again, I see. Surely you must agree that I wear it better."

Zelda's mouth tightened, though her cheeks turned slightly pink. She hadn't worn her goddess garb in ages, but for this occasion the dress had seemed appropriate.

"You should have known better than to drag Link into the past with you," she said, ignoring the petty insults. "I can only imagine how unstable the timeline must have been with two of you running around."

"I dragged him?" Ghirahim murmured doubtfully, closing his eyes. "There were three of me, actually, although one version was laying low, and the other was… indisposed. As long as we never came into contact, there should have been no danger."

"Should have been," Zelda repeated faintly. Three Ghirahims? Goddesses. "That is not the same as no danger at all. A paradox can attempt to correct itself within months, or even days."

"And we were there for one. Not too great a risk, I think. I remember you taking greater." His smirk deepened, though his eyes stayed shut. "Impa met with her future self when she crossed over, did she not?"

"That… was necessary." Still, the color in her cheeks deepened. It had happened before her ancient memories awakened, though that still didn't fully absolve her. The Sheikah tribe had existed to serve the goddess and were trained to pay any price necessary in the process, as they both knew too well.

"You did not come here to lecture me for my time crimes," Ghirahim said sardonically, squinting up at her now, and Zelda nodded in confirmation.

"I did not," she agreed, grinding the large sword into the ground in front of her. It was a relief to finally lower the heavy blade. "Consider this your trial. The sins of your past aside, I need to know what your intentions are now if I'm to even think about letting you reunite with Link."

"A moment, child." Ghirahim winced, sitting up slowly to rest an arm on his single bent knee. "Must we dispense with pleasantries so quickly? Your magic disagrees most vehemently with mine, I'm afraid, and the effect is… sickening."

Pleasantries? Zelda almost laughed, but instead she waited silently, watching his keen eyes flicker around the room with an alertness that belied his outward exhaustion. Nothing about Ghirahim was ever exactly as he presented it. She would believe him sickened when he fell over dead, and even then she would remain suspicious.

"So," he said at last, rising to his feet so nimbly that Zelda stepped back. "I suppose congratulations are in order. After quite the wild chase, you finally managed to capture and disarm a blind child. The goddesses of old would be so proud. Speaking of which, where is Link?" His peering around the room was clearly for show. "Surely you would not be so bold as to decide his future for him again?"

"I am not so sure he wants to talk to you right now," she said steadily, refusing to flinch. "You did not appear to part on the best of terms." Maybe Impa's words had finally reached Link where her own had failed. She hoped so, at least.

"A tiff," Ghirahim said dismissively, waving an elegant hand. "You know how Link's heart runs away with him. Fortunately, his capacity for forgiveness seems nearly endless… though if it has its limits, I suppose one of us will find out soon enough."

Zelda's hands clenched around the hilt.

"I can put you back inside this sword if you'd prefer," she snapped, and Ghirahim bowed low to the ground, tossing his red cloak behind him with a flourish.

"Forgive me, Your Grace. I was never all that adept at feigning respect where there is none." Glancing up at her through his thin curtain of hair, he grinned, exposing pointed teeth. "How can this humble weapon put your mind at ease?"

Zelda closed her eyes, tempted to walk away. This was beyond pointless. She couldn't expect a single honest answer to fall from this serpent's tongue. Still, for Link's sake alone she would try.

"Do you want me to return your sword to Link?"

"I would prefer it that way, yes." Amusement swept across his face as he straightened. "This has been an absurdly futile endeavor otherwise."

"Why?" she asked bluntly. "Link is the one responsible for your master's destruction. I can almost understand what he gets from the arrangement—" A sword and a guide, though at a cost Zelda still couldn't fathom paying— "but what you stand to gain is less clear."

"Is it?" Ghirahim spread his arms wide. "I should think it would be obvious. As you mentioned, I am a sword recently left bereft of its master, and Link is the finest swordsman of his generation… not that the competition is terribly fierce," he added dryly. "It is only natural to desire the best for a superior blade such as mine."

"Is that sword really so much a part of you now that you'd seek your own enslavement?" Zelda countered shrewdly, and finally got a reaction as Ghirahim tensed. 

She remembered learning of his forging long ago, though with that dim sort of distance most of those memories held. When Demise had learned that the goddess Hylia intended to forge an unbreakable sword powered by life itself, he had immediately desired the same—except the demon king never had the power to create life. He could only steal it, binding an existing life into metal through dark rituals and forging it all together into the abomination that stood before her.

"I always wondered what possessed you to accept such a role when serving beneath the goddess chafed so much to begin with," Zelda mused. "Or were you given a choice in the matter?" Ghirahim glared at her without speaking, and Zelda nodded to herself. "As I thought. I cannot imagine that you enjoyed your subjugation at his hands, or would seek out another to take his place so quickly. I do remember these things, you know," she added, smiling sweetly when the demon still remained silent. "Mock me all you like, but I am the goddess."

"Memories do not a goddess make," he said at last, eyes narrowed. "We all grow or shrink to fill the shape of our expectations, Your Grace, you as much as I. The past notwithstanding, I am a weapon now. As for Link's… subjugation…" He spoke the word dubiously, tongue flicking out as if to taste it, and laughed. "I would be insulted by how gently he handles me if I did not know him better. Then again, I always said he was a soft boy."

"No thoughts of revenge, then?" she asked, and received a slow, enigmatic grin in return.

"If I said no, would you believe me?"

Perhaps not, though it wouldn't have hurt to hear him say it anyway. Frowning, Zelda tried a different approach.

"What about Skyloft?" she persisted, and his eyes lidded over with disinterest.

"What about it?" he asked, examining his spotless gloves idly in the perfect image of boredom. Feigned, or genuine?

"We will be making our move to the surface soon," she said, watching closely for his reaction. He had at one point claimed himself the lord over this land. "I need to know whether your presence will be a hindrance to that."

"Let me tell you something I think you will believe," Ghirahim said, dismissing her concerns with a roll of the eyes. "The affairs of your people are beneath my notice. If you wish to spread yourself across the surface once more, you needn't fear my interference."

"Really?" Zelda tilted her head skeptically. "That wasn't always the case."

"Are we at war again and I didn't know?" he retorted. "I would hardly shed a tear should something unfortunate occur, for some of you more than others…" His eyes lingered on her maliciously, and her scowl deepened, "...but I have no desire to usher such misfortunes in myself. The inconvenient aftermath would fully negate any short term pleasure the initial act might bring."

"You do not plead your case well," Zelda said tightly. Ghirahim sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Would you believe me if I begged?" he snarled suddenly, the truth of his anger showing through at last. "What if I professed remorse for all my wrongdoings and vowed to change my ways?"

He vanished, and Zelda bit back a gasp as he reappeared in a shimmer of diamonds, towering over her. Grasping her hand to press between his own, Ghirahim knelt, though there was nothing subservient in his dark-eyed gaze.

"What if I pledged to obey you as I do my master, to serve the goddess through all the days of my long, long life. Would you believe me then?"

"You've broken such an oath before," Zelda said, hating how breathless she sounded as she tore her arm free. He couldn't hurt her now, she reminded herself. Link's orders guaranteed that much, at least.

"So I have." Ghirahim's laugh was short and bitter as he snapped his fingers, and this time it took her a moment to find him, seated atop the Gate of Time and staring down scornfully. "Even you are wise enough to know the futility of words. You will decide my fate in this farce of a trial for reasons as human and flawed as you are, but at least abandon the pretense that I've the ability to plead my case. From what I've observed, the immensity of your ego is such that you will spitefully determine the destiny of others over something as trifling as an insult."

"You hypocritical—!" Zelda gaped. He had the nerve to lecture her on ego?

Seething, she whirled around, letting the sword clatter to the ground behind her. She had given this her best shot, after all. Once she got back to Skyloft, she would just have to tell Link—

She stopped in her tracks. Tell Link…

"You prove me right so quickly," Ghirahim whispered in her ear, his fingers digging into her shoulders just short of pain as her heart beat frantically. Only now that he'd abandoned it did she realize how much restraint he had shown before. "No need to go storming off in a huff. Why not ask the question that's been burning your lips before you go? Surely some answer is better than none, even if it must come from me."

Pulling herself free, Zelda turned towards him, glaring up into his face.

"What did you do to Link?" she demanded. "He hasn't been right since he battled Demise, and it has something to do with you."

He was right. She'd been asking herself that question long before Link ever returned with Ghirahim's sword. His mind had lingered on the demon too heavily for it to be otherwise… and that carving…

"How that would absolve you," he laughed, leaning over her. "If the hero you cared for so deeply was left damaged after the war, then at least it was the villain's fault!" With a vicious snap, he vanished once more, and Zelda tensed as he reappeared beside the Master Sword, running a finger down the flat of its blade. He couldn't draw it now that its full power was unlocked—only the chosen hero could do that—but she watched him warily nonetheless. "Make peace with your guilt, Your Grace. I have been inside the minds of men, and they were not formed as demons were. The violence they inflict on others is reaped back upon themselves, no matter how noble or necessary the cause. Even—no, especially the best of your kind will feel its sting."

"But you—"

"For Link it is more complicated," Ghirahim continued, speaking over her. "This sword and the spirit inside offered him unprecedented amounts of freedom. To have that snatched away once his usefulness expired… it must have been like losing a limb. Is there nothing you will not do to punish that man for his unceasing devotion to you?"

"Don't pretend that it matters to you either way," Zelda snapped, finally managing to get a word in. It was as if he kept a running tally of all the ways she had ever hurt and failed Link for no other purpose than to sting at her conscience. It didn't help that it always worked. "You've hurt him worse than I have and felt far less remorse over it."

"Hmmm…" Ghirahim's thin lips curled upwards, and he wrapped his fingers around the holy sword's hilt as he surveyed her through his pale sheen of hair, visible eye glinting. "I disagree. You are capable of wounding Link far more deeply than swords can cut. He cares for you more than anyone, I think, which gives your betrayal the greater sting… but you are right about one thing. We are past the point of pretending, you and I, which is why I will let you in on a little secret." In another flash of light he stood before her, hands placed haughtily on his hips. "You are not a goddess, Zelda, whatever your memories tell you. Hylia's divinity gave her the distance required to make devastating choices with only a sad shake of the head for what must be, but you are far too human now to do the same. Pretending otherwise will only tear you to pieces." He bared his teeth in a grin. "Of course, should you choose to continue, I will certainly enjoy the show."

"I think we're just about finished here," Zelda said icily. This had gone about as well as she'd expected: in a word, catastrophic. She didn't think he intended any immediate harm, at least, but who could say what hid behind that secretive smile of his?

"You could not rid me of your presence soon enough," Ghirahim assured her, tossing his head for emphasis. At least they agreed on one thing. "Any other questions before forcing me into slumber, or are you ready to pronounce verdict?"

"Just one," she said, bending grimly to retrieve the sword from where it had fallen. "And remember that if I think you're lying, I can choose never to lift the sealing spell on this sword. It took Demise over a thousand years to break through my seal. For you, it will take much longer."

Ghirahim rolled his eyes at the threat, gesturing impatiently, and she took a deep breath.

"Have you any plans or desire to resurrect your master?"

"Is that all?" Ghirahim drawled, back to looking bored. "My only master now is Link. Pulling him out of bed when he would rather sleep may feel like resurrecting the dead, but I assume that's not what you meant." Zelda stared at him, and he scowled. "What?"

"I…" She'd had to literally drag Link out of bed some mornings—back when he'd slept, of course. Somehow, she couldn't wrap her mind around Ghirahim doing the same. Was he sleeping again now?

Feeling flustered, Zelda shook her head.  "So you have no plans to bring back… Demise then?"

"None whatsoever," he confirmed, and if she hadn't been paying attention, she might have missed the hint of exhaustion that accompanied that statement. Maybe she really did have nothing to fear in that regard.

"Good." Gathering herself, she nodded firmly to disguise her sudden uncertainty. "It is enough. I… will have to talk to Link before making a final decision." He would talk to her this time. He had to, if he wanted to offer any defense on the demon's behalf. "For now, I am keeping you here."

"Of course you are," Ghirahim said. This time there was no mistaking the weariness in his voice as he turned away, though he glanced back at her over his shoulder to deliver a final blow. "Dither all you like, girl, but consider this: the threads of fate tied Link and I together for a reason." He held up his smallest finger in demonstration, dark eyes boring into hers. "Can even your power subvert what is meant to be?"

Zelda had no answer. Avoiding his gaze, she looked down at the sword, hands glowing with golden light as she prepared to seal him away—and a wave of spiritual power crashed over her like a physical force, almost knocking her off her feet.

Staggering, Zelda's head jerked up to stare wide-eyed at Ghirahim, whose composure had finally cracked. He looked back at her, stunned. A second golden wave rolled through, and the sword fell from her hands as she sprinted for the temple's entrance, though Ghirahim materialized in front of her seconds before she arrived, pulling the heavy doors open.

The wind had only grown stronger in her absence, a gale that caught Zelda's hair and sent it streaming into her eyes. Impatiently, she pushed it away, and gasped. Floating high in the air over the goddess's enclosed hands, the Triforce flickered and shone as it had the other night, except a hundred times over. Its golden triangles spun fitfully as burst after burst of pulsing energy came whirling off of them, nearly driving her to her knees. Loftwings flapped through the air around it in a vain attempt to regain balance, cawing loudly as their riders called out to each other in increasingly panicked shouts.

Zelda took it all in, aghast. Beside her, she heard Ghirahim breathe in sharply.

"So he was right," he muttered, riding every wave of energy with enviable ease as he stared intently up at the Triforce, though for once even his perfect hair looked a disaster. "But how…"

"Something's wrong," Zelda said, ignoring him for now. Raising her fingers to her lips, she hoped her Loftwing could navigate this wind. She needed to get in closer in order to—

White light exploded off the Triforce. Zelda shielded her eyes against its piercing rays, noticing only dimly as Ghirahim did the same beside her. Long seconds passed before the light began to dim, the fading thrum of uncontrolled power still ringing through her ears. Blinking back spots where three triangles had burned their vivid afterimage against her eyelids, it took her another moment to realize that the Triforce itself had gone along with it, vanishing quietly into the air without a trace.

Beside her, Ghirahim fell to one knee.

"Link," he said blankly, clutching his chest. Zelda felt a thrill of foreboding as his wide eyes stared through hers. "…He's gone."

One. Two. Three. Four.

Link's fingers moved mindlessly, tying knot after knot into the blindfold's smooth fabric. For the first time in days, he smelled like the floral soap of Skyloft again. His skin still stung from the force he'd used to scrub himself clean, scouring the smoke from his skin so thoroughly that he wouldn't be surprised to find out that he'd bled. 

His worn sheets and soft Skyloftian clothing were freshly laundered, too. Henya must have been through his room already to prepare for his arrival—a nice thought, maybe, though she'd disturbed Link's carefully organized system of storage in the process. Even his wardrobe shelves had been rearranged and rifled through so that he no longer knew where anything was, leaving him feeling uncomfortably like a stranger in his own home.

His tunic and sailcloth had both disappeared, taken without comment while he bathed, and Link hadn't asked for their return. The tunic, at least, was probably being washed. They wouldn't strip him of knighthood over this… would they?

Eight. Nine.

Nobody would say in as many words that Link was a captive here. It was just that he couldn't leave… or do much of anything, really. Pipit had even insisted on shaving his face for him after he bathed, reassuring Link awkwardly the whole time that he knew he could do it himself, but… well, he knew how it was.

Link did not know—or at least, he hadn't until he sat at his desk and realized that whoever had been through his room had also taken his carving knives. The little sculpture of Ghirahim had gone missing, too. Everything he'd found so far was soft, and safe, and offered no distraction from the sinking sensation of nothing that threatened to overwhelm him. Even his lunch had come without a knife.

Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.

That meal had gone cold on the desk, his newfound appetite vanished as quickly as it had returned. There was a weight on his chest that he couldn't dislodge, a fist clenched around his throat that tightened when he tried to speak. He thought either one might choke or crush him at any moment.

Just once, he had put on the blindfold, and regretted it immediately. The colorful threads of light, always so steady and comforting, had instead stretched and quivered like plucked harp strings across the sky, and the disorienting sensation of unraveling had nearly made him sick to his stomach before he could tear the cloth away. He didn't know what any of it meant, nor could he muster up the energy to care, certainly not to the point of trying again. Anyway, if he put it back on now then how could he tie the knots?

Twenty-one. Twenty-two.

That tired old refrain circled through his mind: if only he could see, he could… though he wondered now what difference it would make. If a Bokoblin tried to steal his sword, he could feel justified cutting it down in self-defense. What could he do when it was his best friend instead? Maybe if he wasn't blind he could have run for longer, hid for longer, or maybe Zelda would have trusted him enough not to chase him in the first place. Maybe Fi's loss would never have hit him so hard, and so he never would have gone after Ghirahim in the first place. Would things be better if the demon lord had never escaped his mountain tomb? Impa seemed to think so.

Link's fingers trembled around the cloth, but he pushed through, tying another knot. He couldn't fly, and he couldn't carve, but if he didn't do something to keep himself occupied, the weight of his thoughts would drag him down into a lethargy so deep he might never crawl his way out. It was that same thick despair he’d been battling since Demise, that travelling with Ghirahim had alleviated for a time. How much strength to resist it did he have left?

Twenty-six. Twenty-seven.

He'd seen enough through the blindfold to know that Ghirahim must be in the temple still, his trembling red thread diving straight down to the surface below. Every time Link tried to pursue that knowledge to something resembling a plan, though, it all came unraveled like those quivering threads, one thought refusing to follow another. Nothing stuck far enough out for his grasping mind to latch on to, nothing but Impa's ringing words of condemnation. Instead he let it all float by together, unexamined and unfelt. Maybe if he waited, the cloudy haze would clear, and then he’d know what to do. For now, he just wanted to be alone, free of thought or expectation.

Thirty.

Quiet footsteps approached the door as he reached the fabric's end, and he realized that even that wasn't meant to be. Curling in on himself, Link began the painstaking task of untying each knot so he could start the process over again, wondering miserably who they'd sent in this time. Pipit had been here, of course, and Zelda, her increasing desperation to get him to speak only driving him deeper into sullen silence. Even Headmaster Gaepora had come to sit for a while, though he thankfully hadn't spoken much. All he'd said in the end was that they'd worried for him, Zelda especially, and were grateful to find him safe. As if Link hadn't known that already, and written the message himself that delivered Ghirahim neatly into her hands.

After a long moment of silence where Link began to think he might have imagined those footsteps, he heard a gentle tap, and the hinges of his door creaked open.

"Link?" a timid voice called, and Link froze, the lump in his throat growing tighter. It was Fledge. "Do you, um… do you mind if I come in?"

Link didn't respond, which Fledge seemed to take as an invitation. The door clicked shut behind him and he tiptoed over, sitting so carefully in the chair at Link's desk that he almost didn't make a sound.

"I heard that you had… come back," he said, skipping awkwardly around the truth. "I didn't think anyone would let me in to see you, but… well, I think they're hoping that you'll talk to me. You don't have to, though!" he added hastily. "We can just sit here, if you want. And—and if you do want to talk, I don't have to tell anyone about it, either. I really just wanted to make sure you were okay." There was a long pause as Fledge waited for a response. "I guess… you're not okay. If you want me to leave—"

Still curled in a ball, Link shook his head vigorously. He was the only one so far who had bothered to ask.

"Oh." Fledge settled back down from where he'd started to rise. "Okay."

They sat for a bit in silence, Link working steadily back through the knots he had tied. A few times Link opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again, loathing himself more by the minute when the words wouldn't come. Why was he like this? Fledge deserved more than the cold shoulder he’d given everyone else, but Link didn't know how to give it.

"I was suspended," Fledge admitted quietly after a while, and Link went rigid. Finally uncurling himself, he spun around to face Fledge, and whatever he saw in Link's face made the quiet boy stammer. "J-just for a few weeks, and not—not for helping you! I mean, not just that. I… I punched Pipit. Gave him a black eye, actually." His tone said that he still couldn't quite believe he’d done that. "Attacking other knights is against the Academy's rules, you know? Though Pipit… he stood up for me to the Headmaster. Even though I attacked him. He said it was the bravest thing he'd ever seen me do."

Link relaxed, feeling a burst of appreciation for Pipit. As frustrating as the other knight was sometimes, his heart was always in right place. Still, he thought sullenly, he could name other students who got off with less for doing much worse. Forget suspension—Groose could have been expelled for some of the things he'd gotten away with.

"Honestly, Link…" Fledge hesitated, his fingers tapping against the desk. "I've been thinking about leaving the Academy anyway. My parents will be disappointed, I know, but it's never been a good fit, and I'm not sure that I want to be a knight for the rest of my life. I just… need to get up the nerve to actually leave, I guess." 

Link's brow creased, and he tilted his head in question. Fledge had always struggled near the bottom of their class, but he'd done so much better recently.

"I know, I know! I know I could do it, but—but just because I can, does it really mean I should?” He sighed. “I'm thinking about asking Gondo if he would take me on as an apprentice, actually. I'm strong enough to swing those hammers now, and I liked making you that pouch. Maybe working with my hands would be nice."

"You'd be good at it." Link cleared his throat, surprised by his own hoarse reply. Somehow, helping Fledge with his problems felt so much easier than addressing his own. "I still use that pouch. It's good."

"Thank you." Fledge sounded choked up. "Link… you know I can't help you again, right?”

"I know." He could feel his own throat tightening up again, and pushed through. "I wouldn't expect you to after everything you already—"

"No, I mean I can't," Fledge said painfully. "Everyone's watching me as much as you. I'm, uh, I'm not very popular right now." His voice softened. "You were gone for a long time."

"I know," Link whispered. He hadn't meant to be, but that didn’t make things better. "I'm sorry."

"Did I do the right thing?" Fledge's voice shook, and Link realized just how much that question must have eaten at him. "Zelda said that… that the person in your sword… that he wants to hurt you. To hurt everyone." Link heard Fledge swallow. "Does he?"

Link didn't know how to respond. No matter how much he wished for a fresh start, he couldn't pretend that Ghirahim hadn't hurt—no, killed a lot of people. He had to stop sugarcoating that truth. Maybe he’d done it indirectly, during a war and under someone else's directions, but he’d done it. What was more, he had enjoyed it, even gloated about it. It might always be in Ghirahim's nature to take pleasure in the pain of others, no matter what Link did.

