#Ceramic Sand (for Casting Use)

[spookysaladchaos]

Global Top 5 Companies Accounted for 74% of total Ceramic Sand (for Casting Use) market (QYResearch, 2021

Ceramic Foundry Sand, technically named as “Fused Ceramic Sand for Foundry”, also named as ceramite, is good spherical grain shape which is made from calcined bauxite. Its main content is aluminum oxide, and it is processed by melting, blowing, sieving and blending. Ceramic sand, has much better properties than that of silica sand to gain a better performance in foundry. It has high refractoriness, stable inert characteristics, excellent flowability, intrinsic hardness and wear resistance.

Ceramic Foundry Sand has the following characteristics:

The thermal expansion coefficient of ceramic sand is very low, which is similar to zircon sand. Using the Ceramic Foundry Sand to make moulds and cores, the veins and other expansion defects of castings are eliminated;

Because of the great spherical shape of the particle, Ceramic Foundry Sand has good flowability and easy to fill in. The moulds and cores are of high permeability and easy to shakeout after casting;

By using Ceramic Foundry Sand, 30-50% of the binder consumption can be saved with the smooth surface and substantial structure;

Ceramic Foundry sand is a neutral and inert material, so it can be used in acid and alkali binders systems, also adapt to various alloys;

Ceramic Foundry Sand has high refractoriness and good stability. It is especially suitable for the production of complexity sand cores and steel castings;

It has wide particle size, which can be combined and mixed arbitrarily to meet specific needs of customers;

Because of the high value of Moh’s Harness and spherical shape, Ceramic Foundry Sand has good recycling performance and low crushing ratio, so it can be easily reclaimed by many methods.

In 2020, the global Ceramic Sand (for Casting Use) market size was US$ 169.10 million and it is expected to reach US$ 251.65 million by the end of 2027, with a CAGR of 5.39% between 2021 and 2027.

The data for 2021 is an estimate, based on the historical data and the integrated view of industrial experts, manufacturers, distributors, and end users, etc.

Top-down and bottom-up approaches are used to validate the global Ceramic Sand (for Casting Use) market size and to estimate the market size for company, regional division, product type and application (end users). In the complete market engineering process, both top-down and bottom-up approaches along with several data triangulation methods have been extensively utilized to perform market estimation and market forecast for the overall market division and subdivision listed in this report. Extensive qualitative and further quantitative analysis has also been done from all the numbers arrived at in the complete market engineering process to list key information throughout the report.

According to the new market research report “Global Ceramic Sand (for Casting Use) Market Report 2023-2029”, published by QYResearch, the global Ceramic Sand (for Casting Use) market size is projected to reach USD 0.27 billion by 2029, at a CAGR of 4.1% during the forecast period.

Figure.   Global Ceramic Sand (for Casting Use) Market Size (US$ Million), 2018-2029

Figure.   Global Ceramic Sand (for Casting Use) Top 5 Players Ranking and Market Share（Based on data of 2021, Continually updated）

The global key manufacturers of Ceramic Sand (for Casting Use) include CARBO Ceramics, Kailin Foundry, Itochu Ceratech, Sanmenxia Qiangxin, Jingang New Materials, Henan Jinnaiyuan, CMP Group, Company 8, Company 9, Company 10, etc. In 2021, the global top five players had a share approximately 74.0% in terms of revenue.

About QYResearch

QYResearch founded in California, USA in 2007.It is a leading global market research and consulting company. With over 16 years’ experience and professional research team in various cities over the world QY Research focuses on management consulting, database and seminar services, IPO consulting, industry chain research and customized research to help our clients in providing non-linear revenue model and make them successful. We are globally recognized for our expansive portfolio of services, good corporate citizenship, and our strong commitment to sustainability. Up to now, we have cooperated with more than 60,000 clients across five continents. Let’s work closely with you and build a bold and better future.

QYResearch is a world-renowned large-scale consulting company. The industry covers various high-tech industry chain market segments, spanning the semiconductor industry chain (semiconductor equipment and parts, semiconductor materials, ICs, Foundry, packaging and testing, discrete devices, sensors, optoelectronic devices), photovoltaic industry chain (equipment, cells, modules, auxiliary material brackets, inverters, power station terminals), new energy automobile industry chain (batteries and materials, auto parts, batteries, motors, electronic control, automotive semiconductors, etc.), communication industry chain (communication system equipment, terminal equipment, electronic components, RF front-end, optical modules, 4G/5G/6G, broadband, IoT, digital economy, AI), advanced materials industry Chain (metal materials, polymer materials, ceramic materials, nano materials, etc.), machinery manufacturing industry chain (CNC machine tools, construction machinery, electrical machinery, 3C automation, industrial robots, lasers, industrial control, drones), food, beverages and pharmaceuticals, medical equipment, agriculture, etc.