He knew it was impossible, that he had scrubbed the smoke away, but suddenly he felt it heavy in his nose again, burning his throat, filling his lungs. Fists clenched, Link cast about for anything to distract from the memory of hungry flames threatening to overwhelm him, ravaging the land and its people, scouring across the earth unchecked… and his desperate mind caught onto the sharp scent of pine.

Filling himself with the memory, Link breathed in deeply, and felt something like hope flow in with it. Ghirahim was all of that, but he was something else, too. Left to his own devices over a thousand years, the demon lord had not terrorized the land's inhabitants as Demise would have done. Ghirahim might have helped start those fires so long ago, but he had also kept up a tiny, secluded cabin simply because he liked watching the sunset over the mountains. It was such a small thing to place so much faith in, but…

"I hope not," Link said, and Fledge let out a slow breath as if he'd wished for more. Link wished he could give it to him, but he deserved an honest answer. "If you weren't sure, then… what made you decide to help me?"

Fledge laughed weakly.

"You're not the first to ask. Zelda keeps wanting to check my mind for—for magic or something, but really it was just so silly…" He hesitated, then went on. "It was something Pipit said when they—w-we caught you the first time—about how you deserved a love that was passionate and unfettered? And the look on your face when he said it, like that was exactly what you were losing… I don't know. I guess I just thought… I don't know." He laughed again uncomfortably. "I was probably just reading too much into it."

"Maybe not," Link said softly. He'd almost forgotten Pipit's words in the wake of everything that had happened, though they came flooding back to him now. Things between him and Ghirahim might never be unfettered, though he realized now how much he wished they could be. He would always be watching his words, stepping carefully around the spirit of his sword to make sure he wasn't enforcing his will where it wasn't wanted… but passion? That seemed as good a word as any to describe what had driven him to seek Ghirahim out in the first place, and to carry his sword through the hardships they'd faced to every flame after. It was the exact opposite of the deadening despair he'd been running from all those months—something he had finally found in the demon lord's company.

Love… Link shied away from the word, his heart hammering. He didn't know how to apply it to the proud, lethal, sometimes insufferable but other times magnetic personality that was Ghirahim. He hadn’t had time to figure it out. The moments they'd found between running and resting had been so few and precious that Link could remember each one vividly, like a handful of tiny rupees that he wanted to keep to himself and never spend. What might happen if they reached that third flame together, and those moments could stretch on, unending?

He could still find out. They’d made it this far, hadn’t they? He couldn't just sit here and give up when he'd already come so close.

"You have that look again," Fledge whispered, as if worried someone might overhear him. His fear wasn’t entirely unfounded, either—the Knight Academy was never built for privacy. "What are you thinking?"

Pulling the final knot free, Link tied the blindfold firmly around his eyes, gritting his teeth against the wavering world of light that rose up around him. If anything, the shuddering threads were worse now, and he wondered worriedly whether knotting and fidgeting with the blindfold had somehow damaged the magic inside. He forced himself to look, though, picking out the vibrating red thread trailing down from his heart to reassure himself that the sword hadn't moved.

A golden thread ran almost on top of it, and he realized that Zelda must be with Ghirahim at that very moment. Link would never make it close to the sword with her there, but once she left…

"Do you know what happened to my sailcloth?" Link asked, tearing the blindfold off again with a sharp gasp of relief. Better if he could have worn it constantly, but for now it would have to be enough.

"I don't know," Fledge said. "I could try to track it down, but… Link, I told you, everyone is suspicious of me. There's no way I'm getting near your stuff."

"Okay." Link forced himself to think, sharp necessity cutting through the haze. He couldn't sit around and hope that Zelda eventually saw things his way. He had to get Ghirahim back himself. "What about someone else? Can you think of anyone who might be willing to help?"

"I don't…" Fledge paused, and Link perked up. "Well, I guess… you know Peatrice, right?"

"I… yeah." Link blinked. Their interactions had grown increasingly awkward ever since their misunderstanding, but of all people, he supposed she had the best excuse to be holding onto his things. "I know her, but I… really don't think she'll help me."

"You might be surprised," Fledge quipped, sounding oddly amused. "She, uh, she was pretty defensive of you after you left. I could go find her at the bazaar—"

The door banged open, and Link almost fell off his bed. He'd been too caught up in thinking to even notice the approaching footsteps

"Groose!" Fledge squeaked, and Link's heart thudded nervously. He hadn't spoken to Groose since they'd stood in front of that first flame, and he'd been the most eager of anyone other than Zelda to take Ghirahim away. "They told me I could be in here! I already talked to—"

"Can it," Groose said roughly. "That's the last thing I'm worried about right now. Link, you're coming with me."

"What?" Link gaped as Groose grabbed him by the arm and hauled him to his feet. If Zelda had made a decision so quickly, there was no way it had fallen in his favor. Had he ruined everything by waiting for too long? "Where are we going?"

"He's not even wearing shoes!" Fledge protested as Groose yanked Link through the open door to stumble along behind him down the Academy halls and up the staircase. "At least let him—"

"I told you to shut up, pipsqueak," Groose growled. "This has nothing to do with you."

Fledge subsided quietly under his anger, but Link tensed, digging in his heels.

"Knock it off, Groose." He tried to pull back, but Groose only yanked him harder, and he would have fallen to his knees without the larger knight's grip holding him up. "I thought you didn't do that anymore."

The giant hand around his arm tightened, trembling.

"You're right," he muttered, though his speed didn't lessen. With a grunt, Groose rammed the Academy doors open with his hips, leading him outside. The constant breeze of Skyloft was more of a rough wind today, and Link reached automatically to secure his hat before remembering he didn't have it. "I'm sorry, Link."

The apology in itself was a shock. All that time he'd spent with Impa on the surface had definitely changed Groose for the better, but he still wasn't someone who liked to admit when he was wrong. Swiveling his head towards where he could hear Fledge trailing behind, Link tried to make his face into a question.

"I have no idea," Fledge whispered, sounding unnerved. "He looks… weird."

"Groose, slow down," Link said, though it went ignored. He hadn't walked barefoot through Skyloft in what felt like ages. The warm cobblestone beneath his feet was overgrown with trampled tufts of grass. "At least tell me where we're going."

"There's no time," Groose muttered. "You already know where we're going."

Link's brow furrowed in confusion.

"I do?"

A pair of knights came running up before Link could say anything else, and Groose waved them off with something vague about having orders that seemed to satisfy them. Probably the knights that had been set to guard him, although none of them would question Groose's authority in this.

"Groose, I think Zelda would at least want Link to have his shoes," Fledge pleaded. "Let me just—"

"We're here," Groose said abruptly, and Link jerked to a stop. As far as he could tell, they'd only barely left the Academy, stopping somewhere near where the stairs leading up to the goddess statue had been before the whole thing came crashing down. "Are you ready to call your Loftwing?"

"Groose, listen to me," Link said firmly. "I don't know what's happening. You need to tell me."

"But…" Somehow, Groose managed to sound even more confused than Link. "But he said that—" He cut off, and when he spoke again, his voice was sullen. "I'm going to tell Zelda that you wanna talk in your room, and offer to guard the sword while she's gone. You're going to wait at the Statue of the Goddess until I come get you, and then you can make off with that sword. And you're gonna keep quiet and not mention this to anyone, you got that?"

Fledge's squeak made it clear who that last part was meant for, but Link was too stunned to even think about reprimanding him.

"You're… helping me?" He almost swayed on the spot. Of everyone in Skyloft, Groose was the last person Link would have expected to take his side. He agreed with Zelda in almost everything, sticking as near to her as she would allow and working with unwavering determination to see her vision of their surface settlement come to pass… and he hated Ghirahim more than anyone. "Why?"

"Does it matter?" Groose said impatiently. "This is your best shot at getting out of here. Just jump already!"

He was right. That plan had a much better chance of success than anything he and Fledge could cobble together, especially with Groose in on it. People trusted Groose now—or at least, they trusted that he would do what Zelda wanted him to do, and there was a reason for that. For him to have switched sides so unexpectedly…

"No," Link said, a sick suspicion building in his stomach. How many people had tried to warn him of exactly this? "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me why."

"Link…" Fledge said nervously. Groose's hand had tightened painfully around his arm, trembling, and for a moment Link thought Groose might push him off the edge whatever he wanted.

"You… you have to…" Groose could barely speak through clenched teeth. "I… I was the one who hid your Loftwing before the Wing Ceremony."

"I knew that already." Groose hadn't exactly been subtle about it, though Link had never gotten around to telling Gaepora. He'd been distracted almost immediately by… everything else… and then it just hadn't been that important.

"It was stupid," Groose mumbled, his voice wracked with guilt. "Idiot thing to do. You could have died. You could have fallen through the clouds before anyone knew to catch you."

"I didn't, though," Link said, trying to sound soothing, though his chest clenched at the memory. He hadn't had a sailcloth then. If he'd fallen through the clouds before Zelda could catch him, it would have been the end of everything. "That still doesn't explain—"

"I tried for ages to get you kicked out of the Academy," Groose said bitterly, and Link's breath caught. "I thought you made us look like a joke, and—and I didn't want you there."

"I… knew that, too." Headmaster Gaepora had only let Link into the Academy on probation at first, and everything that first year had gone wrong. Books and equipment went missing that he knew he'd put away properly, or were left out in strategic places for him to trip over, or were found destroyed. Not even content with that, Groose, Strich, and Cawlin had taken to reporting injuries after sparring that Link knew he hadn't given, even if he had no way of proving it. Thinking back on it, he realized that the professors must have suspected what was really going on, though back then he'd been terrified that any day at the Academy might be his last. "That was a long time ago. What does it have to do with this?"

"I…" Link had started to lose feeling in his arm, Groose's grip was so tight. "I mean, I… I owe you, right? So just—just let me get you to your sword, and then we'll be even."

"What about Zelda?" Link asked quietly, and Groose's shaking increased to alarming levels.

"Sh-she'll understand."

"Link, there's something wrong with him." Fledge's voice was afraid, and Link could only imagine how Groose must look. He sounded bad enough. "Do you want me to go get…"

He faded off helplessly. Who could he go to for help that wouldn't immediately drag Link back to his room?

Link bit his lip, tempted. Ghirahim's interference here was obvious, but it would be so easy to just… go along with it all and let Groose lead him to his sword. Groose was even right, in a way—he did owe Link after everything he'd done to him over the years. Link might have moved past it once it became clear that Groose had changed for the good, but a tiny part of him had always remembered, and resented.

But then, how could any restitution made against Groose's will be anything but hollow? He had no right to exact that from him without his consent. If Link took advantage now, it didn't matter that Ghirahim had been the one to set things in motion. He might as well be pulling the strings himself.

"Groose…" Link sighed. "What did Ghirahim say to you?"

Groose's grip went rigid.

"What… what do you…"

"It would have been the morning after the cistern," Link pushed on relentlessly. The timing made sense. Link had been preoccupied with finding the blindfold in case they were captured, while all the while Ghirahim had been popping in and out, making contingency plans of his own. "You must have tracked me through the forest that night without me noticing. But Ghirahim did, right? And he told you that if we were ever captured and separated, you needed to help us escape."

Groose said nothing. His breathing came in short, hard pants.

"You don't have to," Link told him wearily. "You should do whatever you think is best."

"You don't understand!" Groose exploded. "It doesn't matter if I hate him, because he's right! I deserve…" He shook in a different way now, and Link realized in dismay that he was on the brink of tears. "Anything you want to do to me, I deserve…"

Link's stomach twisted. Was this how Ghirahim's power worked? Not a complete overriding of will, but an escalation of everything dark and hidden inside a person until they became someone else entirely.

"Just go," Fledge whispered. "I'll follow him, and—and make sure he doesn't get hurt. I don't think he's going to let you go, otherwise."

Link's determination wavered. Fledge was right. Even if he wanted to, he had no idea how to reverse what Ghirahim had done. If there was really no dissuading him, then at least… when he talked to Groose again someday, at least he could tell him that he'd tried.

There was one thing left worth trying, though—something he'd never said out loud.

"Nobody deserves this," Link said firmly, raising his head to try to meet his friend's eyes. "Not even you. Groose…" If this worked, it could be the end of everything—but it was the right thing to do. "I forgive you."

The voice that spoke those words was both Link's and not, overlaid with a heat that scorched his lips. His hand burned, the warmth spreading through his veins to fill him up with liquid fire, and he took in a wondering breath as that warmth flowed gently out from him to Groose.

"You… forgive…" The grip around Link's arm finally relaxed as Groose groaned, stumbling back. "What do you… Link? Link!" His voice sharpened. "What are you doing here? I thought you were—"

"Link, your hand!" Fledge said, his voice higher than normal. "There's something on his hand!"

"But that's…" Groose sounded shaken. "That can't be… Link, what's happening? I don't remember… I don't remember!"

Link didn't respond. He didn't dare, afraid that he might inadvertently speak his words into existence if he tried. The golden force that filled him to the brim was so absolute, so all-knowing, even his thoughts didn't feel safe. This wasn't possible. He'd already had his chance with the Triforce and wasted it… but this power's gold embrace felt too familiar to be anything else.

"Zelda," Groose said. "We have to get him to Zelda. Where is she?"

"She's—" Fledge paused to swallow. "She's down at the temple, but I don't think we have time to—"

"Time," Link said, eyes widening, and Fledge went silent with a whispered "eep!" There was something there that he was missing, something important, something…

A spark of knowledge lit up his mind, and he gasped, golden certainty flowing through him. Of course.

"Link?" Fledge said carefully, while at the same time Groose said, "Hey buddy, are you… okay?"

Link grinned. He was more than okay, he was incredible. Bright hope filled him to bursting, so light he thought he might float.

"Groose, Fledge… you want to hear a riddle?" he asked impishly.

"Not really," Groose said, while Fledge let out a whimper. Link laughed, feeling giddy.

"Let's say I made a wish for a great evil to be defeated, but then I went back in time and defeated that evil myself. Did I ever actually make my wish?"

"Link, you're scaring me," Fledge said. They didn't get it. Link wasting his wish on Demise was not only unfair, it was impossible —a paradox, like Zelda had told him about. The unraveling, the Triforce flowing through him… it was all the timeline trying to right itself, to force him to use a power that it knew he had already used.

"The answer is that I didn't." Another piece of knowledge came to him then, and whether from the goddesses or his own mind, Link knew it for truth. He could wait for time to sort itself out—or he could go rewrite things himself. "But I will."

Before he even realized what he had done, Link leapt. Fledge and Groose cried out in unison, and Link felt a brief moment of panic himself before golden certainty washed it away. He wouldn't need his Loftwing or the sailcloth if he aimed this right.

Waves of energy buffeted him as he plummeted in free fall, the wind itself forming the path he needed straight towards that power's core. He could feel the two realities fighting to combine. Link had the Triforce… he did not have the Triforce. Link had made his wish… he had not made his wish. The golden power below him grasped out for the golden power within, and—wait.

Anxiety struck abruptly as he realized that this time, he hadn't decided what to wish for—

His hand outstretched, his body on fire, Link touched the edge of the Triforce and white light swallowed everything.

Chapter Text

The wind did not die down with the blazing light of the Triforce as it winked out of existence, leaving the world noticeably darker in its absence. If anything it blew harder, gusting across the sky with unnatural force and kicking up great, gritty clouds of dust and debris that pelted anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in its wake. The confused shouts of riders with their Loftwings were just audible from the surface over the wind's whistling roar, growing fainter as they fought their way up to calmer air. None of them noticed their little goddess standing before the doors of the temple staring up at her own statue in horror, or the captive sword spirit fallen to his knees beside her.

On some level, Ghirahim thought dully, he had always enjoyed believing that he held a thumb over the pulse point of Link's life, able to grant or deny it as he saw fit. It was a foolish notion, he knew—Link was too wild, too impulsive and prone to trouble to predict or contain so easily—but still, he had believed. Now he watched as, in a single instant, that illusion of control came crashing down. Tracking Link had long since become second nature to him, a constant, low-level perception only enhanced by the bond Link shared with his sword, and both in his mind and out of it, Link was simply... gone. Demise himself had not vanished more completely when he—after he—

Ghirahim's hands tightened slowly into fists, the soft leather of his long gloves creasing until it strained at the seams. No. No, he would need more proof than this to believe his newest master dead. Link had not survived so inconveniently before only to fall in sudden obscurity now. The hero of the goddess could never have been destined for such a pointless death—but he was gone, either shielded from Ghirahim's senses or cut out of the world completely, and Ghirahim hadn't the first idea of how to go about finding him.

Worse, he realized with a tight sensation unpleasantly like panic, Ghirahim himself was trapped down here, unable to affect anything at all unless the spirit maiden deigned to bring his sword with her. As if she'd read his thoughts, Zelda's eyes half-flickered towards him, and cold dread pulled him to his feet again. He'd seen the determination there, and the dismissal.

"Wait," he said, but she ignored him, whistling hard through her fingers. Though the sound couldn't possibly have carried over the wind, immediately he saw a deep violet Loftwing fighting its way towards them. "Wait."

He lunged for her arm, but she tore through his grip as easily as parting water, and Ghirahim gritted his teeth as Link's previous orders took hold. You will not impede our progress in any way.

"Don't touch me," she said, her eyes fixed on the approaching Loftwing. "I... I need to go..."

Her face twisted with indecision, and Ghirahim scowled, his mind racing.

"What you need right now is me." How to make himself indispensable? "We have a common goal now, you and I. You know that I am incapable of harming you or anyone else, but I can find Link."

"If Link is gone," she snapped, glaring up at him. "If this isn't all just something you organized in order to—to distract me, or—"

Ghirahim's scornful laughter cut her off, and Zelda's jaw tightened defiantly. She didn't believe that herself, he thought, though she wanted to.

"Your high opinion flatters me, but even I could not accomplish all this while sealed within a sword," he scoffed. "As for the truth of my words, I tracked you once across a continent and could do the same for Link, so believe me when I say that he is—not—"

Ghirahim's breath caught mid-sentence, his head swiveling to stare up at the enormous statue where the Triforce had been before. The sensation was brief, only a flicker, and no stronger than an echo—but for just that moment, he had thought he felt Link. Alive, then… but where? And for how much longer?

"Of course," Zelda said softly, following his gaze, and Ghirahim cursed himself for being so obvious. "Perhaps the Triforce did not go far from its bearer."

The indecision had cleared from her face, and Ghirahim realized bitterly that he'd granted her the perfect solution to ease her conscience. Her duty to the Triforce couldn't help but clash with her desire to find her friend, after all—unless, of course, they could both be found together.

"Wait," Ghirahim said again, knowing he'd run out of time. The violet Loftwing finally settled in front of its master, lowering one wing towards her as she sprinted forward to mount it. "You can't… I have not dragged that witless boy out of danger so many times before only to stand here helplessly while he—while—"

He clenched his fists, appalled at his own lack of composure. Words had never abandoned him so thoroughly before, but they failed him now, the eloquence he took such pride in vanishing under the heavy weight building in his chest. The fires of rage he knew and could handle, and even sinuous fear was no stranger, but this cutting unease that tightened his throat and stunted his breathing… this was foreign, and Ghirahim hated it.

Zelda looked back at him, opening her mouth to respond—and paused, something unsettled in her eyes as she swung her leg slowly across her Loftwing's back.

"You… actually do care, don't you?" She said it like an accusation. Tearing her eyes away, she gripped her Loftwing's lead tightly. "I'm sorry, I can't…"

Kicking her Loftwing's sides, the two rose unsteadily through the turbulent air, the giant bird crying out as it carried her up to the top of the statue of Hylia. So close, almost within sight, but with the sword in the temple still trapping him like an anchor, entirely out of reach.

A seething part of Ghirahim wanted to rage at the goddess, to tear the air apart with his helpless fury, but such a display could only be rendered insignificant by the churning tumult of the sky above. Instead, he tossed back his cloak and began to pace, not minding the frenzied wind that whipped it right back around him. Each passing second pressed like a physical weight on his shoulders, and he channeled that urgency back into furious thought, skirting uneasily around the gaping hole Link had left like a wound in his mind. For all that the boy had only occupied that space for a fraction of a second over the span of Ghirahim's existence, the void left in his absence felt vast.

Ghirahim had sensed the golden power shining through Link in those moments before he vanished altogether—the same that had coursed through him in that cursed forest not so long ago. What had he done with all that power this time, with nobody to stop him? How had he ever even called on the Triforce while it hung in the sky so far away? Magic though it was, even the Triforce must occupy physical space, preventing it from existing in two places at once.

The answer felt on the tip of his long tongue, as if he might open his mouth and speak it. Before he could pin it down further, though, he felt the same echoing sensation that had distracted him earlier, and turned once more to stare at the goddess's statue. He could almost think that a curtain had parted briefly to reveal Link's existence, only to fall shut again, hiding him altogether. A gateway, perhaps, offering glimpses of the other side each time it opened? Demise had created its like for his battle with the chosen hero—as had the goddess, he remembered suddenly as that strange day on Eldin when he'd conversed with the Master Sword's spirit came spinning up from the depths of his mind. If so, then who had created it? More importantly, where did it lead?

Immersed in his own thoughts, it took Ghirahim a few extra seconds to notice that one of the Loftwings escaping out of the sky was, in fact, drawing closer—a Loftwing, he realized with abrupt anticipation, that bore a rider. He tracked the bird's arduous approach with fevered intensity, more certain with each passing moment that he himself was the intended destination even if he couldn't yet make out the rider. Not the spirit maiden, of course, and certainly not Link. Truthfully, it didn't matter much who they were, as long as they had the weak sort of mind he could spin with his coercion—though if his puppet had decided to return, it would make things that much easier…

The somewhat familiar boy who finally landed his Loftwing beside Ghirahim was certainly not the red-haired hulk he had hoped for, though Ghirahim decided after a moment that he still had potential. The timid curve to his shoulders held promise, at least—not exactly the mark of intense, internal strength. Still, curiosity as much as fear twisted the boy's soft, doughy features as he stared up at Ghirahim in awe.

"You're G-Ghirahim?" he said. It wasn't really a question despite the hesitant upturn to his voice, but Ghirahim still nodded in acknowledgement. "I've… I've heard about you."