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[h00f]

T4TM (Theseus4TheMinotaur)

lost wax cast bronze, patina & paste wax

2023

(process photos & info under cut <3)

my minotaur boy!! pls click on the photos for higher res! my thesis is focusing on trans men and creatures (how original ik) and this was last semester's final. i spent a lot of time looking at sculptures of the theseus/minotaur story, and yknow? a LOT of them are erotic! i'm pretty sure i saw some of them on tumblr a decade ago, and that's led to this now!

as you'll notice, the minotaur has a big t-dick! i wanted to give him breasts and an enlarged clitoris to present a very masculine trans figure. the boy on the bottom is also trans because i say so . the piece is about looking up to older, bigger, hairier trans men and seeing something awe-inspiring and beautiful. the minotaur was locked up by a cruel father for being different, and i think modern adaptations tend towards a sympathetic asterion (his name in one version)

making this piece was. so much effort. it took me about 3 months to get it all together - from clay model (plasticine) to 3D print to silicone mold to wax cast, and finally bronze pour into the shell mold. and then a TON of filing, sanding, dremel-ing, and various other metalworking techniques that probably took years off my life.

i started with sketches and made theeeeeee ugliest model ever:

then used a 3D scanner to get it digital, then spent a goooood month or two making him pretty in blender! then i spent an agonizing few weeks trying to get it print-ready, and fiiiiiinally did

^^^ an early resin printed draft of the model - you can see in the final that i added lots to theseus after some feedback, but sadly the nosering broke off every time i cast it so i just. let that be <3

then came the moldmaking, and then the wax dipping!! the yellow stuff is shell mold (ground up ceramic bits and algae soup, sticks to the wax, then silica sand in varying sizes on top) which gets the wax melted out, and bronze poured in!

then it's all metalworking, cutting stuff off, and working with hot metal. they don't tell you about all the bronze dust and how annoying it gets wearing a respirator AND goggles. but it is for me health, me boy. here's him all cleaned up before the patina:

and then i spray him down with various chemicals to make it "patina" (aka rust) in pretty colors. wait a few days, then apply paste wax to seal it and give it that shine!

then we get what you see above!!! the blue was actually unintentional, and i'm still not super sure why it looks that way.. but it's pretty so idc <3

thanks for reading!! if you ever have any bronze/casting questions, don't hesitate to message me! <3

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗜 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨

　　　　　　　　　𝒑𝒂𝒖𝒍 𝒍𝒂𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒆 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Paul finally gets the courage to say "I love you" for the first time.

WARNING: None.

REQUESTED?: Yes, on Wattpad.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Y/N's eyes slowly opened as she tried to adapt to the brightness of the space, rays of the morning sun completely entered through the window covered only by a thin curtain, keeping the room warm and comfortable.

The girl turned her head as she stretched lazily, a smile stretching across her cheeks as her eyes stopped on the face of her boyfriend, Paul, who was lying on his back, eyes closed and small snores coming from his half-open mouth.

Y/N shifted her body to the right, facing Paul while her head rested on his bicep, which served as her pillow every night she slept at his house.

Her eyes traveled over his face, which carried a relaxed expression. His long eyelashes rested on his tan cheeks, and his nose moved slightly from time to time, showing that his mind was immersed in some dream. Y/N felt like she could stay there all day, her left hand drawing small shapes on her boyfriend's bare chest.

After a few minutes of admiring him, the girl felt her hunger speak louder, sitting up slowly so as not to wake Paul, smiling in relief at not seeing him move even an inch, showing that he felt extremely calm and safe in her presence.

Y/N slowly got up from the bed, casting one last glance at Paul before starting her steps out of the room and towards the kitchen, her hands using the black hair tie on her wrist to tie her hair into a high ponytail.

The girl entered the kitchen, a yawn escaping her lips. She walked over to the small radio on the counter and played it, leaving it on the station she always listened to with Paul, turning down the volume a little so as not to disturb her boyfriend's sleep.

Y/N walked to the fridge and opened the door, vaguely observing the items inside, deciding to make a creamy scrambled egg with buttered bread and a fruit salad with yogurt, knowing that Paul felt hungrier than normal and a simple loaf of bread wouldn't sustain his stomach for more than 30 minutes.

She took what she was going to use, placing it on the sink and doing the same with the cabinet, organizing separately what she would use for each dish and starting to prepare breakfast.

With the bread already in the toaster and the water already heating for black coffee, the girl took a ceramic bowl and broke five eggs there, stirring them with a fork.

Sounds of footsteps echoed through the hallway between the bedroom and the kitchen, but it was imperceptible to Y/N, who was too focused on her action and the music coming from the radio.

Paul leaned his body against the threshold of the kitchen door, crossing his arms as his eyes admired his imprint preparing coffee for both of them while softly following the melody on the radio, a smile stretching across his cheeks at the scene so homely, free from weight and worry from all the chaos that has surrounded the supernatural beings of Forks over the last few months.

The opening whistle of the song "Home" by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros sounded through the room, catching Paul's attention. That song was considered one of the main songs of their relationship, as it played during the first bonfire that Y/N attended as Paul's companion. The memory of the two of them dancing together late at night, bare feet on the sand, surrounded by people they loved and lots of food was engraved in their minds.

The boy walked away from the door, going towards Y/N, who swayed her hips to the beat of the music as she passed the eggs to the frying pan on the stove.

Warm, strong arms surrounded the girl's waist, causing her to jump in place in fright, her right hand flying to Paul's arms while her left went to her chest, trying to calm her racing heart.

"You scared me!" Y/N said loudly, slapping weakly her boyfriend's arms, taking the spatula from the sink and stirring the eggs in the pan before it burns.

"Sorry, my love. Good morning." Paul responded in a whisper, resting his head in the crook of his girlfriend's neck, breathing in the natural scent of her skin and the body cream she had applied the night before after her shower. "Remember this song?"

"How can I forget? It's our song, it marked the beginning of our relationship." Y/N responded in a low voice, not wanting to burst the bubble that seemed to settle around them.

"Yes, I will never forget you dancing in that beautiful white dress that night, the bonfire behind you, and the smell of food in the air. Remembering that memory makes me love you even more." Paul commented with a goofy smile on his face, closing his eyes briefly, seeming to see the scene in front of him again.

Y/N's right arm, which was previously moving the spatula against the eggs, suddenly stopped, catching the boy's attention, who raised his face and moved so that he was next to his girlfriend, watching her with confused eyes.

"You love me?" She asked in a whisper, turning off the heat and dropping the spatula into the frying pan, turning around and facing him.

Paul replayed in his mind what he had said seconds ago, the understanding that he had said that he loved her flashed across his eyes, a nervous smile expanding on his face as his heart accelerated, fear settling in his chest.

"Yes, I love you." He revealed, knowing that was no coming back, looking at her closely, observing her reaction closely.

His heart warmed at the sight of his girl's eyes shining with tears as her mouth opened slightly in surprise, Y/N's right hand going to her own chest in disbelief.

"Oh Paul, I love you so much." She reciprocated, a tear escaping her eyes as she walked closer to her boyfriend, laying her head against his warm chest, her arms wrapping around his waist.

Paul sighed in relief, his eyes also filling with tears as he pulled Y/N closer, hugging her tightly.

"I've loved you since before I understood what that kind of love meant. The first time I saw you, I gave myself completely. When we kissed for the first time after you accepted me as yours, I became an addict and I knew that no one else could make me feel such an electric spark. Y/N, the moment I looked into your eyes for the first time, I knew I would follow you to the end of the world if necessary. And I don't say that because you're my imprint, my love for you goes far beyond that." Paul declared, pulling away slightly so he could look into his girlfriend's eyes, a huge smile decorating his features.

"Paul, it's not fair of you to make me cry at a time like this." Y/N muttered, her voice cracking with emotions. Paul brought his large hands to her face, wiping away the tears that wetted her flushed face. "I love you so much, I promise I'll be yours for the rest of our lives." She whispered, her heart overflowing with love, passion, and affection.

The boy bent down slightly, sealing his lips on hers in a slow kiss, full of the best feelings. A sigh escaped Y/N in pleasure, surrendering to the kiss and Paul's arms.

The sound of the wolf's stomach begging for food interrupted them. Y/N let out a laugh against Paul's lips, opening her eyes slowly and walking away, smiling big and turning to the stove again, going back to finishing breakfast for both of them.

Paul's arms remained around his girlfriend's body seeking contact and comfort, his heart warm, as their bodies moved slightly to the melody of the songs that sounded from the radio.

They felt like they could stay there forever, surrounded by the best feeling, love.

[yiga-hellhole]

TFTK: CHAPTERS 21&22

Ghirahim copes with the aftermath of his conspiracy. What is a blade to do, without a hand to wield it?