Ghirahim arched an eyebrow at him, knowing that the wind tossing his cloak out behind him must make him an impressive sight.

"And still you've come seeking me out… Fledge," he added, frowning as the name came floating up from the depths of his mind, and Fledge jumped in surprise. The snoring boy from Link's school. Of course. "There must be some reason for it?" Carefully. He couldn't afford to scare him away.

"Umm…" Fledge hesitated. Testing the waters, Ghirahim took a tiny step forward, and masked his impatience as Fledge took two nervous steps back. "Zelda told me what you can do."

"Did she?" Ghirahim murmured dryly. Could he teleport to reach the boy? Doubtful… he already hovered just at the edge of his sword's invisible leash. "It is a wonder then that you have wandered anywhere near me—though I assure you, I have been rendered quite harmless."

Fledge swallowed audibly.

"I… s-s-saw what you did. To Groose."

That… was worse. So the goddess had discovered his influence there after all. Still, when he met Ghirahim's searching gaze, Fledge's brown eyes were steady.

"Link told me about you, too," he said, and even his voice sounded stronger now, as if he'd come to some decision. "I think he's in trouble. Can you help him?"

"You saw what happened to Link?" Ghirahim asked sharply, forgetting in an instant his resolve not to startle the boy. Fledge went pale, but nodded. "Where is he?"

"Link is—" Fledge stammered, "or I mean, he was—"

Shakily, he pointed up towards the goddess statue, and Ghirahim's eyes narrowed. So he'd been right.

"I don't know what happened!" Babbling words escaped Fledge in a sudden rush. "We—we were just talking, but then Link started acting really weird and saying—I don't know what he was saying—"

"Talk while you walk," Ghirahim snapped, suiting his own words and striding towards the temple. "Talk while you run. I need your help to reach him, and there isn't much time."

For a tense second, he thought Fledge might not follow… but then the boy was stumbling towards him, jogging to keep up with his long strides, and Ghirahim allowed himself a quick huff of relief. He had not felt any echoes from the gateway since the first two to prove Link's continued existence. It might have meant nothing, but…

"Take my sword," he commanded, throwing open the doors to the temple, and was half-surprised again when Fledge obeyed, scurrying to pick it up from where Zelda had carelessly let it fall. It seemed that he might not need to waste time molding a new puppet after all. Remarkable.

"Link jumped off the edge of Skyloft!" Fledge said urgently, picking up his disjointed story where he'd left off. "Without calling a Loftwing, I mean. He just fell, and then—then there was this bright light, and—"

"Easier to show me, I think." Much easier than sifting through Fledge's stuttering attempts at an explanation. "Come."

Ghirahim held out a hand to take, which Fledge eyed warily, finally showing a healthy dose of caution.

"I've seen how Link looks when he talks about you," he said bluntly, searching Ghirahim's face. "Link trusts you. Should he?"

For the second time that day, Ghirahim opened his mouth only to find that the words inside had not arranged themselves properly. What did Link look like when he spoke about him to others? What did he say?

"There is nothing I want more in this world than to see Link returned here safely," he said at last, startled to realize as he spoke them that those words were true.

In this case, honesty served him well. Relaxing, Fledge took Ghirahim's outstretched hand—shaking it, Ghirahim realized in amusement, as if they'd struck a deal. In a way, perhaps they had.

"Okay," he said. "I don't know if my Loftwing can carry us both through this storm, but maybe if—"

"Your permission to take us both?" Ghirahim said impatiently, and Fledge blinked in surprise.

"I… yes? How are you going to—"

Diamonds enveloped them both, cutting Fledge off mid-sentence.

"My way was faster," Ghirahim told him, releasing Fledge's hand as the diamonds retreated a fraction of a second later. Ignoring his belated gasp of shock, Ghirahim looked around.

He knew immediately that they had come to the right place, even if Link remained as absent as ever in his mind. Though he could still see evidence of the wind raging around them in the dark clouds that pushed each other furiously across the sky, the small pocket of air where they stood was eerily calm—the eye of the gathering storm. The temple's courtyard spread out far beneath them now, its front doors barely visible from their newly lofty vantage point, and as he turned to face the large statue in whose hands they now sheltered, Ghirahim discovered that the platform was not quite as empty as it had appeared from below.

"You two," Groose growled. Recovering from his surprise quickly, the once-puppet folded his meaty arms in what he seemed to think was a threatening manner, though Ghirahim's eyes skipped right past him to what he guarded. There was nothing unusual about the patch of air behind him at first glance. A person in a hurry might have walked right past it without noticing anything amiss… but as Ghirahim looked deeper, the air itself twisted mirage-like in front of him, the subtly flickering effect confined within three equally distant corners the exact shape and size of the Triforce.

If it was a gateway, it was unlike any Ghirahim had ever seen or created. He tensed slowly as he examined it despite himself, disturbed to even stand so near the thing.

"Link jumped… from up there?" he surmised, turning his gaze to where Skyloft hung directly above them. Nervously, Fledge nodded. "And he landed…"

"Don't ignore me," Groose snarled, shoving a finger in Ghirahim's chest—and abruptly, he had Ghirahim's full attention. Taking a few, unwilling steps back, Ghirahim raised a hand to where the thick finger had struck him in disbelief. Impossibly, the feeble gesture had hurt. "Fledge must be even dumber than I gave him credit for to drag you into this, but it doesn't matter. Zelda told me what you did to me, and you're not gonna get the chance to do it again—and nobody's going through this portal unless I say so."

"You don't get to talk about me like that anymore!" It was Fledge who spoke up, snapping in a way that Ghirahim thought must be unexpectedly bold of him from the way Groose gaped. "Whatever's going on, it wouldn't have happened if we hadn't tried to keep Link away from—from him. Maybe he can fix things."

"He doesn't fix things," Groose growled, jerking his head towards Ghirahim. "He should still be rotting away wherever Link found him. What's the matter?" he added when Ghirahim stayed silent. "Remlit got your tongue, or did you finally run out of fancy words?"

Groose smirked as if he thought his juvenile insults had struck a blow, though in reality they slid off Ghirahim unnoticed. No human should have had the strength to bruise him, not even one as muscular as Groose, yet his chest still felt sore from a simple touch. Experimentally, Ghirahim extended a small probe of magic to see if any of his influence still held, unlikely though that was if Zelda had discovered it—and nearly fell off the platform entirely as a familiar golden force repelled him, a bright nimbus flashing around Groose in retaliation to the intrusion that neither human seemed to see. It couldn't possibly be Zelda's doing. Nothing she'd managed so far even hinted at that level of knowledge or power—but perhaps…

Link, why?

"I trust Link," Fledge insisted, their argument rising above Ghirahim's thoughts. His rosy cheeks were stained a burning, angry red now that Groose's face easily matched.

"And you think I don't?" he demanded. "I'd trust Link with my life, but as for him—" Again he jerked his head towards Ghirahim, as if saying his name out loud was beneath him— "He deserves to be tossed off a cliff. Hasn't anyone told you what he's done?"

"Everyone's told me what he's done." Fledge sounded exhausted. "For two weeks, that's all I've heard from anyone, but… but nobody got hurt this time, right? Nobody except…" Nervously, he eyed the portal. "If Link knows all that and still trusts him, don't you think that there's a reason?"

"Yeah," Groose said, unmoved. "The reason is that Ghirahim is a conniving snake, and Link is too trusting by half."

"But—"

"I promised Zelda that nobody was coming in after her, and I'm gonna keep that promise." He stretched ostentatiously, his hand brushing across the hilt of the sword sticking up over his shoulder. "Whatever it takes."

Fledge's mouth fell open at the obvious implication, and he stammered again, taken aback.

"B-but—"

"Save your breath, Fledge." Ghirahim spoke up suddenly, giving Groose a deliberately provocative smirk. "This oaf has loved the taste of power far too many times to give it up now that he has a righteous cause to back him. Once a bully, always a bully… isn't that right, Groose?"

Fledge took a quick step away from him, looking worried, but it was Groose who Ghirahim watched. He seemed momentarily stunned by the accusation, though he shook it off soon enough.

"What do you mean by that?" he said in a low voice that he clearly meant to sound threatening. Ghirahim didn't have to fake the laughter that escaped him, light and mocking in comparison.

"You think I don't know?" He didn't know, really, not the specifics. All he had to go on was that rich vein of guilt in Groose's mind, all wound up around Link, and everything he'd observed between him and Fledge… but he thought he could afford a few stabs in the dark. "I've been inside your head, Groose. A little blind boy, how could you? Did it make you feel bigger? Stronger?" His smirk deepened. "Better?"

"What are you doing?" Fledge whispered frantically, but Ghirahim waved him off, a plan taking shape in his mind. Slipping past Groose to the gateway would be child's play whatever the brutish boy thought, but if he tried to enter without his sword… well, Ghirahim thought he'd rather not find out what a forced separation of that magnitude would do to him. If, however, he and his sword were reunited… if either of these boys could be convinced or coerced to sheathe the sword inside him once more…

Fledge wouldn’t have the stomach for it, not without wasting a lot of time convincing him, but Groose on the other hand was already breathing heavily, his raging hatred starting to get the better of him. That guilt of his made him as malleable as ever, if no longer by magical means, and Ghirahim thought he knew exactly how to twist it.

"Do you know?" he said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "It seems almost hypocritical that your Zelda would choose one of Link's tormentors to guard him from another. Perhaps she only grants second chances to those who show her the proper amount of… worship?" He smiled suggestively, and Groose clenched his fists. "Not that it's particularly fair to compare the two of us. I only wanted to kill Link, not make his life a living hell."

"You shut up!" Groose roared, finally drawing his sword, and Fledge made a weak noise of protest.

"Groose, don't—you don't want to—"

"Not to fear," Ghirahim said, allowing himself a brief moment of triumph even as he eyed Groose's sword disparagingly. "A toothpick like that won't even scratch my skin. It would take a truly powerful blade to ever pose any real threat to me."

He let his eyes stray towards the black blade held loosely in Fledge's hands for perhaps a few seconds longer than he might have for a more cunning opponent, certain that Groose had all the subtlety of a wooden mallet—and sure enough, Groose's gaze followed his without a hint of suspicion. He could almost see the gears turning in his simple mind: if his own blade couldn't harm Ghirahim, then perhaps that magic sword over there…

Ghirahim stepped in closer, presenting himself as a more immediate threat, and Groose stumbled unwillingly back towards the portal, though he caught himself quickly. In the moments before he did, Ghirahim felt it again with a rush of relief: that curtain parting in anticipation to briefly reveal Link.

"Stay back!" Groose barked, raising his flimsy sword higher. "You can't hurt anyone! Zelda told me."

"She is correct," Ghirahim agreed, falsely pleasant. "Or at least, she was." Another step forward to close the distance, a dagger summoned to float between them, and a final, verbal strike. "Link's orders bound me when he was in this realm… except now, it seems he is somewhere else entirely. I can't help but wonder whether those orders still—"

Groose dove towards Fledge, tearing the black sword out of his unsuspecting hands to level it at Ghirahim—and Ghirahim realized that there was at least one thing he'd forgotten to take into account as the golden power that protected Groose flared into being, resistant to even his sword. He stiffened, the dagger dissolving into air as pain radiated from the depths of his hidden core.

"No!" Fledge yelped, diving too late after the stolen weapon, though Groose kept it out of his reach easily. "Don't—you shouldn't—"

But Fledge stopped, glancing nervously between them and biting his lip. Ghirahim's words had rattled him, too.

"You heard him," Groose snarled, golden light beaming out of him. "He tried to kill Zelda, and he tried to kill Link. I'm not just gonna stand here while he tries to kill—"

He cut off, and Fledge yelped again as Ghirahim fell to his knees, pain curling relentlessly through even his farthest extremities.

"What are you doing to him?" Fledge asked in a high-pitched voice. Groose grunted, uncertain himself as he looked at the sword in his hands.

"I'm not—I don't think I—" His voice hardened. "This is some kind of trick, right? It has to be!"

Ghirahim couldn't help it—he laughed, a soft, groaning sound that hissed through his teeth. Groose would choose the worst possible time to hesitate.

"Let me guess," he breathed out in a labored voice. "You tried to take Link away… to bring him to me as instructed… and Link resisted. He used the Triforce to…"

He could imagine it all too well now. Link had always valued freedom, even in others, even in Ghirahim, and their walk through the forest had only twisted that value to obsessive heights. If Link, unaware of the holy power bleeding out of him, had known something was wrong with Groose and known the likely cause… well, he would have fixed it. Fixed it too much, apparently, pushing Ghirahim out of Groose's mind and then some as the Triforce created the perfect antithesis to everything Ghirahim was.

"Link did this?" Groose said slowly, staring between Ghirahim and the sword in confusion. Tentatively, he ran his hand along the flat of the blade, and jumped as Ghirahim failed to bite back a scream.

"This has worked out better for you than you ever could have hoped, hasn't it?" Ghirahim ground out, once he'd caught his breath. He could feel the golden magic eating at him, attempting to push him away even as Groose refused to let him go. "If you think I deserve to die, then get it over with! Torture me any longer, and admit that you were never any better than me to begin with."

"I'm not—stop saying—" To Ghirahim's utter relief, he felt the tip of his own sword press against his chest, though the vengeful anger had vanished from Groose's golden eyes. They looked wide and indecisive. "I know what I did, but Link forgave me! He—"

Ghirahim's laughter was no less derisive for its strain.

"He forgave me too! Do you think that matters?" He gathered the strength for a sinister, sharp-toothed smile, though it might have come out as a grimace. "Welcome to the forgiven."

Groose stabbed him almost compulsively, his eyes widening with instant regret as he tried to take it back—but the sword held fast, sinking in slowly despite Groose's increasingly frantic attempts to pull it out again.

"Fledge, help!" he yelled, tugging uselessly at the hilt. "I'm not pushing it in, I swear! It's just—"

Finally, he let the sword go, and a gasp of relief escaped Ghirahim's lips as the inferno of pain raging through him fell immediately to a smolder, fading more with each passing second. Inch by inch, the sword sank through his chest and was absorbed, its black metal swallowed steadily by gray skin as Groose and Fledge watched in stunned horror.

"I—I think he planned this," Fledge whispered to Groose in awe, turning almost gray himself as the last inch of blade vanished and even the hilt was pulled in.

Ghirahim barely noticed either of them any longer. He knew he was laughing wildly, practically heaving with the manic peals of mirth that burst out of him. He could feel the invisible chains that bound him dissolving, the sword no longer anchoring him because it was a part of him. How had he lived for so long under such restraints?

At last, the tip of his faceted pommel disappeared, vanishing into his chest without a mark, and Ghirahim took in a deep breath that seemed loud in the sudden stillness. Then he vanished in a cloud of diamonds, only to reappear atop the goddess statue's head with his arms spread exultantly wide, reveling in the still unfamiliar feeling of freedom coursing through him.

"Now that," he said, drawing the searching humans' attention up towards him, "was a rejuvenation I desperately needed."

He could go wherever he wanted now—to Skyloft, to the surface, to the land of demons or beyond… but instead he studied the gateway still hovering below.

The longer he stood near it, the more convinced Ghirahim became that there was something wrong about it, as if the very air surrounding it was somehow… unraveling. The wind outside their little bubble of protection had not abated in the slightest. Even from up here, Ghirahim could feel the edges of it ruffling his hair and tossing his cloak in agitation. Whatever magic was afoot, that portal stood at the center of it all—which meant that the smartest place to be was a hundred miles away from it. A thousand miles. In another realm entirely, if such a thing was possible.

"Did Link say anything before he jumped?" Ghirahim called down to the still dumbstruck humans. "Anything to indicate a plan beyond… improvisation?"

"Ummm…" Fledge said, looking at Groose uncertainly. "Just something about time… and riddles?"

"And wishes," Groose said, sounding surprised that he'd spoken up. Even from this distance, he looked shaken. "Link said he never… never made his wish."

Time, and riddles, and wishes. Ghirahim sighed, and made his decision.

"I promised you Link's safety, did I not?" he asked Fledge, whose eyes widened. Maybe he hadn't, come to think of it, though it changed nothing. "Let's see if a demon lord can keep his promise."

Launching himself into a graceful dive from the goddess's head, Ghirahim entered the gateway as Link must have done—from above. His last coherent thought before the world turned white was that his master would be paying off this debt to him for lifetimes to come.

Link sat up in bed with a strangled gasp, his hand outstretched as if reaching for something… and looked around in dazed confusion. Dim, golden light suffused his empty bedroom, catching motes of dust like glitter that shimmered and sparkled through the air around him. Shaking his head, Link stared in consternation at the faded green blanket pulled over his lap. Only seconds before, he'd been falling—no, sleeping. The bed and the blanket proved that. He'd been sleeping before, and now he was awake, so… it must be time to get up.

In disbelief that he'd needed to reason such a simple thing out, Link pushed off the blankets and stood, walking towards his wardrobe. If it was morning and he was awake, then he really should get some clothes on—

Flash.

Pushing open the heavy doors of the Knights Academy, Link paused. Hadn't he just been about to get dressed? ...No. No, of course not. He was wearing his knight's tunic, after all—as clean and as neatly pressed as if it hadn't been torn up and mended a hundred times before. He must have already done that, and then decided to go outside.

The golden light was more pervasive out here, with the Triforce gleaming steadily in the sky above. Link crossed the courtyard with no real destination in mind, content to feel the ever-present breeze of Skyloft that brushed the hair from his face and sent the tip of his hat flapping behind him. Past the academy into town, he could see colorful pennants fluttering in that same breeze, with the larger windmill turning steadily in the distance—though oddly enough, there didn't seem to be anyone else up and about just yet.

Link frowned to himself as he realized that he hadn't seen or heard a single person since he woke up. There had to be somebody else here, right? He couldn't be the only—

Flash.

Link crossed the courtyard with no real destination in mind, content to feel the ever-present breeze of Skyloft that brushed the hair from his face and sent the tip of his hat flapping behind him. The sound of laughter reached him, and he watched in amusement as Gully and Kukiel went chasing after a beetle together, their overly large bug nets waving above their heads as they ran. The ringing clang of a distant hammer said that Gondo was at his forge, and in the distance he could see a group of women chattering over laundry, though Pipit's mom seemed somehow to have forgotten hers again.

"Hey there, Link! Off to explore the surface?"

Turning around, Link saw Pipit approaching him with a beaming smile, his yellow uniform as neatly pressed as Link's. Gold light glinted from his eyes—a reflection of the Triforce above?

"I think so," Link found himself saying, though he hadn't had any specific plans to do so until that moment, and Pipit's smile beamed brighter.

"Excellent!" he said, clapping Link across the shoulder. "It's dangerous down there, of course, but I know you can handle yourself."

Link shrugged off Pipit's hand, feeling inexplicably annoyed. That wasn't what you said when I was blind, he thought… and froze as the world began to dim around him, all but the golden light dwindling into darkness. His heart pounded drum-like in his chest. Where had that thought come from? What was—

Flash.

"Hey there, Link! Off to explore the surface?"

Turning around, Link thought he'd somehow expected to see Pipit approaching him, gold light glinting off his eyes as he smiled brightly.

"That's the plan," Link said, shrugging, and Pipit's smile beamed brighter.

"Excellent!" he said, clapping Link across the shoulder. "Don't forget to take your sword. It's dangerous down there!"

Link rolled his eyes, but nodded, waving as Pipit went jogging off. Typical Pipit, always just a little too protective. As if Link would ever forget his sword. He'd put it on along with his knight's tunic, just like he did every morning.

Reaching over his shoulder just to feel the hilt reassuringly, Link instead drew it out, frowning as he examined the long, silvery blade. It was the Master Sword, of course, the only sword that the chosen hero of the goddess would ever want or need… but for some reason, he had almost expected to find—

The sword in his hands lengthened, blackened, its straight edges turned sinuously jagged as the golden gem at the base became a vivid red, and Link's breath caught. Yes, this sword belonged to him, too. He'd almost forgotten—but he didn't need two swords. Which one did he want?

In an instant, the sword was silver again, and then black, shifting back and forth in quick succession as Link gritted his teeth. Didn't he know what he wanted? Why was it so hard to dec—

Flash.

"Hey there, Link! You going flying today?"

Link was not surprised when he turned around to find Pipit approaching, his golden eyes as bright as his smile.

"I think so, yeah," Link said, deeply relieved for some reason he couldn't put his finger on. Much better than his original plan to go exploring the surface.

"Excellent!" Pipit said, clapping Link across the shoulder. "Have a good time out there! The clouds are beautiful right now."

They really were, Link thought, eyeing the pastel, whimsical shapes in the sky with a sense of wonder. He couldn't wait to get on his Loftwing and—

Flash.

Link gripped his Loftwing's back tightly, careful not to disturb its neat, gold-tipped feathers as he inhaled the familiar, dusty scent of the bird beneath him. The wind that ruffled his tunic was the perfect balance of warm and cool, and Link closed his eyes, content to let it toss carelessly through his hair as he flew. The distant sound of a girl's voice calling his name didn't bother him at all, flowing seamlessly along with the wind… though eventually he did grow restless, opening his eyes again to look around.

"Link?"

The clouds were as fancifully arranged as they'd seemed from below, pale pink in a golden sky. Skyloft itself hovered in the distance, colorful and picturesque like a painted toy village. The statue of the goddess loomed over his home protectively, the Triforce shining from her sheltering arms.

Small green islands hung like dangling gems in the sky around him, and his Loftwing sent impressions to his mind of each one that they passed—a scattering of smaller islands to his right, a larger one beneath him to his left. Link didn't exactly mind, though he wondered why it stuck to the task so faithfully. He could see the islands for himself, after all. It wasn't as if he needed someone to tell him—

Flash.

Small green islands hung like dangling gems in the sky around him as he flew, and Link admired each of them as they passed. His Loftwing flew quietly beneath him, as content as he was to fly in peaceful silence, and Link stroked its feathers absently, watching the way they glistened in the golden light and admiring that, too.

"Link! Please, if you can hear me—"

It would be nice to have somebody flying with him, he thought, not entirely sure where the thought had come from but entertaining it nonetheless. Link could remember flying with somebody once, on a peaceful day like this one. He wished—

Flash.

"—I need you to liste—ahh!"