I'VE kept you all waiting for quite a bit haven't i. well i'm making it up to you! 2 chapters in one go! one VERY big thank you to @bulgariansumo and @orfeoarte for betareading these. quite a bit happens in the aftermath of zant's betrayal... i'll let it speak for itself.

the promo art for these chapters was heavily inspired by, and is basically an homage, to Houseki no Kuni's volume 7 cover! HnK influences a lot of my writing tone and symbolism. i really recommend it!!

this chapter has a bonus of another new language... protogermanic! it's written in elder futhark. you'll have to wiktionary the rest! teehee! (it's not plot-relevant, just a little easter egg for you all!)

ao3 mirror

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16

CW for: graphic violence, toxic relationship, suicidal ideation (brief mention)

From the shadow of one colossal threat, into the other. This one weighed on him far heavier. Ghirahim stood in the cold dark of Zant’s chambers, for a moment, taking refuge in the first second before his eyes could adjust. Ever-so-indulgently, he blinked just a little longer than he had to, shrouding himself in the comfort of that shadowy blanket and shielding himself from what he would now have to undertake. When he opened his eyes again, he glared at the shape lying on the bed. When he strained his ears, he could hear a squeaky wheeze, little grunts of pain spotting through his breath. 

Perhaps he had been a little too optimistic, hoping for Zant to have succumbed in his absence. Ghirahim approached the bed, the injured Twili upon it heaving his blankets with his arduous breathing. Neither of them had noticed he was still holding the Demon Scimitar. What good would it have done, to be any more aware of that frivolous thing? Ghirahim could forget about any urge, any fantasy, of using it to pounce upon him and flay him where he lied. With every step closer, that little dagger all but shook in his hands, cheering to see its beloved alive, though not well. It exploded into a cloud of diamonds, each shred and particle snaking back into Ghirahim's core by a trail. Such bothersome affection was best left where he could keep watch of it, and lock it away, deep where he could no longer feel it. All until this rotten fool would recover, rip it from him, and drag him about by the strings of his weakness all over again, no doubt.

Six seconds. That was how long he spent in that chamber, up until that point, when a flash of light broke through the gaps in the curtains, and briefly cast the room in dim light. Another second and the thunderous roar of a massive impact followed. The whole castle shook, dust raining down from the ceiling, the contents of shelves jolting in place and tumbling to the floor, glass and ceramics shattering on the spot, and wooden furniture rattling on their legs. The screws from Zant’s canopy bed gave way. A curtain rod, drapes and all, dislodged from its place and bared the fallen Twilight King to the little light that made it through the windows.

The tremors subsided at last. All of the palace – no, the world, was eerily silent. Sand, carried across the desert by the shockwave, pelted against the outside walls and spewed through the curtains. Ghirahim approached the bed, grains crunching beneath his feet.

Peering at him through swollen eyelids, Zant turned his head ever so slightly. “Your last gambit, I take it?”

Ghirahim deigned to answer. A last gambit, indeed, but one he never wanted to play. Majora’s words rang in his head, clear as day.

“... use it wisely, for when the tides of war turn irreversibly against your favor.”

Oh, and how the tides had turned. In one fell swoop, Ghirahim had lost both the battle and his Master, both of these promises doomed for failure from the very start. By accepting Majora’s allegiance, all in the name of the pitiful man now lying wheezing before him, those very tides crashed into him again, only from a different angle. Now that he stood there, wave-beaten as he was, the water cleared from his eyes. He could see just how laughable of a trap he’d fallen for. In calling Majora to his aid, Ghirahim silently wondered whose hands he had played into.

Zant stammered through this silence. It seemed he could not go a single minute without ushering his little plans along. “We cannot stay here. In the next few hours, those taking refuge in the dungeons will free themselves from their barricades and swarm through the Palace. If they find us–”

“Our lives will not remain secret” Ghirahim interrupted. “I get it. You want me to find some alternate place, yes? Or, even more probable, you already know exactly where you want to go?”

Zant averted his gaze. If Ghirahim didn’t know any better, he’d think it was an expression of guilt. Though, a playful one, like that of a prankster caught in the middle of their schemes. It may as well have been, to a man like him. 

“Do you remember… That ruined little village in the woods?” Zant asked, finally.

“I do.” 

Questions he once would have freely blurted out with a wry smile now refused to move, lodged somewhere in his throat by their barbs. They buzzed in place, instead, like cicadas stuck in their husks. Was there even a single house intact? Would such shabby lodging truly be up to his standards? But to return to such banter, nothing would feel more unnatural. In choosing to remain with this man, his capricious yet determined self was cut off from whatever steered him now. 

So Ghirahim stood and said nothing further; simply stared.