Link smiled as Zelda gripped him tightly from behind, the wind stealing the words from her mouth as they dove together through the sky. His Loftwing carried them placidly, unbothered by the extra weight. From the arms wrapped around him, he could see that she had on the pink dress that she'd worn for his Wing Ceremony. That had been the last time they'd flown together like this… the day when that tornado had—

Flash.

From the arms wrapped around him, he could see that she had on the white dress of the goddess Hylia—

Flash.

From the arms wrapped around him, he could see that she had on her knight's uniform again, the same one that she'd worn every day since earning it at her own Wing Ceremony, and wondered why he'd noticed something so unremarkable.

"Please stop that!" Zelda gasped, and Link glanced back, surprised to find her wide-eyed and scared. Not what he wanted. "We need to talk, Link! Can we please go somewhere where we can t—"

Flash.

"—alk?"

Zelda's mouth dropped open, and she staggered to her feet, turning in a quick circle as if not quite believing where she was. Link didn't understand why. The two of them were in his bedroom, Link seated at his desk with wood and knife in hand as she watched him from his bed—the same as they had done countless times before, talking to each other late into the night.

"Are you the one doing this?" she asked shakily, settling back slowly onto the bed. "You are, aren't you? But how?"

Still debating over what to carve, Link eyed her askance. Zelda's eyes were blue, he noticed—not gold, like Pipit's.

"Do you—do you even know what you're doing?" she asked.

Link laughed at the question, holding up his block of wood in clear demonstration. He was carving.

"...I see."

After that, she seemed content to watch Link work, frowning between him and the Triforce peeking through the window outside. Link was content to let her, rounding off the wooden block's corners idly with still no real idea of what he wanted to carve. The only mild irritation was his room's lack of a lamp, which he'd never thought to question before now. The golden light from outside was constant, but not quite enough to work from. Was he just supposed to carve in the dark, or—

Flash.

Link adjusted the light of the small lamp at his desk and leaned back in his chair again, absently whittling away.

"It has to be you," she said slowly, giving the lamp a hard look. Link raised a half-interested eyebrow, but didn't interrupt. "But why would you have done that? Unless—" She inhaled sharply. "Link… can you see?"

Link stopped carving.

"Why wouldn't I… be able to…" Link's heart pounded in his chest as the vision in the corner of his eyes began to dim, and Zelda looked around nervously, her hands raised in a placating gesture.

"No reason!" she said quickly. "That was a silly question, I'm sorry."

Link relaxed as the light returned, and the moment passed. The piece of wood in his hands was beginning to resemble a head, and he decided to go with that, hollowing out a neck above a sturdy set of shoulders for it to sit on.

"I know where we are, but—" Zelda cut off, sounding worried. Link shrugged, not sure where the cause for concern was. Nothing strange about sitting in his bedroom. "It shouldn't look like this. The Triforce shouldn't work like this, not even for you. Not even if you hadn't made your—"

She went quiet again, for longer this time. The carving was coming together quickly now, though he still wasn't quite sure who he'd decided to carve. It might have been nobody in particular… someone he’d made up from his mind, perhaps? Smoothing out the asymmetrical cut of the figure's hair—it had to be perfectly neat, he knew that much—Link wondered why he'd decided to give it only one ear.

"You never made your wish," Zelda whispered, and the fear in her voice made him pause, a nameless worry of his own eating away at his chest. "Of course. That's why you told Groose… oh Link, you weren't wrong, exactly. You do need to make one, or else—or else who knows what will happen, but—you only get one, do you understand? The Triforce is trying to resolve its paradox right now by granting every little wish that pops into your head… but it's not meant to work like that, Link. Not even the Triforce is all-powerful. You need to decide."

"I…" Realizing that his hands were shaking, Link set his knife down carefully. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Zelda sighed in helpless frustration.

"There must be a reason you can't remember," she muttered. "But is it because you don't want to, or because…" Her eyes strayed towards the Triforce. "What is the last thing you remember?"

"Flying with you," he said, still staring at his own hands.

"And before that?" she insisted, and Link's brow furrowed.

"Talking to Pipit."

"And before—"

Zelda's flow of questions stopped, and she glared, though Link had the strangest feeling that she was glaring past him somehow.

"You shouldn't be here," she said coolly. Link glanced over his shoulder, but saw no one.

"Neither should any of us," a man said with a dry laugh, though something about his voice slid through one of Link's ears and out the other without catching his notice, melding seamlessly into the night. "Still, here we all are together."

"This isn't a game," Zelda hissed. "Do you have any idea how delicate this situation is?"

Link shook his head, taking up his knife once more. Whoever Zelda was talking to, it clearly wasn't him, and he was almost done with his carving now—in record time, he thought uneasily, and immediately forgot.

"Perhaps you've forgotten how 'delicate' things are on the other side?" the man hissed back. "If Link is right here, then why haven't you—"

He stopped talking. Link ran his knife over the wood, unconcerned.

"What’s wrong with him?" the man said slowly. Flatly.

Zelda sighed.

"I’m trying to figure that out," she muttered. "I don’t think either of us really exist here unless he… acknowledges us, though. This is, quite literally, his world. Ghirahim, you—"

"What did you just say?" Link said sharply, and Zelda jumped in alarm as if she'd forgotten he was still listening.

"Nothing," she said quickly. "I… it wasn't important. Link—"

But Link shook his head, staring at the completed figure of Ghirahim in his hand as it all came rushing back. Before flying and before Pipit, before falling and before Fledge and Groose, before being caged in his room… he’d had a sword. He’d had Ghirahim. Link had wanted to keep Ghirahim with him, fought as hard as he could to keep that sword, but—but it hadn't mattered in the end, because Zelda—

His mouth settled into a grim line as that final memory returned, slotting back into place. Zelda.

"Link, I need you to listen very closely to me," Zelda said, speaking quickly now with a nervous glance towards the sky. "This is important. You need to decide—"

"Why should I have to listen?" Link snapped, both knife and carving falling from his hands as he rounded on her. "I told you—over and over I told you what I wanted—and you never listened!"

"I'm sorry," Zelda breathed, but Link shook his head. Maybe she'd had him cornered once, but here, things were different. Here, what he wanted was the only thing that mattered.

"I don't want to listen to you anymore," he said firmly, and Zelda's eyes widened.

"Link, don’t—"

Flash.

Chapter Text

Link crashed down the path through the overgrown trees, grunting as he sliced across branches and bushes that grew up in his way. A Deku Baba slithered up from a patch of vines, poisonous sap dripping from its mouth as it turned towards him, and a single stab of his black sword sent it shriveling back to where it came from with a strangled cry. It felt good to have his feet on the surface again, exploring its hidden mysteries like he'd wanted to do for ages. Link wondered what had kept him from it for so long.

"You're falling behind," he called over his shoulder, grinning back at where Ghirahim stood rooted to the ground in shock. At Link's words, though, the demon lord sauntered closer, surprise vanishing to form a slow, flaunting grin of his own.

"Is it my turn to be acknowledged, then?" he said, looking around. "I suppose this means that I, at least, am—" He paused, his smile faltering. "It pains me to have to ask you this, Link, but where is Zelda?"

Link stopped short, rounding on him.

"Who is Zelda?" he asked coldly, and Ghirahim's grin vanished altogether. Golden light streamed through green leaves in an almost steady flow as the Triforce turned slowly in the sky.

"Nobody," Ghirahim said. "If she's dead to you, she's certainly dead to me."

Link's eyes widened despite himself. No, he hadn't—she couldn't actually be—

Flash.

"Come on," Link said, turning away and trying to shake the thought that he'd forgotten something. If only the paths through his mind could be cleared as easily as the surrounding brush. There were holes there, hidden in the mists of his awareness—pitfalls, maybe, if he wasn't careful. Every thought he had felt stunted, interrupted before it could begin, though when he tried to follow even that idea any further—

Flash.

Link crashed down the path through the overgrown trees, not worrying about anything in particular. Why ruin such a perfect day with too much thinking?

Ghirahim was an unusually quiet traveling companion as they walked, examining their surroundings critically but without question or complaint. He made no move to help, either, only raising an eyebrow when a Deku Shrub shot its wooden missile at him, but Link still grinned as he dove in with his shield to knock the projectile aside, his good mood not shaken in the slightest. At least Ghirahim trusted him with something as simple as a Deku Shrub, unlike—

Flash.

Unlike who?

"Where are we?" Ghirahim asked at last, the first to break the silence between them as usual. His words were cautious, though he tried to mask it with a veil of nonchalance, and Link glanced at him curiously before shrugging.

"The woods," he said, gesturing at all the trees, and Ghirahim hissed under his breath.

"That isn't what I—" He cut off, breathing deeply, and his blatantly false calm returned. "Fine. We're in the woods." His lips thinned with distaste. "Haven't you had enough of dragging me through the woods?"

Link froze, his heart pounding suddenly as some bright, forgotten melody tried to wind its way out of the depths of his mind. Never again—never—

Flash.

Rolling fields surrounded them, wildflowers bobbing in the golden light without a tree to be seen. Link relaxed, motioning for Ghirahim to follow as he walked on.

"So you remember that much, at least," Ghirahim muttered, falling back into step beside him. "Where are we now?"

"I don't know," Link admitted, laughter bubbling out of him at Ghirahim's needless agitation. He'd figure out eventually that they had nothing to worry about. "Isn't the whole point of things not to know?"

"Actually, I vastly prefer knowing," Ghirahim said, voice tight. His trailing cape swished angrily out behind him as he walked, its dark crimson vivid against the long green grass. "Would you at least explain why we are here?"

"Because I want to be," Link shrugged, holding back another laugh as Ghirahim's face darkened.

"Do you think this is a game?" he growled, turning on Link angrily. "How did we get here in the first place? Where were we before we came here? Do you remember jumping through the portal, or—"

"Enough!" Link said sharply, clutching his head, and Ghirahim cut off. He didn't want to think about any of that. "Why do you have to ask so many questions?"

"Because you're bereft of your senses, and I don't know how else to break your complacency!" Ghirahim snapped. "We can't stay here, Link. Do you have any idea at all what you're doing?"

"We're exploring," Link insisted, holding out his arms as if to encompass the vast land surrounding them. "Haven't you ever just wanted to… I don't know. See everything?"

Ghirahim stared at him for a long moment, expressionless. Then he shot forward, tilting Link's head back to peer deeply into his eyes and ignoring his surprised yelp.

"What are you…" Link's protests died away as his pulse quickened, caught up in the piercing stare of Ghirahim's single, visible eye. Slowly, Ghirahim's head tilted, his curtain of white hair falling slightly to reveal the other.

"There's nothing here worth seeing," he said grimly, releasing his hold on Link and stepping back. "We need to find a way out."

That… was not quite right, Link thought dazedly, staring at Ghirahim as if he'd never seen him before. Though they had looked dark and flat from a distance, up close his large eyes danced with warm flecks of red and brown.

"You want to leave?" he asked, shaking his head as if that might clear it. It didn't. "We can go somewhere else."

Flash.

Link let his head fall against Ghirahim's shoulder with a satisfied sigh, ignoring the way he jerked in surprise beneath him. Slopes of golden trees spread out past the outcropping of rock where they sat, glowing in the pink light of sunset as the Triforce turned steadily above it all. Without looking, Link knew that a small stone house stood at his back, its wooden door creaking lightly in the wind.

"Better?" he asked, and Ghirahim huffed.

"At least you're sitting still," he muttered. "I thought perhaps finding you would be the hard part, not…"

His arm moved absently to pull Link closer as if he might vanish into thin air otherwise. Nimble fingers combed through Link's hair, restarting the frantic rhythm of his heart, and he shivered at the touch, pressing in closer. The mountain air wasn't freezing exactly, or not unpleasantly so—just cold enough to quicken his breath, and keep the two of them huddled together.

The moment should have been perfect, but something deep inside Link resisted contentment. The Triforce flickered fitfully in the sky.

"It answers to you," Ghirahim said, and Link glanced up to find him staring fixedly at the golden triangles. "Not the other way around. If you created this place, then you should be able to leave it."

Link's mood slipped further, his mouth pressed into a sullen line, and Ghirahim sighed at his silence.

"Well, you're no help," he said, his voice dropping to an introspective mutter. "This isn't right. The goddesses' power is ultimate, of course, but not unlimited. It was said that the Triforce could fulfill any desire, to the point of reshaping reality itself…" A pause as he glanced around, "…but it grants that power only once. A more cunning man might have used it to obtain power—Demise would have made himself a god, rivalling even the old ones with his strength—but you?" Ghirahim breathed out a laugh. "I think you had no such ambitions."

Demise. Link tensed slowly in Ghirahim's arms, the Triforce spinning ever so slightly faster. That name meant something important—but what?

"Still," Ghirahim mused, "you must have wished for something beyond Demise's death, or it would not fold to your will so easi—"

"I killed Demise," Link said shortly, remembering, and Ghirahim's words cut off.

"Of course you did," he said after a moment. "But before that, you used the Triforce to—"

"I killed Demise," Link said again. He wanted to say more, knew there was more to say, but the Triforce flickered wildly, and the thoughts jumbled up in his mind before words could form. Ghirahim's dark eyes narrowed, darting between Link and the Triforce.

"You killed Demise," he agreed slowly. "You killed…"

His words faded off, and the fingers running through Link's hair stopped to rest against his head. Grunting in soft protest, Link shifted deliberately beneath him in an attempt to restart the motion.

"Time and riddles and wishes. Of course." Link felt more than heard the laugh that rumbled through Ghirahim. "Oh, clever, sky child. Very, very clever. You still have your wish to make, don't you?" He shook his head. "And yet, not clever enough, I think. Something's caught you up here that you didn't quite expect… but then, I think I've mentioned before how little you know of the ways of magic. Perhaps you should have listened."

Link relaxed as Ghirahim's fingers stroked distractedly through his hair once more, willing the thud of his heart to settle. Why should Ghirahim's words make him anxious when he didn't understand them? Why couldn't he understand? Why was it that every time he thought too hard about the shifting world around him—

Flash.

"Of course, in theory, the solution is simple," Ghirahim said as Link frowned to himself, wondering what he'd been thinking about. "You must abandon all these whims and make a wish. Tell me, Link, if you could have one thing you wanted, anything at all… what would it be?"

"I can have everything I want," Link said. Again, the fingers running through his hair paused, and his frown turned petulant. "Don't stop."

Ghirahim resumed the action immediately, chuckling wryly under his breath as he flicked Link's ear.

"Greedy," he chided. "You can have everything you want for now, boy, but for how much longer? If only you could see what—ah." He laughed again, shaking his head. "Perhaps in your case, the answer is obvious."

He pulled back again to stare into Link's eyes, and Link's noise of exasperation died on his lips. The colored light of sunset filtered gently over Ghirahim's hair, casting soft violet over each white strand and catching its stray, wispy edges in a brilliant halo of gold. Link resisted the urge to smooth those flyaway pieces down, afraid he might shatter the moment.

"How to make you remember," Ghirahim wondered softly as Link's eyes wandered down, watching the quick, delicate movement of his pale lips. "You will never muster the will to wish for something you think you possess, and your wish must encompass all of your will… but I don't know—"

Flash.

Ghirahim's red mantle disappeared, and he looked down at himself in surprise, and then towards Link, bemused.

"Too warm for you?" he asked dubiously. Link shrugged, his gaze dragging downward. The cloak had been blocking his view. "That's somewhere to start, I suppose. I know of an ocean if you wish to cool off, far from the desert that once bore such a name. Have you seen it?"

Blinking, Link considered the question, and shook his head. Ghirahim's eyes glowed with anticipation.

"Would you like to?"

He would, come to think of it.

Flash.

Ghirahim stumbled forward a step as a towering wave slammed against his back, wide-eyed with surprise. From the safety of the beach, Link waved at him, and Ghirahim vanished from the surf in a cloud of diamonds to appear beside Link once more, muttering under his breath.

"It is unnatural for you to be the one dragging me around," he growled, though Link only smiled, amused to see him so out of sorts for once. Warm, white sand wound to either side in an undulating ribbon, backed by tall, gray cliffs and broken only by the occasional fronded tree. The ocean itself seemed equally endless, cerulean water that stretched for miles to meet the sky in an unbroken line of contrasting blues, but Link thought the water rolling down Ghirahim's skin might be just as appealing a view.

"It's nice here," he said, and Ghirahim sighed, a measure of his self-assured poise returning as he flipped damp hair out of his face.

"Of course it is." With a quick gesture of his fingers, the water sloughed off him in sheets, leaving him perfectly dry. Link frowned in disappointment, but listened as Ghirahim continued. "I did not name myself 'lord of the surface' for nothing, Link. I know this land's beauties as well as the goddesses themselves—perhaps better, now that ages have passed since they last paid them notice."

"Oh?" With another flash, Link's boots disappeared, and he scrunched his toes through pleasantly warm sand. He thought he'd be happy enough staying here for a while, but Ghirahim's words had his interest piqued. "Like what?"

Ghirahim's coy smile left his mouth dry.

"Why settle for telling you when showingyou would be so impactful?" he asked, offering Link a beckoning hand. "I've seen rolling fields so colorful you could hardly see the grass for all the flowers—"

Flash.

Patches of blue and gold bloomed beneath their feet in thick clusters, covering undulating hills in waves of flowers that stretched on for miles. Link's eyes lit up at the sight, and he stooped down low to hold a pale blossom to his nose, though he didn't miss the intensity of Ghirahim's gaze as his outstretched hand fell quietly to his side. The perfumed scent of flowers hung so heavily in the air that smelling one made almost no difference, but Link's position did give him the perfect vantage point to catch Ghirahim's enigmatic smile in profile.

"Do you like it?" Ghirahim asked, and Link nodded, smiling himself. "Ahhh, but flowers are so mundane." Catching a bloom between his own gloved fingers, he spun it carelessly. "Perhaps you would rather see something of value… perhaps, for instance, crystalline caverns hidden beneath the earth, glistening with untapped wealth—"

Flash.

Blossoms transformed into colorful gems so numerous that Link's jaw dropped, and he quickly gave up on counting them all. Their smooth facets glittered in the Triforce's consuming glow, and Link thought distantly that Platts the Mogma would fall over in happy shock if he ever found this place… though catching Ghirahim's glittering eyes, Link thought he knew which sight he found more enticing.

"What about waterfalls?" Ghirahim suggested, grinning widely now at Link's dazed expression. "Dozens of them rising into the air, cascading over cliffs like thunder—"

Flash.

The sound was indeed like thunder, water from a hundred sources crashing down stepped cliffs in frothing white streams into the crystal blue lake below. Though Link peered up at them in fascination, he was all too aware of Ghirahim's steadying hand on his back, his silvery voice naming the next destination in his ear. At its best, there had always been something musical about Ghirahim's voice: flowing, yet precise in a way that the accents of Skyloft were not.

"Or you might like the mountains in the freezing north, where colors light up the nighttime sky—"

Flash.

Link clung to Ghirahim with a delighted laugh as the temperature plunged, looking up at the sky in wonder. He had never seen—flicker—never noticed the stars before, but here they sparkled, undimmed by the spinning Triforce flickering in the sky. As a finishing touch on the majestic scene, purple and green wound through it all as if painted there by some divine brush, blazing like fire without a source above a snowy mountain peak.

"Breathtaking, isn't it?" Ghirahim murmured. Looking up at his expectant face, Link silently agreed. The strange light cast across Ghirahim's skin made him look coolly ethereal. "There are worse places to be abandoned for a thousand years, I suppose… not that I could see any of this, trapped inside the mountain as I was. You do remember this place, don't you, Link?" His grin took on a cruel edge. "Or was your view when you came to rescue me something more like this?"

Link's smile froze, falling jerkily off his face as Ghirahim slipped a hand over his eyes to block the world from view. The edges of panic began to creep over him as he struggled, the golden power tensing in his chest, but Ghirahim hushed him softly.

"Come now, boy, you have never sought out my presence because I coddled you," he said with a low intensity that made Link shiver, gripping his arm and leaning over him. "You are capable of knowing this world for the illusion that it is. Remember being blind, Link. Dwell in that reality. Only then will you gather the strength necessary to change it." His crooning voice sank lower. "Leave this pale echo of the world behind, and claim what you really want. Perhaps you cannot have everything you desire, but you can have one thing. You can have this."

Link clung to the tiny pockets of flickering golden light that slipped between Ghirahim's fingers, his breath coming inexplicably in sharp pants. This place felt real enough to him, despite Ghirahim's scornful words to the contrary. Ghirahim felt real, real and close, his warm breath on Link's flushed cheek the perfect counterpoint to the cold that enveloped them. Shifting slightly, he could feel every point of contact between him and Ghirahim with a sudden, burning awareness, from the hand held firmly against his eyes to the slender fingers digging painfully into his shoulder. As he traced a tingling finger up the subtle ridges of Ghirahim's spine and felt hard muscles twitch beneath him in response, Link almost imagined that he felt sparks fly up behind it.

Ghirahim's voice sharpened.

"Remember," he insisted, an edge of frustration to his words now as his lips pressed against Link's ear. "Try to remember. There is too much at stake for your mind to go wandering—" He stopped with a sharp inhale. "Then again… that might be exactly what you need."

He released Link suddenly, only to catch him again by the wrists. Eyes snapping open, Link watched, bewildered, as Ghirahim peeled the leather gloves from Link's hands one by one, letting them fall carelessly to the snow.

"What are you doing?" he asked, and Ghirahim laughed.

"Something I should have thought to do earlier." Shifting his grip on Link's wrists, he brought Link's hands up to rest against his face, the smooth skin of his cheeks pulled tight in a smile. "Do you remember this?"

Link's eyes widened.

Flash.

Rough bark rubbed at Link's back through his tunic, warm air catching his face in its damp caress. The fading light of dusk filtered through golden leaves, casting dappled shadows over the distant ground below—and over Ghirahim's face, caught between Link's shaking hands. Without the grip on his wrists to steady him, he might have fallen over. Nothing about this place looked familiar, but he knew it. He knew it.

"I've gone about this all wrong, haven't I?" Ghirahim said, his dark eyes boring into Link's. Link's breath came out in shallow gasps, timed perfectly with his thundering heart. "I should have known it from how you summoned those monsters to fight in the woods. I had thought to ignite your desire by offering up the wonders of the world—but beauty isn't all you want, is it? You crave independence. Capability."

Link's eyes fell shut almost of their own accord as Ghirahim loosened the vice-like grip on his wrists, and slowly, carefully, his fingers inched upward. Curving up and around inhumanly smooth temples to trace the edge of Ghirahim's hairline, Link ran a hand shakily through his soft, smooth curtain of hair and thought that he'd done this all before. Each small, halting movement felt familiar, brushing dust softly from the hidden corners of his mind.

"Remember, Link," Ghirahim said, the subtle muscles of his face pulling with his words to send shivering vibrations through Link's fingertips. "Remember the frustration. You are tired of being questioned; you want to be trusted. You are tired of feeling helpless; you want to feel strong."

"You think I'm helpless?" Link asked haltingly, his pulse racing. He remembered, the goddess help him—remembered that spiraling feeling of fear reaching out to him from the depths of his mind, threatening to overwhelm him. His breath felt thick and labored as that old terror caught him up again, dragging him down with torrential fury… but Ghirahim's rich laughter sent it all scattering.

"Never," he said, and Link thought he might burn up from the inside, something fierce and wonderful settling around his heart instead. "Never in a million years would I make that mistake again, sky child. Now—"

Link pressed a finger against Ghirahim's lips, startling him into silence.

"You still call me that," he said roughly. Something had finally fallen into place in his mind. Something passionate. "Do I look like a child to you?"

Ghirahim's eyes narrowed.

"What are you—"

Link's kiss caught him off guard. Ghirahim went rigid with shock as their lips crashed together, earnest but a bit clumsy. Breaking it off for a quick breath, Link leaned in again, more gently this time. This was what he wanted. This was what he wanted.

Only as Link withdrew did Ghirahim react at all, just barely leaning forward as if a part of him would prolong the contact, and Link grinned up at him.

"You brought me here the first time to appreciate you, right?" he said, pleasantly breathless for once. "I think I can give you what you want."

"You…" Ghirahim had to pause to swallow, and Link realized with satisfaction that he was not the only one affected. "You… have the most atrocious sense of timing imaginable." His voice tried to firm. "There will be plenty of time for that later."

"There's time now," Link insisted, shifting forward on his knees as Ghirahim started to back away. The branch swayed dangerously beneath them, but Link wanted it to hold, so it held. "Why should we go anywhere else when we're together here?"

Ghirahim stared at him shrewdly, a million thoughts chasing each other behind guarded eyes as he drew a ragged breath.

"You… want me?" he said, and though he didn't move, he seemed to loom in Link's vision. Link could only nod, leaning forward again—but a hand on his chest stopped him.

"You know what that gives me, then," Ghirahim purred, swaying forward to whisper in Link's ear. "Leverage."

And with a rush of diamonds, he vanished.

Startled, Link rose to his feet, never fearing that he would lose his footing as his head swiveled around. Nothing but leafy treetops met his searching eyes.

"Come on," he whined, torn between annoyance and laughter. A flash brought Ghirahim back in front of him, but before Link could so much as lean forward he'd disappeared again. "What are you doing?"

"Whatever it takes to make you listen," Ghirahim said, his voice seeming to echo from everywhere at once. Another flash of the Triforce failed to bring Ghirahim back for longer than it took him to smirk, blowing a little kiss this time before vanishing.

Link gritted his teeth, irritation quickly overcoming any lingering sense of amusement as Ghirahim continued.

"If denying you is the only way to reach you, then so be it. One way or another, we're leaving this place together."

"Would you just get back here?" Link demanded, glaring at the surrounding trees. He could feel a well of frustration rising up around him… and something else dragging him to its depths. Fear? "Why do you want to go?"

"Why are you so reluctant to leave?" Ghirahim shot back. A flash of white amidst the green caught Link's eye, but though he was there in an instant, he found nothing but fluttering diamonds. "This world you've created won't last forever."

Link opened his mouth to respond, only to realize that he didn't know how. Even he could barely identify the thoughts swirling furiously through his mind, though that undercurrent of fear was stronger now. They had to stay here, together. If they left…

"You said that I need to make a wish, right?" Link said abruptly, a new idea struggling to life as the Triforce spun above. "What if I could make it last?"

He looked down at the back of his hand where flickering triangles had begun to illuminate, and knew with sudden certainty that he could.

A swirl of chiming diamonds beside him was the only warning Link had before a clenched fist hoisted him into the air by his shirt, Ghirahim's furious glare piercing him through.

"Don't you dare," he said coldly. "Don't you dare. I followed you here to save your sorry skin despite my better judgment, but I will not be trapped alongside you."

Link struggled for a moment before laughing at himself, flickering out of his grip easily.

"Think about it," he urged. "I can make this place whatever you need it to be, too. You wanted someone to use your sword the way it's meant to be used, right?"

For the first time, Link considered the golden power that had flowed through him all this time without his conscious attention. Curiously, he directed it, applying just a touch of his will, and—

Flash.

They were back in the rolling field, only this time without a flower in sight. In their place arose an army of snarling monsters trampling the grass beneath them, sprawling out to every side as far as Link's eyes could see. Bokoblins, Moblins, and worse popped into existence in clouds of golden smoke, baring their fangs and screeching. Monsters Link had fought, but never seen. Monsters that Link hadn't known existed until now.

"This is better than those cursed Bokoblins, right?" Link said, hefting the black sword in his hands for emphasis. It weighed less than he remembered. "I can use you here like you want me to, whenever you want me to."

Ghirahim surveyed the ugly scene before him, his face a picture of disgust. Then he walked forward, striding unarmed into the army's midst.

Link started. "Wait—"

His presence drew the monsters' attention, and their ire. A band of Lizalfos hissed at Ghirahim, leaping through the air to strike at him with spiked tails. A Moblin drew back its heavy spear and thrust it towards his stomach. With a warlike cry, a hilltop full of Bokoblins raised their bows, letting a barrage of arrows fly.

Every attack missed its mark. Spiked tails bounced back as if repelled by some invisible shield, and the thick steel spearhead shattered before impact. Arrows halted in midair, dissolving into golden dust as Ghirahim looked back at Link disdainfully.

"A puppet world," he declared. "A game of pretend, limited to the depths of your imagination. I want no part of it."

The triangles against Link's gauntlet faded slowly away as the triangles in the sky picked up speed. The monster horde dissolved as easily as it had appeared, in lingering swirls of golden mist. Link stared at Ghirahim, licking his lips.

"But… but what if I…"

"Take us home together, or let me leave alone," Ghirahim demanded, and Link flinched back. That fear from before had grown to a raging maelstrom, threatening to overwhelm him.

"But they…"

"Anywhere we are, you will have me, Link. Anywhere but here."

"They'll take you away again!" Link exploded, clenching his fists uselessly. The Triforce flickered frantically overhead in reflection of his anguish, and for a moment he thought he heard a distant girl's voice calling out desperately for his attention. "Zelda will… they'll take you away like they always do, and maybe next time I won't get you back! So—so can we just stay here where it's safe? Nobody will hurt you here, and—and you can't—"

"And I can't hurt anyone, either," Ghirahim finished in a murmur, eyes alight with comprehension. "Of course."

Trembling, Link turned away, though he could never escape Ghirahim so easily. There was something almost gentle in the way he appeared before Link this time, materializing in a sigh of shivering diamonds and a whisper of chimes. Still, looking down at Link, his white lips were set in a hard, unyielding line.

"Is your true wish merely to hide, then?" Ghirahim asked, and Link gritted his teeth.

"No, but—"

"To cower?"

"No—"

"Will you hide me away to keep me safe, as your friends did to you?"

"No." The hoarse denial pushed its way through his lips, stronger than the ones before. Link felt winded, unable to catch his breath. He couldn't do that to Ghirahim. He couldn't do that to anyone.

"Of course not. I was never meant to be hidden away, and neither were you." Ghirahim held out his hand again, inviting Link to take it. "We will find our way out together, and we will stay together. Don't you think you'd like to see me in the real world?"

Link bit his lip. Pushing past the offered hand, he wrapped his arms around Ghirahim's waist, clutching him tightly. Ghirahim stiffened like a statue beneath him, and Link clenched his eyes shut, waiting to be pried off. Instead, very slowly, Ghirahim brought his own arms around to circle Link.

"She will not take me so easily this time," he murmured, pressing his forehead against Link's hair. "I promise."

"I know. I know, it's just…" Link buried his head in Ghirahim's chest, not daring to meet his eyes. "I wish you wanted to stay here. With me."

One second passed, and another, heavy with a tension he couldn't place. Link let out a sigh—

Flash.

—And felt his heart leap in his throat as Ghirahim bent his head low, catching Link's lips with his own. Stunned, bewildered, Link met the kiss eagerly, rising up on his toes and pressing in as if he could lessen the distance between them.

"Well, when you put it like that…" Ghirahim pulled back just enough to whisper against his mouth, a warm, throaty sound. "How could I possibly refuse?"

Link kissed him again between irrepressible bursts of laughter, relief flooding through him. Ghirahim finally understood. Link would make this place perfect for him.

Pulling away at last, he smiled up into Ghirahim's eyes.

His golden eyes.

FLASH.

Link stared at Ghirahim across an ever widening gap, the strength of his repulsion pushing them further and further away. Ghirahim, his eyes deep brown again and shocked, looked back at him with the same dawning horror slowly twisting its way through Link's gut. Without even realizing it, Link had… he had almost… had Ghirahim ever wanted to kiss him, even once?

A fitful wind picked up between them.

"Link," Ghirahim said, his choked voice laced with desperation and… fear? For Link, or of him? "Link, don't—it doesn't matter—we were so close!"

Link turned away, and this time when Ghirahim tried to appear beside him, he refused to allow it. Even over the rising gale, he could hear Ghirahim's growls of frustration as he flickered in place, vanishing and reappearing in clouds of useless diamonds without coming an inch closer.

"Link!" Ghirahim roared, and Link realized with a sick feeling of dread that he still wasn't far enough away. The earth itself cracked with the strength of his need to escape, the patch of grass beneath him peeling away to rise into the sky. "Link!"

"I'm sorry," Link said dully, though he doubted Ghirahim could hear it. Shame churned through him as he wondered how far he might have gone without noticing… he wasn't safe around anyone, not like this. "I think I just… want to be alone for a while."

Flash.

In response, Link heard nothing but the wind.

Link wandered, through the mountains, the forest, the field. He paced his room, stalking back and forth across a worn rug he hadn't known was red. He flew, letting it all fall away, and refused to hear the voices calling out to him on the wind. He didn't think he could face either one of them just yet.

Though his bird felt as warm and solid beneath him as ever, Link began to finally see hints of the world's impermanence, and wondered if they'd been there all along. The edges of his vision blurred, as if the clouds and sky and all its floating islands only existed wherever he looked, and if he turned his head quickly enough he might find… what? The Triforce in the sky spun more slowly now, its golden light flickering dimly. Maybe he really was running out of time.

On Skyloft, Link's feet carried him along winding dirt paths beneath a goddess statue that had not yet fallen from the sky, the Triforce held again between her hands. Inching along stone outcroppings and hopping between cliffs of tufted grass, Link tried not to think too hard about the path his wandering had taken. Only as he emerged beneath Hylia's statue to see the door at her base glow and vanish could he acknowledge even to himself where his feet had taken him, and why. Walking through the darkened doorway, Link knew even before seeing it what he would find. In some other world his sword might rest in a temple, but that wasn't where Link's heart remembered meeting her.

Sure enough, the Master Sword stood where the Goddess Sword once had, rising tall above its pedestal atop a raised dais. Link climbed the steps towards it one by one, his gaze flitting from the proudly flared cross guard to the hilt wrapped in what he now saw were metallic green ribbons. Whatever the color, that hilt had felt imprinted against his palm from the first time he'd held it, like he'd been missing it all his life.

Falling to kneel beside the sword, Link reached one hand out, tracing his fingers carefully around the shape of the Triforce emblazoned against the flat of the blade. That symbol had not emerged until Link tempered the Goddess Sword in all three sacred flames, though Zelda had told him soon after what it meant. The Triforce: the very power that had inspired Demise's assault against the surface, and the entire purpose behind Link's heroic quest—a source of strength he hadn't even needed in the end.

Link closed his eyes, letting his fingertips drift away. A soft yearning wound up from the depths of his heart despite himself. He knew it wouldn't be the same, that what he wanted was impossible here, really… but with his heart so muddled and no one else to turn to, he couldn't help but wish that…

Flash.

Chimes as clear as bells parted the air in front of him, a light breeze ruffling his hair as something emerged from the sword. Link felt tears prick the corners of his closed eyes. A hundred lifetimes from now, he thought he would still know that sound.

"Master Link."

Despite those precious few moments of sight the goddess had rewarded him with on his journey, Link had never actually seen Fi. He had hardly even touched her, and never close enough to form even the bare mental sketch he'd once had of Ghirahim. If he opened his eyes now, though, Link knew he would see her at last… the perfect image of her, at least, until he reached her golden eyes.

Link kept his own eyes closed.

"You're not really Fi," he said, as much a reminder for himself as anything else. She took a moment to contemplate that statement.

"I believe you are correct," she eventually agreed. "The one who you call Fi resides currently in the Sealed Temple of Hylia, and so I must conclude with greater than 99% certainty that I myself am a mere approximation of Fi, and not in fact the entity you know as Fi."

Link choked back a laugh that might have been a sob as he nodded. Fi or not, she couldn't have sounded more like her if she'd tried.

"However," she continued slowly, "it would not be entirely incorrect if you wish to address me as Fi, either, given that I contain the same bank of knowledge and memories that your Fi possessed. For the purposes of conversation, I believe I may play a functionally similar role, if you will allow it."

Swallowing, Link took in a deep breath before nodding. Functionally similar. He could work with that.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"The Sacred Realm," she answered promptly. "The traditional resting place of the Triforce."

"How did we get here?"

This time, she waited again before responding. Fi had often done the same, taking the time to sort through all of the information available to her in search of the most correct truth.

"You claimed the Triforce with a heart divided," she said at last. "Under normal circumstances, it should be impossible to use its power in such a state. However… in attempting to resolve its paradoxical condition, it appears to have shattered itself along the lines of your will, sifting through small desires in search of your one true wish. I believe, when you touched it, some part of you may have desired an escape?"

Link let out a shaky laugh. "Something like that."

"This world has always served as a mirror, reflecting the heart of whoever would claim the Triforce's power," she concluded. "Though I do not claim full knowledge of either the inner workings of the Triforce or the goddesses themselves… perhaps this has served as a test to judge the strength of your wish by allowing it to surface. If memory serves, I believe you have endured such a trial before."

"So you're saying this is more like the Silent Realm?" Link quipped, and Fi chimed in response.

"Sacred or Silent, the two were always one and the same."

That was news to Link, though he decided after a moment that it made a sort of sense. He had even entered them the same way: in spirit, with his sword to unlock the path.

"If I'm supposed to make a wish, then why can't I?" he asked wearily. "I've been trying."

He had, as he'd wandered around restlessly. He'd even tried praying once that had failed, remembering how Fi had suggested it when he'd wished to defeat Demise. Somehow, he couldn't manage to get his heart behind either task.

"You still have not committed the whole of your heart to a single desire," Fi said, confirming his fears. "A part of you still clings to the illusions of this mirror world, or else you would not be here speaking to me."

Of course. Knowing the world as false was one thing, but he still hadn't let it go.

"And if I don't make a wish soon?" he asked, thinking of the dimly flickering Triforce outside. "What happens then?"

"I don't know," she admitted.

Nodding, Link clenched his eyes more tightly shut against the ache in his chest. He didn't want to say goodbye to this again after going so long without.

"I… could have you back," he said in a small voice. "With the Triforce. Couldn't I?"

Yet even as she confirmed it, Link realized with a sinking heart that it wouldn't be right. Fi had asked for her own release after completing the task the goddess formed her for. He couldn't override her will on the matter just because that task wasn't what he wished it was.

Anyway, he had something else he thought he might want, even if the idea of it terrified him.

"You're part of the Triforce somehow," he said tentatively. This wasn't Fi, it wasn't… "You already know what I want to wish for, right?"

"I do," she confirmed.

Link hesitated, his hands fidgeting in his lap before falling still. She wasn't Fi, but she still might know.

"What would Fi think about what I want?"

Stray chimes pealed out softly in thought as Link waited through her longest silence yet.

"That… is not a question I can answer with any degree of certainty," she said at last. As Link's heart began to sink, though, she added, "However, assuming the truth of these memories, I can say with complete confidence that she always trusted your judgment to do what was right."

Link's face crumpled, his throat too tight to speak. He couldn't have stopped the hot tears that streamed from his eyes if he'd tried. If the goddess had created Fi, then had she also had that same faith in him once?

Maybe she still did. Maybe somewhere, watching him from the edge of time, she still did.

"I think you are ready," Fi said, and Link gave a start. But he wasn't… "Do you wish to see the truth of this world?"

Slowly, Link nodded, wiping his face. It was time to move on, wasn't it? If she thought Link was ready, then he could believe it, too.

He thought about saying goodbye, but decided he already had.

"I do."

Flash.

When he opened his eyes again, Fi was gone.

Threads of colored light stretched across a dark sky in a kaleidoscope of shifting patterns and shapes, forming vast, unknown connections between beings both born and not yet born, and places both ancient and yet to be. Eyes wide, Link raised a tentative hand to his blindfold, and discovered it absent altogether. This wasn't how the Sacred Realm had looked to him before–but then, he'd come here in the flesh this time and not merely in spirit. Maybe this was a deeper truth even than the golden world he remembered.

Those distant threads still shivered and spun, though the sensation no longer left him dizzy or afraid. Instead, he smiled. Rather than feeling the world unraveling, he had a new sense of things… coming together.

"Link!"

Two hands grabbed his, one on each side, though he could only see their owners by the ends of their threads: blazing red, and burnished gold.

"Link, are you… can you really…?" That was Zelda's frantic voice, with a hoarse edge to it as if she'd been calling out to him the entire time. Link supposed she probably had. He nodded, and she gasped. "You did it… you did it!"

"Not yet," Ghirahim warned tightly from Link's other side. "Not until we've all escaped, and the Triforce has finished doing… that."

"Link," Zelda whispered urgently, leaning into his ear. "Please, you need to listen to m—" She cut off, her grip on his hand tightening. "Link, please. Before you make your wish, you need to know that—"

"If he's ready to make his wish, then let him make it!" Ghirahim growled, yanking on Link's other hand as if to pull him away entirely. "What could you possibly have to say that's important enough to interrupt him now?"

"I'll tell you what," Zelda said heatedly. "He deserves to know that this might be his only chance to break Demise's curse!"

Link's breath caught. Beside him, Ghirahim went very, very still.

"Demise's what?"

Solemnly, Link considered the idea, only half-listening to Zelda's terse explanation… and as he did, he saw the strings of light above begin to swirl. New threads emerged, blossoming across the sky in shades of blue to form intricacies and patterns that told a different story–one that, for once, he actually understood. Mouth gaping, he watched it all unfold, his distraction going unnoticed by the other two. This was his future if he broke Demise's curse.

He could do it. Zelda was right about that. With a single wish on the Triforce, he could break his spirit free of the chains Demise had bound it with, and set the world back on its normal course. The Demon King himself would fade into utter obscurity, beyond the ability of even the darkest magic to resurrect–and yet…

Link frowned as the blue threads wound to their conclusion, blazing against the darkness before fading away. And yet…

"So rather than enlisting Link in one lifetime of battle, he is conscripted to one hundred," Ghirahim said when she had finished, summing it all up neatly. "When Demise's soul reemerges, Link's will return alongside it to fight him again."

And he began to laugh, a bright, incredulous sound that raised the hair on Link's neck and echoed throughout the undefinable space. His grip on Link's arm grew clawlike while Zelda's fingers held him tightly, both unwilling even now to let him go.

"Demise has sealed his own fate," Ghirahim finally choked out. "He will arise to gain power again and again as the ages pass, and again and again Link's soul will emerge with the determination to stop him. In his pride he has chained himself, with this curse as the shackles!"

"B-but," Zelda stammered as Link's mind whirled. He had somehow never thought of it quite like that. "But unless this cycle is broken, Link's soul will never know peace! And the pain Demise will cause with each ascent–"

"So what?" Ghirahim said, and Link swore he could feel the heat of Zelda's incredulity. "The only true burden to such a curse is knowing that it exists. Once that knowledge has passed away, his soul will know no difference. It is only given to us to know the life that we are living, after all–not those that have preceded it."

Zelda huffed, unconvinced. "But Demise–"

"Do you think that by ridding this world of Demise, you will purge it of all its darkness?" Ghirahim's voice deepened, dark and seductive. "There is a malice infecting the heart of this world, one that blossoms and grows alongside it. The Demon King was a symptom of this evil, not its source. If given the chance, that darkness will bear fruit in unpredictable ways." It was true. Link had seen it in the sky, all the various forms that evil might take. "As the goddess, shouldn't you be pleased to know that this malice will arise predictably alongside the one most suited to contain it? Though perhaps as Zelda, you are more concerned with using Link's wish to assuage your own guilt."

"How dare you." Zelda's voice shook, and Link could feel her hands tremble against him with fury. "This… is not about me."

"For once, you are right. This is about Link." Ghirahim's hold shifted against Link's arm to more of a caress. "I have already exhausted myself giving him my opinion on the matter, which despite your words has not changed."

Link knew exactly what he meant by that, of course. This time, the spiraling threads that emerged as Link imagined the possibility were red instead of blue, painting a picture before his eyes that, while lacking in breadth compared to a scenario that had encompassed many of Link's lifetimes rather than just one, still far surpassed it in depth. He could see how the course of his life might shift in response to such a wish—and it did shift, though by far the greater change came from threads intertwined with his own.

Watching it all unfold, Link's jaw clenched. It was hard to not resent the extent to which some of those threads changed course.

"If Link wants to use his wish to see, I think he should." Zelda said wearily. "I'm not trying to make that decision for him, whatever you… Link?" Both hands holding him tensed. "What… what are you looking at?"

So they couldn't see what he saw. Link shrugged, watching as the newest tapestry wove its own conclusion, shining brightly before it, too, faded away: the perfect picture of a life with sight. Of course, the true temptation behind that wish could never be captured in thread.