Zant took his silence as a prompt to continue. “I spied one house on the outskirts, I believe, that could at least shelter us until I recover. I was considering our base at Eldin, first, but I do not trust it to be properly deserted. For the time being, if you could take us there…”

“Yes. Fine.” Zant’s words were full of implicit little meanings as usual. Teleport us there. Clear the coast. Bring bandages. Bring bedding. Steal whatever food you think we can use. Take every God-damned thing that you value because we are not coming back. And don’t get caught. 

Once, he thought reading into his every word was a skill, a convenience that made the two of them more efficient than any other pair. How awfully intrusive it felt now! As if Zant, instead, wormed his way into his mind, and commandeered him as he pleased!

Ghirahim’s arms hooked under the fold of Zant’s knees and around his shoulders all the same, cradling the injured man to his chest. To let that line of thought go any further was to suspect a past weakness where he had once seen strength. He thoroughly had enough of those today. To dig any deeper, to realize –

Zant’s head slumped to the side, burying his face in the nape of Ghirahim’s neck. He was burning up. Of all the wounds he’d sustained that day, one of them was bound to fester. Ghirahim supposed he would have to snatch some coriander along the way for a tincture or two, and –

Oh, Hell. 

—

Their arrival at the abandoned town had been uneventful. War was raging on beyond the treeline, miles and miles away, but in this forest, the simple cycle of life and death turned and turned along as though the world had been quiet. Birds rooted around in piles of fallen leaves for their morsels, bucks bellowed for their harems further out in the woods, and rodents hurried for cover, away from these strange new arrivals, as though they’d been the only disturbance for years. It felt thoroughly undeserved. Ghirahim’s life was on fire. It would only have been fair for this place to feel its cinders, too. 

But if everything was judged by his standard of fairness, he never would have left Ganondorf’s side. Zant would have been wearing his usual stupid, blindly loyal smile beside them both, and they would have Hyrule’s ashes stomped to coals beneath their feet. Instead, Ghirahim stood inside the last standing house of this village, surrounded by bare necessities. Zant lay in a makeshift cot, sweating a fever away tucked in the shadows of the room. Finding a spot for him had been a bit of a challenge. The place was littered with uncovered windows and a hole in the roof let in a persistent beam of sunlight even if he managed to fashion some curtains. Ghirahim sat against the wall across the Twili, face buried in the comfort of his favorite cloak. Termites and lichen made their home in the logs pressed against his back – how this place hadn’t collapsed along with the rest of the village, Ghirahim couldn’t say. Zant would probably have some long-winded theory about it all, but if he heard even another squeak out of that man before sundown, he wouldn’t hold himself responsible for whatever happened next.

And night did fall, after hours spent in nothing but solitude. Ghirahim sporadically flitted about the house, passing through like a ghost. Through the windows, the forest’s naked branches clacked in the wind like the dead waving their skeletal arms. One way or the other, he supposed the memory of those he wiped from the face of the earth in Gerudo Desert, sent its regards. But the Desert was far behind them now, their belongings scattered across the floor or bundled up in chests throughout the little house. They would not return. 

Ghirahim sat outside as the sun sank below the treeline, poking at the cinders of a fire pit he’d set up a little ways from their shelter. The night air was a little easier out in the open, without the soft sounds of suffering keeping him so dreadfully on edge. To sit by Zant, with so many accusations to sling at him but no motivation to do so, filled him with such a terrible thunder. He couldn’t stand another minute in there with him. 

Of course, he was enraged at Zant. Somehow, that maniac had managed to deceive a Demon, and, with how Ghirahim so piteously carried him to safety, had gotten away with it, too. It was infuriating, as much as it tore his heart to pieces. They had loved each other then, and though Ghirahim had let it shatter, the shards of this love still remained within him.

Zant meant no harm to him, this he knew. But what the Twili did not seem to get through his thick skull was that in threatening his Master, that threat extended to his most loyal blade. 

What other choice did Ghirahim have, though? He didn’t have the authority to be selfish, but deep inside himself, he cherished that wish, still, to have his true purpose fulfilled in the hands of his Master. Removed so far from Him now, for the first time, Ghirahim confronted his wish head-on. He could not bear dying a second time, without his true purpose fulfilled. So, even if this incarnation of Demise would not wield him, he could at least try to live on, and wait for the next. The only way to safeguard that childish desire now, was to remain hidden away, by Zant’s side.