"Are you sure he isn't still…" Ghirahim yanked on him again, harder this time, though Zelda still clung to him tightly. "He hasn't said a word since–"

"I'm thinking," Link said, watching the sky now expectantly. He still had one wish left to examine—the one burning a hole in his heart. A single green thread arced across the sky in manifestation of that wish… and hung there, glittering brightly, but alone.

Brow furrowed, Link stared up at that green light, waiting. Then understanding hit him, and he laughed. Of course. Nayru valued wisdom, and Din power, and both of those virtues took their strength from knowledge–but Farore had always placed her trust in courage. Where was the courage in acting with full knowledge of things to come?

"Is there something funny?" Ghirahim asked softly, his voice so taut that even Link could see through it to the exhaustion beneath. Maybe he'd put them both through enough for one day.

This would end as it began: with a leap of faith.

"Can I have my hands back now?" Link asked, laughing again when both silently refused to comply. He supposed he didn't need them, really.

He wished… and that trickle of golden power all at once became a river thundering through him, overflowing him, raging against its banks. Golden triangles blazed before Link, humming as they spun, and then he had both hands back together as Ghirahim and Zelda staggered backwards, letting out mirrored gasps.

"Are you sure you've decided…?"

"Don't second guess!"

Ignoring them both out of necessity, Link bowed his head, and managed at last to pour his heart into one sincere prayer–that from her place at the edge of time, the goddess could find it in herself to smile at him for what he wanted.

When the white light finally faded, Link could tell they'd made it home.

Though he couldn't put words to the difference, the breeze against his face felt real, and right, as did the warmth of the sun beating down on his hair. He stumbled a bit as the overwhelming force of the goddesses' golden power drained out of him, lingering around the back of one hand before vanishing altogether—this time, Link assumed, for good. As it turned out, he'd remembered perfectly how it felt in those first few moments after: drained to the point of exhaustion, yet at the same time impossibly full.

Dressed in only a soft shirt and trousers, without hat or tunic or even shoes, Link thought he'd probably never looked less like a hero. He'd never felt more like one.

"Where are we?" Link asked. Glancing back over his shoulder, he was relieved to discover that he hadn't made it back alone. Only as he moved did he notice the familiar hilt clutched in one hand, its heavy blade scraping the stone below as he shifted, and wonder if Ghirahim had figured it out yet.

"This is… the Statue of the Goddess," Zelda said carefully as Link turned to face her golden light more fully. From the strange pattern of unfamiliar threads and the quickly hushed ends of conversation, he thought maybe there were others packed on the platform behind her. "Can't you…?"

Link raised his free hand to adjust his blindfold, and stopped as he again discovered nothing but skin. Those colors were his to keep now, it seemed. One last, lingering burst of strength from the Triforce, maybe? Or had he seen it all too clearly now to ever lose it again?

"He still might," Ghirahim muttered, his red thread shifting. Link couldn't remember ever hearing him sound quite so uncertain. "He might just not recognize it. Link, can you see…?"

Link shook his head, and Ghirahim's breath caught audibly. At the same time, Zelda's released in a long exhale.

"So you broke the curse," she murmured in reluctant relief. "Oh Link… I'm sorry you couldn't have both, but—" Link shook his head again, and Zelda's teeth clicked from how quickly her words broke off. Then, her voice heavy with apprehension, she asked, "So… what did you wish for?"

"Nobody here feels any… different?" Link asked aloud. Though the anxiety hanging in the air seemed to ratchet up a few notches, nobody responded.

Well, Link could think of a few ways to find out for himself whether his wish had worked. Turning to face Ghirahim's hovering red light, Link tried and failed to suppress a mischievous grin.

"Dance."

"Pardon?" Ghirahim said stiffly after a baffled pause. "I… must not have heard you correctly. For a moment there, I could have sworn you said—"

"Dance," Link insisted. He could feel that grin splitting his face now, and scrubbed at his cheeks as if that could stop it. "That's what you said to me once, right? That you were lucky I didn't make you dance? Well, I changed my mind, so dance. That's an order," he added, in case that point had been lost somewhere.

Someone nearby—Fledge, maybe?—let out a nervous, high pitched giggle. Ghirahim hissed like a trampled Remlit.

"Was your wish to be relieved of the burden of a brain?" he seethed. "Because if so, I'm delighted to report that it's worked all too—"

He cut off, finally seeming to notice what he was doing—or rather, what he wasn't doing. Zelda gasped in realization, and Link felt his grin soften.

"I guess you don't have to," he said with quiet satisfaction. Passionate and, at last, unfettered. "That's not really my decision anymore, is it? I can't make you do anything now—and neither will anyone else, ever again."

"Oh, Link," Zelda whispered. "You didn't."

Ignoring her, Link hefted Ghirahim's sword, holding it out in both hands.

"You should be able to hold this now," he said, offering it up to the deathly silent sword spirit. "If you want."

For a heavy moment, Ghirahim's red thread stayed so still that Link could almost believe the demon at the other end of it had turned to stone. Then slowly, jerkily, it moved forward, and the sword slipped from Link's grasp.

Butterflies fluttering abruptly in his stomach when Ghirahim continued to say nothing, Link ducked his head awkwardly, turning back to Zelda.

"Link, why…"

"That's one more of Demise's wrongs set right," he said firmly. "We're going to be using that third sacred flame now. I hope you don't mind." He paused, and a rueful half-smile twisted his face. "Did you… still want to talk?"

Behind her, Link could just make out a flurry of whispered explanations from whoever else had gathered atop the Goddess Statue, though he paid them little heed. Then, so loud and unexpected that Link almost fell over, Groose's voice boomed out:

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me!"

Chapter Text

Link slept that night in the Sealed Temple.

He tried to sleep, at least, shifting endlessly around in his makeshift cot for a comfortable position. More than just the Triforce’s light had drained out of him with his wish, as Link had discovered when his first step out of the portal nearly deposited him off the platform entirely. On any other night, such bone-deep exhaustion would have put him out the instant his head hit Groose’s musky pillow—but, elated and apprehensive and a thousand other things, his overactive mind refused to let his body rest.

The cosmic kaleidoscope of light painted across the sky wasn’t helping matters, either, beautiful though it was. Behind closed eyes, Link could still see its arching pattern. He'd never worn the blindfold for this long before, and a dull ache had started to form behind the bridge of his nose as the constant barrage of light became… overwhelming.

One thread in particular called out for his attention, catching his eye over and over until at last, Link gave in with a sigh. Tossing the blanket aside, he pushed himself up on weary legs, bare feet shuffling carefully across old, broken stone. The thread’s other end wasn’t far. Ghirahim could avoid Link easily enough if he wanted to, assuming he wasn't sleeping himself, but if not…

Ghirahim was not asleep, Link discovered, wandering down the corridor towards him—nor was he alone. 

Quiet conversation echoed through the ancient hall as Link approached, tensing with slow concern. He might not have recognized the dim point of light that hovered near Ghirahim with thin tendrils of thread sprouting from its center, but he knew Groose’s voice when he heard it.

“...still don’t see why I can’t just give it to him myself,” Groose was saying in a deep, suspicious growl that Link could only just make out.

“Who’s stopping you? By all means, go,” Ghirahim’s voice responded in an indifferent sort of way. Neither seemed aware of Link tiptoeing closer, some unseen barrier shielding him from view. “Wake him, if you wish. I only questioned whether Zelda would want his rest disturbed after a day like today, but if you think it’s for the best…”

Groose must not have thought that despite his suspicion, because the dim light stayed reluctantly where it was.

“I can’t believe we’re just supposed to put up with you from now on,” he grumbled instead. “You and your… dumb pants.”

“Dumb… pants,” Ghirahim repeated, his words easily discernable now. Link came to a hesitant stop, wavering on his feet.

Groose snorted.

“I said what I said. All those little cutouts, like you have something there to flaunt. Your legs aren’t that pretty."

“Neither is any part of you,” Ghirahim quipped. “I assume that’s why you draw so much attention to your abysmal hair—to distract from the greater crime that is all the rest.”

Link bit his lip, deliberating. On the one hand, leaving Ghirahim and Groose alone together could go… well, poorly was a generous way of putting it. Still, he hesitated to go charging in, and not only because he thought his knees might give way at any moment. He couldn’t expect to keep watch over Ghirahim’s actions every minute of every day from now on. Eventually, he’d have to trust him enough to… let go.

Lowering himself to an unsteady crouch, Link waited.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. You know I can—” Groose’s voice rose with irritation before dropping back to a rough whisper. “Don’t think I can't handle you on my own if it ever comes to that. You know that I—that I have it in me to—you know."

His audible gulp ruined the feeble attempt at bravado. If anything, he sounded vaguely sick.

"Maybe," Ghirahim mused, "though you do seem unenthused by the notion. Is the knowledge of your own capabilities perhaps more disconcerting than empowering?"

He waited politely as if expecting an answer, though Groose only stood in stiff silence. Link racked his brain, unable to decipher what either of them were talking about.

"No matter," Ghirahim said at last. "Every gift has its limits, doesn't it? Maybe one day I'll have the opportunity to find out yours."

"I…" Groose had to stop to swallow. "I don't know what Link sees in you." Link heard him start to stalk away, only to turn around again with the rough scrape of boots, stomping back. "You don't deserve what Link did for you, you know. Not that someone like you would even care, I guess, but I still hope you know that."

Ghirahim hummed in agreement, acknowledging it as fact.

"Consider it known."

Half rising to his feet, Link wanted to protest what Ghirahim seemed to take as obvious. Groose was wrong. Nobody deserved to be—

He could make no sense of what happened next. Groose’s dim light met Ghirahim’s for a drawn out moment, the one almost on top of the other—and Ghirahim hissed, his red thread spasming as he flickered backwards in space. 

Link froze in place uncertainly.

"Still got it," Groose said, sounding unbearably smug. One of those thin threads sprouting from Groose’s center connected him to Ghirahim himself now, Link noticed with a start. Had that always been there? "You’d better just keep on playing nice, ‘cause I'll be watching you."

This time he left for good, his light retreating into insignificance among all the rest as his footsteps faded into the distance. To Link's relief—and consternation—Ghirahim let Groose go without comment, his breath shuddering in and out of him. In all the time he had known him, Link had never known Ghirahim to allow anyone else the parting word.

The air prickled with dark fury, warped… and relaxed, wisps of tension ebbing away.

“Keeping an eye on me… so to speak?"

Link jolted in place, looking up guiltily as chimes broke the air above him. Of course. Ghirahim always had an uncanny knack of knowing exactly where Link was at all times.

“I wasn't! I…” Flushing, Link ducked his head. “I couldn’t sleep.”

He took his time standing, brushing himself off unnecessarily while his heart hovered, pounding, in his throat. It wasn’t exactly the first conversation they’d had since emerging from the portal, though Ghirahim had barely spoken more than two words together in Link’s presence in the hours since. Groose had heard more from him than Link had now, which… well, he knew better than to feel jealous, but the fact of it still rankled. Link hadn’t quite dared to prod the why of that out of Ghirahim yet, either, his heady confidence from earlier that day already a fading thing of the past.

"Did Groose… want something?" he settled on asking, steeling himself through the silence that followed. Had Groose done something was maybe the better question, but this one felt safer.

“He came to pass on a message from the—Zelda,” Ghirahim said, just when Link was starting to think he might not answer at all. "She has spoken with Eldin already, it seems, and requested that he stand aside for us. Our path to the final flame… is clear."

Just like that. Despite himself, Link couldn't help but think dryly that it had only taken the power of the Triforce itself to get through to her.

Still, he thought he'd save his celebrations for after they’d used the flame and completed Ghirahim’s sword. It wasn't that he didn’t trust Zelda, exactly—just that after everything they'd been through, it all felt… too good to be true. A temporary turn of events that might turn again at any moment. If they hadn’t both so desperately needed rest before the last flame, Link might have asked Ghirahim to take them there that very night to get it over with.

It didn’t help that Zelda had sent the message through someone else, either, or that this was the first he’d heard from her at all since Link had turned down her half-hearted offer to accompany him back to Skyloft earlier that day. Not so long ago, neither Ghirahim nor Zelda had been willing to so much as let go of his hand. Now both were going out of their way to avoid him.

"He also returned your shoes,” Ghirahim said, bringing Link back to himself with a start. Blinking, he flexed his feet against the cold stone floor. “Along with the rest of your… er, uniform. On closer inspection, it does seem that you managed to leave home without them. Remarkable.

“Bit of an oversight on my part, I guess,” Link murmured, allowing himself a small, sheepish grin. That… was really more Ghirahim’s fault than anyone else’s, though Link wasn’t about to bring that fact up now. “Don't know what I was thinking.”

“I should have known you'd be barefoot playing in the mud the minute you left my sight,” Ghirahim sighed, relaxing bit by bit into the familiar pattern of back and forth. Link’s grin widened. “You are little more than a savage even on the best of days, sky chi—

He cut off, the bubble of warmth between them pricking out of existence as quickly as it had formed. Confusion melted into mortification as Link remembered why that particular little nickname might give him pause after the day before.

“You can call me that if you want,” he muttered, his ears growing hot. “I… don't really mind.”

Link could almost feel Ghirahim drawing back. “It makes no difference to me.”

Maybe the Triforce would grant Link one more wish and let the earth swallow him up. It wasn’t fair. He’d had his whole heart scraped out for Ghirahim to see now, with no idea what Ghirahim made of any of it. 

From the way their red thread began to lengthen, he wouldn’t be finding out tonight, either.

“We will both need our rest for the flame tomorrow, I think,” Ghirahim said with careful formality, footsteps backing up. “Sleep well—”

“Wait!” Link half threw out a hand to stop him before catching himself, clasping his fingers together instead. "I mean, before you do— would you mind—" He battled with himself fiercely for a moment before the memory of tossing and turning in bed made his shoulders slump. As long as he was here, he might as well ask. "I was wondering if you could... help me fall asleep?"

Even hearing the words leave his mouth made him cringe. Sky child, indeed.

"An… interesting request," Ghirahim said, considering him. If he hadn't said yes, at least he’d stopped retreating. "Shall I read you a bedtime story, perhaps? I've no real inclination towards singing lullabies.

"No!" Link said quickly, his face so hot now he half expected his Fireshield Earrings to activate. "I didn't mean—you did it before, right?" 

He spun a finger in helpless spirals as if the motion alone might spark Ghirahim’s memory. Hadn't he done something that night when Link first brought him back to Skyloft? Or had Link really been so exhausted that he'd fallen asleep on his own?

He didn't think so, but the possibility made him want to shrivel with embarrassment.

"Forget I said anything," Link muttered, letting his hand drop. It had been a silly request to begin with. Reluctantly, he turned to find his own way back to bed—and a quick grip on his wrist stopped him. 

His heart leapt back into his throat.

Ghirahim lifted Link's hand carefully, maneuvering it so that the palm rested face-up. Pressing a thumb against the veins on the inside of Link's wrist, he rubbed in slow, deliberate circles, and Link’s knees almost buckled in relief at the cool, soothing sensation that radiated through him.

"Like this?" Ghirahim asked.

Eyes closed, Link could only nod. So he hadn't imagined it after all.

But Ghirahim didn't stop there. As waves of calm softened the harsh edges of awareness, he raised Link’s hand up further. Smooth hair brushed against Link’s palm as Ghirahim leaned in, fabric rustling, and in a touch so light as to be almost imperceptible, pressed and held two lips against the very tips of Link’s curled fingers.

Link blinked slowly, terrified that to do more would break the spell. So… restrained. Why was he acting so…

As quickly as he started to fall, Link felt strong arms catch him. Strung between sleep and waking on trembling threads of light, he could have sworn he heard Ghirahim whisper:

"As you wish."

The Fire Sanctuary hadn’t changed in the year since Link last crossed swords with Ghirahim in its echoing heart. Sprawled out across Eldin's summit, the stone rooms and corridors radiated with intense heat that Link’s enchanted earrings barely held at bay: a powerful fortress perfectly suited to guard Din's flame.

Link’s steps dragged for the first time that day as he approached the dais, his disquiet echoed in the slow sweep of his cane. As promised, they had found the flame unguarded by either human or dragon. It was by far the easiest one they’d claimed so far— too easy, the nagging voice in the back of Link’s mind insisted, waiting for the other foot to drop. Nothing was ever this easy.

Footsteps clanked to a stop behind him, and Link paused along with them, glancing down at the red thread stretching out backwards from his chest. Then again, most of this morning hadn't been easy at all.

“Are you coming?” Link asked, shifting from foot to foot.

“Antsy today, aren’t you?" Ghirahim said, his flat voice echoing in the enclosed chamber. Link never could read Ghirahim’s mood in this form as well as he could most other times. For Fi, the ring of dispassionate metal in her voice had suited her. For Ghirahim, it did not. "Are you really so eager to be rid of me?"

Link blew out a frustrated breath between his lips, but didn’t rise to the bait. Ever since awakening, Ghirahim had made it his mission to work himself under Link's skin, abandoning his deafening silence for… whatever this was. It was enough to make Link think he’d imagined the night before, which he could barely recall through a haze of crimson light.

“It’s really quite callous, when you think about it,” Ghirahim went on. “The way you keep shoving me into these flames with barely a day’s rest in between. It is no small thing to walk through fire, even for me."

“Did you want to wait another day?” Link retorted over his shoulder, equal parts confused and exasperated. It didn't help that the dull throb behind his eyes had expanded during the night into a full-blown, pounding headache. He could only hope that he’d soon grow used to the shifting strands of color that defined his new world, because the longer he spent beneath their unrelenting light, the more those threads pressed like wires against his skull.

"Of course not," Ghirahim scoffed. "Draw out my sword and present it to the flame already. I would like to get this over with."

Link was more than happy to obey, exchanging his cane for the heavy sword strapped against his back. He reminded himself that at least Ghirahim had rediscovered his voice now, even if a part of him wished he hadn’t.

Heat rolled off the flame as Link drew closer, and he couldn’t help but wince. It wasn't that he disliked this flame, exactly, though he’d always preferred Farore’s air of playfulness, or even Nayru's cool serenity. Din's flame crackled with raw power, burning hotter than its sisters in fierce, fiery challenge. It would purge this newest sword of darkness as it had the one before, and it would never once consider holding back.

The process engraved in his mind by now, Link started to raise the sword in preparation for the onslaught of flame to follow—and stopped, gritting his teeth. He thought he knew how well his concern would go over, but with the flame so real in front of him now, he had to make sure.

“If you do need more rest…” he ground out. “I mean, the flame will still be here tomorrow.”

As expected, his attempt at consideration did not go unpunished.

“And there’s the hesitation I expected,” Ghirahim said, pouncing on his indecision. Link’s jaw clenched in exasperation. “It’s understandable, I suppose. What use could you possibly have for a sword that won’t take orders?”

It was such a ridiculously absurd accusation given the circumstances that Link wanted to laugh—or maybe hit something. Nothing he did was right today, and he didn’t know why. If he walked too fast, it meant he wanted Ghirahim to leave faster. If he took too long, he wanted Ghirahim gone for good.

Well, whatever Ghirahim’s game was, Link could play it, too.

“You’re right,” he announced, turning his back on the flame. “I’ve changed my mind about all of this, actually. Let’s go back.”

Shouldering the blade, Link walked back the way he’d come with a determined stride. Ghirahim’s heavy footsteps did not follow.

“You are walking towards a wall.”

“I’ll find the door,” Link muttered, certain he wouldn’t get that far. Sure enough, a snap and a run of chimes put Ghirahim directly in his path.

Stopping short, Link cocked his head.

“I’m sorry, did I call your bluff?” He grimaced. “Are you ready to tell me what’s actually going on?”

Ghirahim was not, as it turned out. Instead, he watched Link without speaking, until Link’s teeth ground audibly. Apparently, Ghirahim only spoke now with the sole purpose of antagonizing Link. That was fine.

With very little to go on and no hints forthcoming, Link begrudgingly tried to figure it out on his own. Ghirahim had never shown anything beyond wariness towards the flames themselves, especially once he'd made it through the first unscathed. At Nayru's Flame, he'd practically vaulted into the fire almost before Link was ready—but with every flame, Ghirahim had taken the time afterward to inspect his newly altered sword. Not only was this the final flame, Link realized abruptly, but the moment of truth before Ghirahim’s final form.

He cleared his throat, well aware that there was little that he specifically could say to help with that.

“I’m sure you’ll still look… good… once this is finished," Link tried, shrugging a shoulder helplessly. 

Whether that was the problem or not, it drew a dry laugh out of Ghirahim.

“You are never half as reassuring as you think you are in that regard. Of course I will look good,” he sniffed. “I will still be myself." Doubtfully, he added, "You ought to concern yourself more with whether you will even be able to bear my sword properly once this is finished. These flames have not shaped me for your hands like you thought they would."

"I can use it now," Link protested, half lifting it off his shoulder as if to prove it. The sword might have been heavy, but he could do it.

"Better for you if it was half that size," Ghirahim's flat voice said pointedly. "Could you have defeated Demise with my blade?"

That stopped Link short as he remembered that fast, desperate fight.

"...Fi's sword changed the most in the end. We still have time."

"Yes. Time enough still for me to make myself less," Ghirahim hissed. "I doubt sometimes that you appreciate how I have changed for you."

Link flinched as if struck, his hand clenching slowly around the hilt.

"I don’t think I deserve that," he said quietly. "I don’t think you really think that, either. What’s wrong with you?"

Ghirahim hesitated briefly, and for a second Link thought he might actually get an answer.

"I am only hastening the inevitable," he said instead, reverting to the previous night’s cool, unapproachable distance. Link growled, pressing a hand against his bangs. His head throbbed. 

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You'll figure it out eventually." Ghirahim turned on his heel, metal scraping against stone. "Or not. Now, if this must be done, then let’s do it already."

"No," Link said, grinding the point of Ghirahim’s sword into the ground defiantly. "Not until you tell me what's wrong." He could wait for as long as he needed to. After the lengths they'd gone to just to get there, it felt wrong to let things end like this.

The flame crackled and hissed behind them. Then Link stiffened as, without warning, two fingers slipped beneath his chin, tilting it up.

He knew at once that Ghirahim was teasing him, hating his own heart for pounding so easily despite that fact. Unfortunately, Ghirahim had also kept such a carefully maintained distance between them all morning that Link just couldn't find it in himself to pull away. His breathing stuttered resentfully as Ghirahim leaned in, hot, steely breath intermingling with his own. Was this how things would be from now on—intimacy dangled as another weapon for Ghirahim to use against him? How long could Link stand to put up with that?

"Oh, Link…" Ghirahim murmured apologetically as if he knew what he was thinking, fingers trailing up to twirl lazily at an earring. "It is so far beyond your power to stop me now."

And his presence vanished, their red thread jerking like an arrow towards the sacred flame.

With a muttered phrase that would have earned him extra chores with Henya back at the Academy, Link stumbled after it, his sword held out awkwardly in front of him. Already, he could hear Ghirahim’s rough, metallic breathing over the roar of flames, growing in harsh crescendo towards a rhythmic, ragged pant.

"This isn’t over, you know," Link snapped as he ran. Skidding to a stop, he whipped the sword up just as the first burst of fire came hissing towards him. 

Gritting his teeth, Link could do nothing but wait it out, barely keeping his own footing against an assault that was just as merciless as he’d feared. The heat licking his fingers, more spiritual than physical, still made sweat break out across his arms, and irritation melted into sickly anxiety as he imagined standing in the midst of that flame. 

It was almost over, Link told himself, despite having no way of knowing that was true. Just a little bit longer. Just a little bit–

And then it was. The flame retreated all at once, burning quietly in place as Link drew in a ragged breath of his own. He shivered once—and laughed, the tension draining out of him so completely that he nearly fell to his knees. It was over. Despite everything, they had done what they set out to do. With sacred flame coursing through the blade, all they had left was to await its final change.

Link turned towards Ghirahim’s slow approach, his earlier anger forgotten as he held the sword out with a helpless grin of anticipation. The sword vibrated in his grip with an expectant, high-pitched hum, growing hotter and hotter and hotter until–

Crack.

With a cry of pain, Link snatched his hands back from the force that rent its way through the blade, clutching his ears instead as it fell to the ground. The ringing cacophony of steel striking stone only added to the unbearable din of screeching metal that shrieked out of the sword, a noise far beyond Link’s ability to discern—but as the crashing echoes fell away and he cautiously drew his hands from his ears, the strangely scattered sounds of metal hitting the ground faded to form a deep, consuming silence that felt… wrong.

More than wrong, Link thought, searching frantically for the other end of the crimson thread and finding it near his feet, dim and distressingly thin.

"Ghirahim," he said roughly, refusing even now to believe anything without proof. Dropping down to hands and knees, Link reached out for the crimson thread. His grasping fingers closed around the hilt, lifting it easily. Too easily.

Ghirahim’s crimson point of light twinkled weakly from what felt like a fractured gem set beneath the hilt’s half-melted guard, hot enough still that Link could barely stand to touch it. He ran his thumb along its cracked surface, imagining that he felt it thrumming weakly beneath him, and swallowed. Walking his fingers up where the blade should have been, he found… nothing. Half an inch of metal cut off abruptly in a jagged edge.

Numbly, he set the hilt aside, feeling around the floor for the missing blade and finding only part of it, too small and light to possibly make up the whole thing. Another few seconds of searching revealed another sharp piece. And then another. A pile began to form as he gathered them, and even in the depths of his denial it came to Link slowly that he would have no way of knowing if and when he’d found them all. Not with only a single, thin thread to connect that single point of light, the blade’s individual shards cosmically insignificant from fate’s point of view.

Abandoning his search, Link took a piece of the sword in each hand—and pressed them together.

"Come on," he muttered, his muscles trembling with effort as if human strength alone could solve this. His voice was shaking too, he discovered. And his hands. "This isn't– how– ah!"

The pieces slipped against each other, twisted metal catching against his thumb and slicing through. Wincing, Link brought it to his mouth automatically—and stopped. Heart pounding, he reached instead for the red thread’s end, pressing his bleeding thumb up against the fractured gem itself.

"Wake up," he whispered fiercely. "Wake up!"

Nobody answered.

Over a minute passed, sweat slipping down Link’s neck to gather in his collar, before he could admit to himself at last that nobody would. Defeated, he pulled back his hand, his thumb stinging anew as he peeled it away–and pounded his fist against the floor with an echoing scream of frustration, heedless of the unseen shard that scraped the heel of his palm. So little in life was fair, he knew, but this… Was he despised by the goddesses now as well as Demise? Or was it the Triforce itself, cursed to make his wish irrelevant each time he made a new one? Maybe Zelda had been wrong, and mortals were never meant to use the goddesses' power after all.

Faded or not, though, that red thread still burned between them. Ghirahim had to be in there somewhere—and a broken sword could be fixed. 

Link repeated those words to himself over and over, whispering them grimly under his breath. A broken sword could be fixed. He had to believe that, and that fixing the sword would bring Ghirahim back. If not…

“…Link?”

Link turned his head quickly.

Soft footsteps that he’d missed over the sound of his own muttered mantra approached him carefully, the bright, golden thread tying him to their source as surely as the red thread still tied him to Ghirahim drawing itself short. Of course. Zelda of all people would know exactly where to find him. She'd probably just been waiting all this time so she could talk to him alone.

Well, he was alone now.

“What happened?” Zelda asked hesitantly. “Where is…“

She stopped short, close enough now to have a better view of Link—and the broken pieces laid out in front of him, barely recognizable as the sword they’d been. Link jerked his head back sullenly, wiping his eyes.

“Oh. Oh, Link.” She sank to the ground beside him, resting a tentative hand on his knees. Link shrank from the gentle touch, and it withdrew. “I’m… so sorry.”

“Sure,” Link said, curling in on himself. Ghirahim was gone, and Link had done it all himself. He could only imagine how sorry she must feel.

“No, I…” She sighed, letting it drop. “Can you… tell me what happened?”

Link laughed without mirth, gesturing in front of him. Surely she could put it all together.

"The flame… just…" Pressing his hands together, he let them fall apart, dropping lifelessly in his lap. "It broke him."

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes again as he admitted it out loud, and he shrank in further.

"I see," she said in a small voice—and a dark suspicion came over him.

"You knew."

"What?" Zelda stirred, taken aback by his intensity. "I didn’t–"

“That’s why you let us through so easily,” Link insisted, heat rising in his voice. “That’s why you told the Fire Dragon to stand down.”

“That’s not true,” she said, heated herself now in the face of his accusations. “If you thought about it for even two seconds–”

“Oh really?” He wasn’t being fair now—but Ghirahim was gone, and the lights were too bright. He wanted to lash out, and if he had no way of reaching the goddesses themselves then Zelda would have to do. “It was your idea to use the flames in the first place.”

“If I knew this would happen, do you think I would have tried so hard to stop it?” Zelda snapped—and seemed to regret her words as Link flinched. “I– that is–'' She let out an explosive sigh. “Link, I didn’t even know Ghirahim was still in the sword when I suggested… no. No, of course I didn’t know this would happen.”

Link’s blood ran cold as another possibility occurred to him. “So it’s my fault, then.”

“What?”

“I… my wish…” Link stumbled to explain. “He… Ghirahim's a sword, right? What if he wasn’t meant to be freed like that? What if– what if I broke the magic, or…?”

“Link,” Zelda interrupted gently. “Some things aren’t anyone’s fault. Demise was always powerful. It’s possible that his corruption was simply beyond even the power of the flames to fix.”

Link poked at a jagged piece.

“We were fighting when he went into the flame this time," he muttered unwillingly, cringing as if he thought she might gloat at the fact. "Could that be why…?"

Zelda didn’t answer, nor did she gloat. Instead, her head fell against his shoulder, one arm wrapping around him… and this time Link didn't pull away, his own head resting atop hers. He'd had more than enough fighting for one day, he decided wearily. Whatever grim pleasure he’d gotten from striking out felt more than hollow when it did nothing to bring Ghirahim back—and he'd always hated arguing with Zelda. A part of him was relieved to know that hadn't changed.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into her hair. “I– I didn’t mean–”

“I know,” Zelda interrupted him. “I’m sorry, too.”

Something in her voice made Link think they weren’t only talking about the argument anymore.

“I don’t… hate you,” he said haltingly. “You know that, right?”

“Well, it’s certainly nice to hear.” Her teasing tone of voice rang false in this room, with Ghirahim’s shards scattered around. As if realizing that, she cleared her throat. “But… yes, Link. I know.”

“I was just—so frustrated." A deeply rooted frustration that went beyond Ghirahim, planted long before he’d ever decided to follow their red thread of fate. If he had waited, given Zelda a chance to start pushing him off cliffs and stop hiding him away… would he still have gone flying after it?

Yes, he decided wistfully… though maybe with less desperation.

“I still don’t think I was wrong, exactly,” Zelda said slowly, piecing together her own thoughts. When was the last time they’d gone flying together? How had that fallen away when they’d both tried so hard to preserve everything else? “I’ll always have more to think about than just you and me. If Ghirahim ever did to Skyloft what he did during the war—”

“I know.” Link swallowed. He’d never stopped fearing the possibility himself, even if the balance between risk and reward had fallen out differently in his own mind. Maybe he’d just seen a different side of Ghirahim than Zelda ever had.

“But…” She hesitated. “I don’t feel like I was entirely in the right, either. Maybe if I’d known the two of you were—were together like that…” She laughed abruptly, a dry, bitter sound. “No. No, that might have made it worse, actually.”

It took a moment for that to sink in. Link straightened, the back of his neck heating up as he started to understand what she meant—and what she must have seen.

“I…” Link coughed, his voice coming out a full octave too high. “You… you saw all that in…”

“The Sacred Realm?” Zelda sounded apologetic, and far, far too kind. “I’m afraid so. You never really sent me away in there, you know? I suppose you just didn’t want to acknowledge me anymore… but I was there. I saw.”

Link nodded wordlessly, not sure what else to say. If Zelda had really watched him pursue Ghirahim through the portal world… well, he no longer had to wonder why she’d been avoiding him. How could either of them still bear to look at Link after seeing the worst of him on display like that?

“I am sorry,” Zelda said, and this time Link believed her. “I… well, I still can’t imagine how that ever happened between you, but—”

“It didn’t,” Link said, hugging his legs close and resting his chin on his knees miserably. “We never… I know what that must have looked like, but it was never like that at all, really.” He bit his lip. “Actually, I think he might hold it against me now.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, he could still see the red thread between Ghirahim and himself alongside every other glaringly bright thread in existence.

“I see,” Zelda said carefully. “You… said earlier that you were fighting?”

Link very nearly laughed. He wished he hadn’t mentioned it at all now, considering that she had no reason whatsoever to hope things worked out well between them. He'd known her for so long, though… and who else could he tell?

“He…” Link picked at the fractured gem in front of him, reminded uncomfortably of the hairline fractures he’d carved himself into Ghirahim’s core. It was starting to feel like all he could ever really do with Ghirahim was break him. “I don’t know. Yesterday, Ghirahim would barely even speak to me. Now it’s like I can’t do anything right—or maybe he just wants to pick a fight? I can't think what else it could be except…” Link had never even had the chance to try to hide how he felt, he thought despairingly. As soon as he’d known it, Ghirahim had known, too. For all of his teasing, maybe that was just more than Ghirahim had bargained for in the end. "When I made that wish… I thought he would be happy, you know? So I don’t know what’s wrong, and he won’t tell me.” He winced. “Now he can’t tell me, and I don’t even know if he’s–"

He cut off, refusing to finish that sentence. A broken sword could be fixed, and Ghirahim would come back when he fixed it. That red thread hadn’t vanished yet.

They sat in silence for another minute, each immersed in their own solemn thoughts. Eventually, Zelda stirred.

“Did you… want to keep the pieces?” she asked tentatively. “I can help you gather them up, if you’d like.”

Link shook his head in determination. “I’m going to fix the pieces.” 

There was an awkward pause.

“Link…” Zelda began, “I don’t think you can–”

“They can be reforged, right?” Link said roughly. Melted down, made anew. Whatever Link had to do with them, he would do—and the gem… “Anyway, Ghirahim’s still in there somewhere. I can see him."

“…See him,” Zelda repeated, and Link growled impatiently.

“The red thread. I can see it.” He hooked a finger as if pulling an invisible thread from his chest. “If that’s still there, then he’s still there… right?”

Zelda said nothing—and he suddenly, feverishly needed her to say something. The goddess in her must know, right? That red thread had to mean what he wanted it to mean.

"You need some fresh air," she said instead. He scowled, and she added, "Please, Link. There’s nothing more this flame can do for any of us now. I’m sure we’ll both think more clearly… somewhere else."

He bit his lip, still grimacing. Leaving felt like making the painful admission all over again that he didn’t expect Ghirahim to wake up—but maybe the sooner he admitted that, the sooner he could start changing it. A broken sword could be fixed, but maybe not by the flame that broke it in the first place.

“Okay.” Taking a deep breath, Link nodded reluctantly. “Let’s go.”

With Zelda’s help, he gathered up the pieces of Ghirahim's sword, pressing her over and over again to make sure they didn’t leave any behind. What they found, they gathered in his sailcloth, until they had the entirety of Ghirahim folded into a heavy, awkward bundle that Link insisted on carrying himself.

“That sailcloth will need mending again,” Zelda noted with a sigh, and Link shrugged helplessly. Ghirahim’s sword had never been all that kind to her gift, come to think of it.

With his hands otherwise occupied, Zelda helped guide him, leading him step by step from the flame's chamber until at last it occurred to Link to wonder where they were going.

"Did you go all the way through the Fire Sanctuary yourself?" he asked doubtfully. Burdened and unarmed, he wouldn’t be much use if the monsters had returned.

“Oh—no,” she admitted. “Impa taught me her traveling trick when I first fell from the sky—though in a way, she learned it from me? Here.”

Zelda’s grip on his shoulder tightened, and he quickly dug in his heels.

“Not Skyloft?”

“Not Skyloft,” she reassured him, and Link relaxed, letting himself be led. He couldn’t avoid it forever, nor did he want to, but the thought of explaining the bundle in his hands to Groose, or even Fledge…

The ground fell away more gently than it had when Impa made the portal, the air that rose up around him a warm, tranquil breeze scattered quickly by the wind as his feet again touched earth. A cricket chirped nearby, the cries of nesting Loftwings barely audible from further in the distance… an outlying island, maybe. So far above the world, lights strung out above and below him, leaving Link suspended in their midst. Breathing in, he caught the faint smell of flowers. 

"Better?" Zelda asked, and Link nodded despite himself. It felt wrong to enjoy the open air with Ghirahim trapped in a shattered sword, but he had to admit that it felt good after the confined heat of the volcano. Even the pounding in his head eased up—for a moment, at least. 

Zelda breathed in deeply herself as if gathering herself. Then her hands moved from his shoulders to the gathered pieces, and he tensed right back up again.

“Don’t–”

"Please," she said. “This won’t take long, I promise. There’s just… something I want to see. Help me lay them out?”

Reluctantly curious, Link did as he was told. With the sailcloth spread across rugged grass and Link standing uncertainly off to the side, she began shuffling the pieces around. Only the soft rustle of fabric and the rare clink of metal hinted at what she was doing.

“Are you looking for something?” Link asked dubiously. He’d kept the half-melted hilt to himself, cradled in his hands.

“Not quite,” she said, though she didn’t elaborate further. Another minute passed, and a strange thought occurred to him.

“Are you… helping me?”

The rustle of fabric stopped for a moment, the golden thread between them briefly still.

“If I can,” Zelda said reluctantly. “I might not be able to do anything, but there’s… something I thought I could try. You really think Ghirahim’s still in there?”

Link nodded slowly, a tiny hope bursting to life inside him no matter how he tried to contain it. It hadn’t occurred to him before that she could help, much less that she would… but it made a certain amount of sense the more he thought about it. What one goddess broke, could another fix?

What didn’t make sense was that Zelda would do anything to bring Ghirahim back when she’d tried so hard to prevent it in the first place.

“Why?” he asked, bewildered, and the rustling stopped again. Zelda let out a deep sigh.

"What else could I possibly do?” she asked wearily. “When this first began, I wanted to think that you’d been manipulated or deceived, or at the very least misguided. Later, I told myself it didn’t matter either way, because Ghirahim was too dangerous to let walk free even with you watching over him."

Her words picked up with the wind, shaking through the grass.

"Then you made your wish—and over everything else you could have wished for, or should have wished for, you wished for exactly what I was most afraid of." Her voice wavered. "So what am I supposed to do now? Be the one who makes your sacrifice all for nothing? I've made my mistakes through all this and lived with them, but I won't do that." She laughed weakly, metal clinking together as she took up her task once more. "I'll have to trust that you know what you're doing, Link, because it was over for me the moment you made that wish."

Brow furrowed, Link turned the jeweled hilt in his hands, listening as a second cricket joined in with the first. He could see how his wish might look like some grand gesture from the outside—his only chance at sight exchanged for Ghirahim’s freedom—but he hadn't seen it that way when he made it. In truth, he thought he’d never done anything quite so… selfish.

"These aren't going together right," Zelda muttered to herself, sounding frustrated. "There are too many edges, and not enough—" She cut off with a sharp inhale. "Ohhh. Oh, I see." 

Sweeping the assembled shards aside with a metallic rustle so much like the sound of Ghirahim appearing that Link perked for a moment before sagging again in disappointment, she continued her inscrutable work. 

“I didn’t mean it as some big sacrifice,” he admitted eventually. “I just… wished for what I wanted.”

"I'm sure you did," Zelda murmured. "It was part of why the goddess chose you in the first place—but it still amazes me that you never seem to recognize the lengths you'll go to on behalf of those you love.” In a sour voice verging on insult, she added, “I’m not surprised that someone like Ghirahim doesn’t know what to do with it."

He could think of nothing to say to that. Pressing the fractured gem to his chest so that the red thread vanished against him, Link drew it back out again, repeating the process over and over. Was it really that simple in the end? Now that he thought about it, even the smallest of kindnesses had never gone down well with Ghirahim before. Perhaps, out of practice in giving and receiving, a gesture as seemingly large as this was… too much to comprehend.

Come to think of it, how many hundreds of years had passed since Ghirahim last knew real freedom? Slowly, Link found himself grasping the troubling notion that his wish had been a start—but only that.

“What is this supposed to do, though?” he asked abruptly, turning his attention back to whatever Zelda was doing. From the sound of it, he thought she might be trying to assemble the sword like a puzzle. “It’s not like you can glue the pieces back together.”

“I am aware,” Zelda acknowledged, a bit dryly. “Actually… I had thought to give the sword my blessing.”

Link blinked—and understanding pierced him through. Of course. Of course. Even the Master Sword hadn't fully awakened beneath the three flames alone. Only Zelda’s blessing… Hylia's blessing… had unlocked its full potential. 

"You think that will work?" Link asked, standing straighter, the hope bursting from its tight containment to curl, flowering, around his beating heart.

"Maybe," she said. “I can’t see through time like the goddess did, and even she never knew everything—but I think it might be enough, if…”

Link waited tensely for her to finish, unable to contain himself in the end.

“If?”

“Well,” she said quietly. “It’s… hard to offer up a prayer you don’t really mean. I know for you it must be different, but Ghirahim… never did much to endear himself to me. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Link understood, unfortunately, all too well. He also saw at once the difficulty that presented.

“You, uh… you don’t have to like him to save him, right?” Link asked, forcing a strained laugh, and heard her do the same.

“Hopefully not.”

It was far from the certain answer Link wished it was. Tapping his foot against the grass, he tried to think of anything else he might say to sway her, knowing deep down that the power to do so went beyond words. It didn’t help that, as far as he could tell, Ghirahim felt little beyond contempt for her, either. The fact that Zelda was even willing to try felt like a miracle on its own.

“In Faron Woods,” Zelda began slowly, and Link’s foot stilled. “The two of you up in the trees… that really happened, didn’t it? Part of it, at least.”

…So she really had seen it all. Link nodded shortly, not sure how to feel about the thought that anyone else, even Zelda, had born witness to even imperfect echoes of the scene that had haunted him alone for so long. Nothing had really even happened that night to see… but then, that was always the whole point of it. Would it continue to haunt him now, he wondered suddenly? What would it take to reclaim that moment for good?

“I thought so,” she said, satisfied. “It explains—well, the carving, for one thing. Maybe other things, too.” Her voice hardened. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No,” Link said quickly. “Though… he could have.” Could have, and probably should have, considering what he’d been trying to achieve. “I never knew why.”

“You must know now, though,” Zelda said… and something about his confusion made her laugh despairingly. “You really think it’s all one-sided, don’t you? Ghirahim… cares about you, I think. In his own way. I didn’t really expect that, before.” Link wanted to laugh at how reluctant she was to admit it, though he couldn’t help but wonder what made her so sure. “Maybe that will be enough, in the end.”

Link hoped she was right, in more ways than one. Enough for her to bring him back… and maybe even enough to carry them all through everything that came after.

"I was going to ask you why you made that wish," she went on. "But thinking about it now, I suppose I know already.”

Holding the hilt to his heart once more, Link thought about the question himself… and smiled. He knew, too, even if it took a second to find the words. 

"Because if he's free, I'm free." He wished that Ghirahim could hear him now, could understand. "I think we both deserve to be free."

The sun was thin in the sky, but enough. Link felt it against his skin for what seemed like the first time.

"If this doesn't work, I will bring Ghirahim back, one way or another," he promised fiercely, staring above Zelda's golden thread and hoping he caught her gaze. "You should believe that like you believed I would come find you when you first fell from the sky."

“I do,” she said simply. "And… I'm done."

Link blinked, brought tumbling back to earth with a nervous jolt.

"It's… all there, then?"

"It is," Zelda said, a hint of amusement in her voice as if she knew what he was thinking. "Though not quite in the way I expected. The flame did something to it after all, aside from—well…"

Breaking it.

“How does it look?” he asked, and she stopped to consider the question.

“Like him,” she decided. Nothing in her tone made Link think she meant that as a compliment, but he smiled anyway.

"So… what happens now?"

"You’re holding the final piece, I think,” Zelda pointed out quietly. “May I?”

Nodding quickly, Link held the hilt out, watching the red thread intertwine with gold as she took it. The breeze picked up again, a gentle whisper through the grass.

Zelda took her time settling beside Ghirahim’s sword, slotting the hilt back into place with a light clink of metal, but eventually the two threads went still. Link closed his eyes, waiting… and felt the first stirrings of warmth against his face, like a softer sacred flame.

His breath caught in his throat.