Plop. Plop. Plop. Something was close to burning in the pot he was tending to. Bubbles rose through the thick liquid and popped into tufts of steam at its tawny surface. He took the pot, but a little rattle behind him urged him to turn before he could return to the cabin. Yet the ruined village around them was quiet, his idle scrying sensing nothing out of place. Dismissing the disturbance as another quirk of his agitation, he kicked a serving of sand over the smoldering ashes of the fire pit and headed back inside.

Zant sat propped up in his bed. His hand was raised to his face in a puckish, half-hearted attempt to conceal that he had been poking at his stitches mere seconds earlier. Ghirahim ignored those silly traits and handed him a bowl.

Raising shaky hands, his scarred ear straining to twitch, Zant took the bowl with surprise. Wide eyes peered inside. “I… Did not know you could cook.”

Ghirahim curled his lip, offended both by his carefree attempt at small-talk and at the underestimation of his abilities. “I am Demon Lord. I hold encyclopedic knowledge spanning thousands of years, and you think I wouldn’t know how to prepare a simple gruel?”

“... Forgive me for inquiring,” Zant mumbled, bringing the bowl to his parched lips. 

A moment of silence passed between them, with Ghirahim again hunched down against the far wall. Sitting there, staring at Zant somewhat struggling to feed himself through tremoring hands and an injured throat, became quickly unbearable. 

Ghirahim was tending to one of his daggers, a leather case full of them beside him, when Zant interrupted their silence again. “I must say, Ghirahim… I did not expect you to want to care for me, as grateful as I am for it. I remain a little jarred.”

Ghirahim furrowed his brows. Rose from his seat, made his way over to the cot and loom over the wicked thing nesting there. “Simple. It would be inconvenient if you died now. I have put everything on the line for you, Zant, and to let you perish from something as simple as a fever would mean I’ve wasted valuable time. I’m a deserter now, thanks to you,” Ghirahim hissed, looking down on him from beside his bed. “Do you understand? You owe me everything.”

Zant for a moment seemed intimidated. A long, spindly form, normally so towering, sat folded in on himself more fragile than a newborn bird. He blinked up at him with his big eyes, before resigning himself to nursing his bowl of food. “I know, Ghirahim. I know. And you shall get it. All in due time…”

That was how Ghirahim spent hours. Days. Cleaning bandages and watching a traitor eat porridge. Oh, Demise Mercy. He must have been defective. The both of them, fools locked in a little hut, each robbed of their sound minds. Back in the Palace, Ghirahim must have knocked the last sense out of Zant when pummeling him for his transgressions, or he would have realized the idiocy of his plans by now. In that same vein, he himself must have had his reasoning beaten out from him with the hammering of steel. Otherwise, he never would have tagged along. The Demon King was not an enemy one could meet in any way other than prostrated, begging for a quick end. Yet here he was, persuaded to betray him, head-on.

This exact line of thought repeated ad nauseum in his mind nigh every hour of every day. Either Ghirahim would hush it with some excuse, or let its flame run its course, quietly, yet viciously, behind dark eyes aimed straight at his conspirator. Today was one such day of well-contained rage, tempered as he tended to the last of Zant’s injuries. Despite the many ills he would wish upon the man in his darkest hours, Zant’s health was indeed improving, leaving only lethargy and persistent pains, both of which motivated his loud complaints. 

And how he cursed this recovery. Every bit of care sparked an affectionate streak in the Twili. Zant spent what little energy he could spare on conveying his gratitude, carefully at first, but growing ever more bold. Ghirahim flinched from his touch in these early hours, until it angered him, swatting his hands away at the slightest provocation. But at the first solid contact, the laying of those pallid fingers on his false skin, he realized he was powerless. 

He had missed it. Ghirahim craved to be touched by him. It was the closest thing to a disease he had ever felt.

There could have been many things that made him stay. It could have been Zant’s bizarre kindness, his devotion, and all their fond memories. But above all, Ghirahim was a Blade. He followed power. Even when laying there, too ill to move, there was a spark of determination in Zant’s eyes. A deep grudge that had rested in smoldering tar until finally ignited, burst into flame deep within the Twili, and would not cease burning until he got what he wanted. Zant had died not once, but twice, and came clawing out his grave with the same deathly resolve each time. Narrowly escaping death a third time, the fire still lit in his soul proved it. There would be nothing stopping that man from taking Hyrule, promised by his expression alone. How horrifyingly familiar it was.

So Ghirahim allowed it. All of it, his affection, his schemes, and his weakness, as Zant lay there shallowly breathing. Even in the chance his comparison was false. His captor, his usurper, had trapped Ghirahim so thoroughly by his side that there was no choice but to remain. And through his efforts, past something so cruel, Ghirahim loved him still. Zant would take everything the Demon King ever had, starting with His blade.

As Ghirahim lamented this, he loomed over him, tugging the stitches out of a freshly sealed scar. Out of all moments, Zant thusly decided to be possessed by another one of his honey-eyed fits. He reached his hand – a little steadier this time, but hesitant, still – to Ghirahim’s face, to trace a thumb along the blemished skin of his cheek.

Only to recoil. Zant tested again, running his thumb along the little dimples left by Darunia’s hammer. “Did I do this, Ghirahim? In convincing you to betray your Master, did I damage you?”

Before Ghirahim could get past his perturbation and respond, Zant looked at him intently. His hand flat on his jaw, Zant spoke gravely. “If I cannot do this without hurting you, I have already failed. You are a collateral I cannot accept. I wouldn’t forgive myself, and, by the Sols, would not expect you to either.” 

Pallid hands found his own. Zant stroked past his fingernails, talons that they were, beneath his gloves. He guided this hand, and pointed its nails at his heart. “Tell me, then, if I am to blame, and, should you wish it, to repay my crime against you… Kill me.”

Ghirahim paused. For a moment, he indulged the thought. He imagined rooting past his ribcage and ripping out whatever strange, beating organ lay beneath. Only to find the appeal fall flat. If he had any cheer in him, he would have had to stifle a laugh at this bizarre request. He must think I’m stupid, he thought. It’s a bluff. He knows I’m in too deep to conspire against him. 

Pathetic, wretched man. Is this the only way he knows how to express love? Empty threats on his own life, gored upon my blade?

“Don’t go on such ridiculous tangents,” Ghirahim said, wrenching his hand free. “It was Darunia.” He turned his back on him, then said no more. 

Silence fell, one of the many unbearable ones they kept on having inside this house. Without looking back once, Ghirahim made for the door.

Zant interrupted him, right as he placed his hand on the door handle. “... Ghirahim, please-”

“Please, what?” Ghirahim snapped, glaring at him over his shoulder. “After everything you’ve already taken from me, you have the nerve to ask any more from me? What could you possibly want?”

Zant startled. “This is what I mean! Do you intend to sit and simmer in silence for the entirety of our cooperation? You are bursting at the seams with unsaid frustrations, and yet, you remain with me. So do us both this favor and hurl whatever you have bottled up in there my way. Clearly, this tension benefits neither of us!”

Ghirahim froze. Did it truly take this many days for Zant to wonder? Was it so inconceivable to him, up until this point, that anger would remain? The urge to snap at him was irresistible. He pushed the small crack in the door he’d pulled open back shut with far more vigor than necessary, and whipped himself around.

“You wish to hear it? Fine. I’m astounded I even have to spell it out for you. Aren’t you so smart? So cunning? You’ve ruined my life!” Ghirahim shouted, stomping his way to the center to the room. “Every chance I’ve had in this war, to build my reputation, to bond myself to my Master, you’ve sabotaged. With your ridiculous plots, your manipulative little distractions. And then, oh so merrily, you lay there on your deathbed and say, you intended to have the one man that matters to me, killed!? What a terrible fate you’ve strung me up with!”

In all technicalities, it was impossible for Ghirahim to run his voice ragged. In his frustration, it still had. His words tumbled out of him moreso than he spoke them, tripping over hitches and bumps on their way out. “By all means, ‘sitting and simmering’ is the most charitable thing I could do to you. I ought to tear you limb from limb and feed you to the pigs!”

Ghirahim heaved breaths through clenched teeth, fast-paced in his rage, but gradually slowing. Before him, Zant looked petrified. How cathartic! To cause him even the slightest fraction of pain, after he himself was hurt so deeply! 

But as much as it soothed him, the sight also fizzled out his drive. Ghirahim knew he couldn’t tear into him forever. So, his hackles going slack, he resigned himself to solemn reasoning. He looked at him bitterly as he spoke. “But I won’t. Because what good would it do me? You’ve made sure every home I ever had in this wretched time is burned to the ground, and every ally, gone with it. You give me no choice but to go along with your schemes. I’m trapped in here with you, so I will act as damned frustrated with the part as I please.”

Throughout his outburst, Zant had cowered, his eyes wide and on the verge of tears. He’d looked hurt, like for once his plans weren’t packing out the way he expected. This changed when Ghirahim’s temper grew calmer – where Ghirahim’s resolve faded, Zant’s grew. His eyes narrowed, his lips drew to a tight line, and his back straightened. Zant looked thoughtfully down at his hands in his lap. “I see. So you think you are blameless in all this?”