Though he’d expected her to say something, not a word escaped her lips that he could hear. Link only knew it was drawing to a close when the warmth against his skin increased tenfold. Tingling power prickled over him, culminating in the bright sound of ringing metal… and then it was done, the last, lingering divine warmth blown away on the wind. After so much anticipation, it felt almost anticlimactic—except…

“There,” Zelda said, her voice unreadable. “I’ve done my part, for better or for worse.”

Ghirahim’s red light twinkled beside her, steady and bright. Link took a deep breath—and lurched forward, nearly falling to the ground in his haste. 

“You did it,” he breathed, his hand curling around the restored hilt in disbelief. Lifting the sword was still easier than expected—lighter somehow in its restored form than all of the broken pieces combined—but nowhere near the disconcerting ease of lifting a hilt with no blade. Most importantly, running a hand across the gem, he could find no hint of the cracks he’d felt there earlier, hairline or otherwise.

“Yes, but— Link?”

Reopening the cut on his thumb was as simple as biting it open, the barely healed wound from that morning ripping anew. Letting the blood drip across the blade, he waited breathlessly for the final proof of life, ignoring Zelda’s dismay. For a few tense seconds he heard nothing, but then…

“Again…?” Ghirahim’s weak, incredulous voice whispered in his ear, fading back to nothing with that single word uttered. That didn’t matter. What mattered was that it was there at all.

“You did it!”

Zelda’s weak protests said she maybe already regretted what she’d done, but they cut off as Link’s arms wrapped around her, his face buried in her neck.

"Thank you," he whispered, wanting to say more but not knowing what else to say. Giving in, Zelda hugged him back just as fiercely.

“You know that I love you, right?” she said.

Link’s laughter came out choked. “I know.”

“That’s the only reason I was able to…” Holding on tightly for another minute, Zelda was the first to pull back, brushing the hair out of Link’s eyes. “You’ll be careful, though, right? You promise? And if he hurts you, or– or anyone else—"

“It's going to be okay.” Link might have been tempted to laugh if he didn't know how deep that worry ran. “I promise.”

"Well," Zelda breathed, amused and exasperated and reluctant and so many other things all at once. "As long as you promise."

So bright was the tapestry of light around them that it took Link a moment to notice the new thread of light forged with the sword's blessing: a dark, burnished gold tying her up with Ghirahim himself. He… thought he might keep that one to himself for a bit. Whatever it meant, he doubted that Zelda or Ghirahim would be happy to know it existed—though he secretly had his hopes.

“That isn't all of it, though," Zelda said, grabbing his free hand and shaking him from his thoughts. "Let me show you what you missed.”

Curious, Link let her lead his hand back down, wrapping it around… the hilt of a sword. A second one.

“Like I said before, Din's Flame left its mark," Zelda said as Link lifted it up, holding them out together with his mouth hanging open slightly. That was… unexpected. “This must have been its will for the sword all along, though… I can’t say I know why.”

Remembering the pair of swords Ghirahim had wielded through their most recent battles, Link suddenly thought he knew. Ghirahim might have been right before, though maybe not in any way either of them had expected. Those flames had not shaped his sword for Link's hands, after all. 

“There's… something else.” He heard a pouch snap open that Zelda rummaged through, and a piece of paper pressed against his hand. “This is actually what I came to give you in the first place. No pressure, but if you’re looking for something to do next… well, we could always use your help. I could have used it all along, I guess, if I’d been willing to let you give it.”

"Help?" Link repeated. Unfolding the paper, he recognized at once their own secret cipher of indented marks.

“If you want.” She sidled up to him, looking over his shoulder.

Running his fingers over it, Link found… a list. Tasks that needed doing, areas that needed clearing out. Places and civilizations to seek out across the surface that had been lost in the time since Demise’s sealing, and resources that the surface settlement would need as it grew.

The idea of it left him feeling strangely warm. Maybe she understood him after all.

“I’ve told everyone back on Skyloft as much as they needed to know,” she said as he read it through again. “Home will be waiting for you, when you’re ready.”

“What did you tell them?” he asked, and felt her shrug against him.

“That you’re Link,” she said simply. “Stubborn to a fault, with a heart where your head should have been.” Link swatted her arm with the paper, and she laughed. “Well, not that exactly, but… I think they understood.”

Link nodded ruefully, pocketing the list. Nowhere in all that had she mentioned if Ghirahim was welcome, too… but maybe this wasn't the time to push it. It would all sort itself out eventually.

The warm silence that fell between them on that sunny little island felt almost as easy as all those nights Zelda had spent in his room watching him carve, painting his little figurines as he made them. Almost. The longer they sat, the more Link realized that something felt unalterably shifted, even if he couldn't put a finger on how.

“I… guess I should probably…” Zelda burrowed into his side even as she said, “You’ll probably want to be alone when he wakes up.”

“Probably,” Link admitted. He couldn’t quite bring himself to suggest that she leave, though, a heavy pang running through him. It wasn't goodbye forever, or even for very long… so why did he feel something slipping away? “I’ll be back though, you know? You’re not losing me or anything.”

“Not yet,” Zelda agreed, something surprisingly bitter in her laugh. “Hopefully not ever, even if…" Ignoring his questioning look, she began to pull back—and paused. "You said you see the threads of fate now? Only the one you share with Ghirahim, or…"

"All of them." Raising a hand to his eyes, Link winced as they pulsed brightly, acknowledging his attention.

“Did you ever learn to interpret them?” she asked, and Link shrugged.

“Not exactly." Impa had mentioned that the ability might come in time, and he couldn’t help but remember how those scenes made of thread had woven before his eyes in the Sacred Realm—but he'd never managed anything like it on his own. “Why?”

“There was something I could never quite determine about Demise’s curse,” she began, smoothing out his collar. “The spirit of the hero is you, no doubt about it—but the blood of the goddess…” Zelda hesitated. “Well, you can see how that might be me or my descendants, you know? So I wondered if you knew… after this life, can you see if we’ll still…?”

Link understood. Nodding uncertainly, he tried to focus on their golden thread, tilting his head as if he might look into it. Though the light connected them through physical space, he had the sense that there was more to their golden thread, to every thread he saw, if he could only see it. It had all come so easily in the Sacred Realm, though here he didn’t know how…

And then he caught a glimpse. It was a story curving in on itself, told and retold—the details ever shifting while the heart remained the same.

Blinking against the brightness of that vision, he lost it. He wasn't even sure what it was, exactly, or how he'd found it in the first place… but he knew what it meant.

"This isn't the end," Link said, slipping a quiet hand up to press against his head. "We're both tied up together, I think… through this life and the rest."

Bit by bit, the tension eased out of her.

"Good," Zelda said softly. "That's… good. I don't think I could have forgiven myself if the goddess's actions had set you on that path alone, but at least I'll be there to help you… one way or another." She paused, watching him for another moment before asking, “You still have your blindfold, right?”

Surprised, Link nodded, pulling it from his pocket to make sure. He hadn’t thought about the blindfold since he’d come out of the portal, and didn’t quite know what to do with it now. With the threads in his head, it seemed like he might have outgrown it.

“Did you want it?” he asked, holding it out.

“Keep it,” Zelda insisted, folding his fingers over the fabric as if to make sure he did. She sounded sympathetic. “Wear it. I think you'll find it useful when everything becomes… too much.”

Curious, Link smoothed it a few times through his hands to shake out the spots where it had crumpled in his pocket. Pressing it over his eyes, he tied the cloth behind his head—and gasped. Tears of relief sprang from the corners of his eyes as the grand tapestry of light vanished from the sky, and his vision became blessedly, mercifully dark.

The angle of the sun’s warmth had shifted, continuing along its unseen path across the sky, before Link began to hear the telltale signs of Ghirahim stirring. He’d had time during the wait to explore the small island where Zelda had left them, which hadn’t taken more than fifteen minutes. A simple place of wiry grass and small, clinging flowers, it had little more that he could find beyond a few gnarled trees to distinguish it. He thought maybe he and Zelda had climbed those trees together, long ago.

Leaning against the trunk of one now with the two swords crossed in his lap, Link smiled to himself at the slow, scattered run of chiming notes that emerged, as long and languid as a yawn. Even though he’d been expecting it, it was still a good sound to hear. Adjusting his blindfold, he settled back again, giving Ghirahim the chance to get his bearings. His hands brushed absently against twin hilts.

“Don’t you want to see?” he called out eventually, gesturing at the swords in his lap. There was a short pause, the leaves rustling overhead.

“The spirit maiden’s doing, I presume.” Ghirahim’s voice emerged from above him, unimpressed. Link’s smile skewed as he shrugged.

“Better than the alternative."

“Maybe," Ghirahim said, as pridefully stubborn as always. Rolling his eyes beneath the blindfold, Link grasped the swords by their hilts, lifting them up for Ghirahim to see.

“Look.”

Curiosity overcame Ghirahim’s reluctance, as Link had suspected it might. That run of chimes shimmered in closer, and first one sword and then the other was plucked from his grasp.

Link let them go, lifting his arms up to rest his head against his palms. He'd had more than enough time to explore the swords himself, mapping them out inch by inch beneath attentive fingertips. One straight as an arrow with nods along the edges towards its once-jagged form, the other a curved saber, each had the same braided hilt and complex pattern of diamonds etched across the flat of the blade as the other, marking them as a set. Link had traced the grooves of that pattern so thoroughly as he waited, he thought he could have sketched it out himself.

Only one sword had the gem set beneath the flared guard—the outward expression of Ghirahim’s core tied to their red thread. The other had the symbol of the Triforce notched in its place, no longer inverted after Zelda’s blessing. Link hoped that symbol could come to mean something more now than the vow against the goddesses Demise had no doubt intended it to be.

"Convenient," Ghirahim mused, keeping his own thoughts guarded. "One for you and one for me?"

"Or both for you," Link said, only half ruefully. He’d looked forward to bearing Ghirahim’s sword, but he couldn’t deny the obvious. “I might have carried the sword for you all this time, but I think the flames were forming them for your use all along. If– if you want,” he added, frowning. The air felt suddenly ten degrees colder, and plunging. “You fought me with two swords before, didn’t you? In the Fire Sanctuary, and– and after.”

"Two swords very much like these, yes," Ghirahim said as Link shivered, still in that same, soft tone. "But wasn't the entire point of this drawn out quest to form a sword fit for your use?"

"I…" Link shrugged, at a loss. "If I beg, maybe Eagus will give me another Academy sw—"

"Finish that sentence, and I will use these swords to carve out your tongue,” Ghirahim hissed, and Link cut off wisely.

“Well, if you don’t mind…” His heart skipped a beat. “I’d like to use your sword, if you’ll let me.”

The harsh bite of chill in the air began to thaw.

“I might allow it,” Ghirahim said, as if he hadn’t just threatened Link for daring to suggest otherwise. “Will you beg for me, as well?”

Link huffed out a laugh, though he couldn’t quite tell if Ghirahim was joking or not. The words were right, but something beyond the words felt dangerously on edge. He could only guess at what might be going through Ghirahim’s mind—and knowing Ghirahim, he’d guessed wrong. Still, in the time he’d had to think while Ghirahim slept, he’d known they couldn’t afford to fall back into awkward silence or pointless bickering. If something had to give between them, Link could be the first.

He cleared his throat.

“I’m not… waiting for you to thank me or anything,” Link said, letting it all out in a rush. 

Ghirahim’s lack of response was deafening.

“If that’s what’s been bothering you, then don’t worry about it. I don’t care. We can just move on from everything that… happened.” Link flushed, hurrying on himself. “I got what I wanted already, so… I'd be fine with that.”

This was all he’d wanted from the beginning, after all: a sword at his back, and Ghirahim at his side. That could be enough. Link had no intention of throwing that away just because he’d come to want more.

“Of course,” Ghirahim whispered, almost to himself. “Why should forged weapons like us expect to receive anything at all in exchange for our sacrifice, much less… gratitude?”

Link frowned, getting the slow, uneasy sense that he’d been taken the wrong way.

"What?"

“Oh, never mind that.” Brushing him aside, Ghirahim's voice rang out from the treetops, mockingly triumphant. "All that matters is that I am free, right? With Demise’s last wrong undone, your heroic task is completed at last! Truly, nobody could accuse you of being anything but thorough."

He’d definitely said something wrong. Shaking his head, Link sat up warily. "That isn't why I—"

"In fact, you have saved me so thoroughly now that you will soon have no use for me whatsoever. Swords are hardly a rarity in this world, and never mind that mine would outshine any other. All that's left for us now is your impending descent—" Shifting downward, chimes shattered almost above Link’s head. “—towards resentment." 

Ugly scorn twisted through that final word as Link gaped up at him.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded.

"It is inevitable," Ghirahim jeered, any pretense at pleasantries falling away. “As if we haven’t just watched the same story play out between you and the goddess reborn herself in tedious fashion. Offer so much while asking so little, and what follows is as predictable as happily ever after, if rarely quite so happy. You will resent me when I fail to live up to unspoken expectations, remembering all that you gave up on my behalf—and then…”

Understanding struck Link like a physical force, leaving him feeling vaguely winded. Far from his secret fear that his affections had scared Ghirahim off, Ghirahim had instead reached the conclusion that Link was going to leave him. Worse, he realized with another blow of blinding clarity, just like that morning outside the Ancient Cistern when Ghirahim had tried to force Link at knifepoint to take control, he’d decided to provoke what he feared himself rather than wait for Link to strike.

Before Link could do more than gape, Ghirahim’s hand clenched the front of his shirt. Hauled up by his collar, Link grunted as his back slammed against the tree trunk, hands moving automatically to claw at Ghirahim’s fist with his feet left to dangle.

“Did you ever stop to consider the consequences of your little fairy tale wish?” Ghirahim whispered, his dark hiss slithering through Link’s ear. “The flames saw me for what I am, and shattered me. You know what I am, and have forgotten. I am not your tame little demon now… but since you and your goddess saw fit to restore me, I will be your curse.”

“Let me go,” Link gasped, straining against the pressure on his chest.

“Will you ever know, truly, what I do behind your back?” Ghirahim ignored his protests, his fist slowly tightening. “In fact, why should I resort to subterfuge at all? Imagine what I can get away with in front of your face, shielded by the darkness you chose for yourself.”

“Let me go.”

“And what of when you’re gone? I will far outlive you, as will the consequences of your generosity. How many generations will suffer at my hands before… stop it." Ghirahim's voice sharpened indignantly, and he shoved Link roughly. "Stop that! Can you possibly think that I am joking? I assure you, I have never been more serious."

Link shook his head helplessly, spasms of laughter wheezing out of his compressed lungs despite himself. The bubble of joy in his chest—the perverse thrill he felt at hearing his own demands brushed aside like that—was just too much to contain. He’d hated having to hold back all this time, picking through each of his words so carefully before speaking them. Now he didn’t have to—and as long as he wasn’t holding back…

Link knew it would hurt him more than it hurt Ghirahim. He swung anyway.

“I told you to sto–”

Ghirahim cut off as Link’s fist collided with the side of his face. Sure enough, pain bloomed through Link’s hand as if he’d punched a statue, but surprise loosened Ghirahim’s grip enough for Link to tear free. He fell to his feet with a gasp, shoving forward on instinct before Ghirahim could regain his own balance—and realized too late that Ghirahim still had a hold on his shirt as the two of them fell together, hitting the ground with a thud.

Ghirahim moved first. Before Link could react, he felt both wrists pinned against the dirt above his head, something sharp settling point-first against his throat—and everything went still. Wind whistled through cracks in the rock, ripping through the grass. Pressed against Ghirahim’s chest, the thunder of Link’s heart couldn’t quite drown out the rasp of hot breath across his face.

Slowly, Ghirahim withdrew. The blade vanished from Link's neck, and he pushed himself up, seated across from Ghirahim in the grass. Swallowing, he pressed a tentative hand to his throat.

"See?" he said once he trusted himself to speak again, smiling weakly. "I’m not going anywhere.”

"You…" Ghirahim trailed off. With all his dark bravado stripped away, Link had never heard him so uncertain. “You will resent me for this someday, you know. How could you not? With everything you could ever want at your fingertips, you chose—“ He cut off with a frustrated growl. “It leaves me with impossible expectations.”

"You don’t have to stay, either,” Link said, and thought he could hear Ghirahim’s very breath still.

“What?”

“Not that I don't want you to,” Link hurried to add. “But… not out of obligation or anything. That would kind of defeat the purpose of all this, wouldn’t it?” His lips twitched in a hesitant grin. “Just to be clear, though, I think we’ve both had plenty of chances to leave already. Seems kind of silly for either of us to consider it now that there's nothing in our way.”

He crossed his fingers surreptitiously, hoping that this was what finally reached him. 

“I never resented Zelda for what I did for her, by the way. I only resented what came after—so as long as you don’t start treating me like I’m damaged, we should be fine. Besides,” he prompted as Ghirahim turned that over silently in his head. “Isn’t it just a little bit nice? Being… free?”

He held his breath, waiting. The fabric of Ghirahim’s cloak rustled as he leaned in… and gloved fingers inched beneath Link's blindfold.

“You should know better than to think I would ever act out of obligation,” Ghirahim said, loosening the knot so it draped around Link’s neck. Light sprang up around them, their red thread so close it filled his view. “I really am a very selfish creature at heart.” 

“Really?” Link murmured, too relieved to try to stop him. It wasn’t so bad now, knowing he could block it all out again whenever he wanted. “What about when you followed me through the portal?”

It took effort not to lean into Ghirahim’s trailing touch across his cheek.

“Also not obligation.”

Then what? Link wanted to ask, his tongue darting nervously between his lips. Now that Ghirahim seemed less eager to drive him away, he could almost bring himself to believe what Zelda had told him earlier.

“So… maybe we understand each other after all?" he breathed.

"Oh, I understand you," Ghirahim said—and he started to laugh, a rich, melting sound. "You've missed being at my mercy, haven't you, sky child?"

Both hands raised to cup Link’s cheeks. Eyes widening in alarm, Link felt suddenly more than a bit breathless.

"That's not exactly how I remember it."

"Oh really?" Ghirahim’s breath brushed over him, leaning in. "Maybe I should refresh your memory—"

"Wait."

Ghirahim stopped at once, and Link shivered, a different sort of thrill shooting through him. Hearing Ghirahim ignore his orders was satisfying on its own—but it was something else to know that Ghirahim would only listen to him because he wanted to, as well. 

“There’s… something I want to try.” Slowly, Link stripped off his own leather gloves this time, tucking them behind his belt. Then, with a steadying breath, he offered up his hands.

Ghirahim knew exactly what he meant by it, of course. After a thoughtful pause, he took them.

Even now, Link remembered as clearly as the day it happened how strange Ghirahim’s face had felt beneath his fingers once—an approximation of human features, with none of their warmth and yield. Not knowing him yet as a sword, Link had still known him as something other than human that night. The sensation had made terrifying, fascinating sense for someone like Ghirahim who made guidelines out of nature’s laws, shifting from place to place with no regard for the distance between. Now… 

The cool, polished skin he traced with shaking hands no longer held terror or surprise for Link, who had lived that encounter over and over and over in his mind. Only the fascination remained. Running a thumb along the diamond etched against Ghirahim’s cheek as smooth hair fell across his hand, Link closed his eyes, waiting for that long ago moment to rise up, carry him away, and…

Nothing happened. The wind whistled through the branches above them, thin and dry. Wiry grass bent beneath his legs, pricking him through the thick weave of his trousers. Somewhere on the island, a single cricket still chirped. 

Link's trembling fingers steadied, a vice-like pressure releasing from his chest as he breathed in, and out. With the world firm around him, cradled above and below in threads of light, the anxious wonder of that long ago night felt more distant than ever now. Relegated at last to a mere moment in time, Link had no more need to fear that night… or any of its implications.

Tentatively, he ran a questioning thumb along Ghirahim’s lips, first the upper, then the lower. They pressed in more easily than the rest of him, warmed by the heat of his breath—but Link knew that much already. He had felt them against his own lips before, though never in a way that really mattered. 

Adjusting his hold on Ghirahim’s face, Link half leaned in, only half in question. He thought it might be right, this inkling he had—that maybe he wasn’t the only one who wanted… 

"You are too slow," Ghirahim growled, and closed the distance between them himself.

Falling into the kiss like a leap from the sky, Link felt disbelief as damp wisps of clouds, uncomfortable and clinging but quickly blown away. Joy followed after, a warm wonder gusting up beneath him at the thought that the red thread he’d once followed into battle had somehow led to this . Diving in happy freefall, Link smiled, content… and fell right back into the kiss itself as Ghirahim met it with a wicked grin of his own, his tongue flicking out between them.

If Link had thought he knew what to expect from their previous encounters, he discovered quickly that he hadn’t accounted for how Ghirahim’s eager participation might change things.

Sharp teeth scraped at Link’s lip, extracting a gasp that had nothing to do with pain, and Ghirahim’s tongue curled eagerly around Link’s the second his lips parted. He felt his hat pulled free, Ghirahim’s hands burying themselves in the tousled hair beneath, but even as they tugged, Link couldn’t complain too much. His own hands wandered downward, clenched against Ghirahim’s chest where the light that emerged half-filled his vision with vivid, burning red.

Breathing in through his nose, Ghirahim pulled back slightly.

"Maybe we should just call it even between us," he suggested. "After all, how many times have I saved your life? Once more now, after that trip through the portal."

Link blinked, too dazed to understand what Ghirahim meant at first, though when he did, he laughed in disbelief.

"Not as many times as you threatened it," he murmured, rolling his eyes. "But sure. Even."

Link leaned back in—and stopped short of Ghirahim’s lips with exasperation as Ghirahim pulled back again, holding Link in place by his hair.

“Now, now.” Amusement bubbled out of Ghirahim, all fiendish delight as Link growled. “I just want to be sure, of course—I would hate to think I misunderstood—but this is what you want?”

Link's indignant struggles slowed as he realized there was something buried beneath the question—a need for reassurance that Ghirahim would never admit to out loud.

He thought about the strange twists in their thread that had brought them here in the first place, against all odds. He thought about the list folded carefully in his pocket—all of the choices and possibilities still ahead of them, the tiny shifts in direction their thread might take. 

Grabbing Ghirahim by the cloak, Link pulled him in closer. This time, Ghirahim followed him willingly.

“See for yourself.”