“Don’t you dare –”

Zant’s face snapped up towards him, once again freezing him inside that all-consuming gaze. “No, no. Ghirahim, you act as though I’ve forced your hand at every turn through this. I must make one thing crystal clear to you, it seems.”

Zant took a deep breath, his eyes closed, and sighed it back out. His patience gathered, he spoke. “When Ganondorf first summoned me, Ghirahim, I was ready to die. I had been since Cia resurrected me, too. And though I indeed intended to stray from Ganondorf, it was only ever a wishful thought.” His tone grave at first, he soon grew wistful. “Had you not accompanied me, my Blade, and showed me the vastness of this world, I would not have wanted to remain in it. I would have lost myself to a drone-like state and fought to the death without aim, as I had before.”

“And,” Zant said, eyes aimed straight at his core. “Had you not taught me swordsmanship, had you not given me our scimitar, I would not have become as strong as I am now.”

Ghirahim could see it now. The full extent of the trap he’d fallen into. Strings intertwined. Each bound by their wrists, twisted and tangled. Forcing each other closer, and closer, until their laced fingers tied together and soaked red with the blood on their hands.

Zant saw the moment the dots connected behind his eyes. Despicably so, he almost looked smug. “So face it. We have sculpted each other like this, for better or for worse. You chose to return to me. On Death Mountain, in the Temple of Souls, and even after I revealed my deceit to you, you came to me of your own accord. Do not dare blame me for the impulses of your own heart.”

All throughout Zant’s words, Ghirahim felt a storm brewing inside his chest. Thunder threatened, rolled, deep within, until at long last, it snapped free at such simple words. 

“My heart?” Ghirahim scoffed, grit his teeth. The elation of his next words nearly sent him into delirium. He glared at him madly, wearing an incredulous smile. “I do not have one!”

Somehow, a statement of truth evoked instant distress in Zant. His eyes went wide along with the cracking of his temper. Biting his lip, huffing almost childishly through his nostrils, Zant reverted to his old ways with tears beading in his eyes. 

“Why must you always quarrel with me?” Zant whimpered, composure finally gone. “I saw you exploited, in danger, and I took you with me. I cannot deny you your nature as a blade, this I know. B-but even then, all I wanted was to place you in safer hands!”

Ghirahim’s expression, on the other hand, did not change. He folded his arms, his nails digging into his skin even through the cover of his gloves. Fabric nearly creaked beneath his grip, straining at the seams. The stupidity of it all was almost enough to pacify him. Keep him safe? A living weapon, in time of war? Zant was a little boy living in his own reverie. 

Ghirahim was at once disappointed with this spineless response. He sighed. Narrowed his eyes, then growled his next words. “Then you failed.”

Zant bared his teeth, similarly balling his fists. “Perhaps I may have. But in banishing us, Ganondorf, too, forced us into this fate. If it had otherwise meant dooming you to scrap, then my conscience is spotless.”

He felt the corner of his lip twitch with involuntary rage at this. Such a presumptuous face was just begging for a fist to be planted square in the middle of it. Ghirahim wanted to step forward, to grab him by the collar of his nightgown and rattle the mess of his brain some more, but a different part of him begged for him to be reasonable. 

Ghirahim would never get the chance to wrestle past whatever held him back. Before he could set another step, a tremor shook him to a standstill. At once, the gentle, golden rays seeping in through the ceiling cracks turned red. Not the warm vermillion of sundown, but rather, a sickly crimson, stifling every other bit of light like a bloody fog. At once, the woods around them turned dead quiet. Not a leaf dared to rustle. Then, another tremor, rattling the rusty nails in the floorboards and shaking dust loose from the ceiling. At once, Ghirahim felt it. Deep in his soul, a roar and a magnetic pull, urging him to flee the house. Yet, he remained frozen in place.

Zant looked up, peering intently out what little window he could see. He whispered.

“Ganon.”

Ghirahim did not notice when he stepped into Zant’s range, but he must have, because a hand suddenly clasped around his wrist. Zant stared at him intently.

“It’s time. Take us there,” he insisted, clamping on with a tightness a man this frail shouldn’t be able to manage. “Somewhere safe. A vantage point. I must see him perish with my own eyes – I’ll trust no one’s account on it.”

Ghirahim furrowed his brows, revolted, but soon stopped struggling against him. Either way, there was a deep instinctual need that drew him to the battle Ganon now was entangled in. If he dragged Zant along, the man could do very little harm to begin with. But what allured him most, was the thought of leaving him there to be discovered. Zant’s naive drivel had, once again, drawn his ire. The effort Ghirahim had spent in keeping him alive may very well have been a fallacy, should he change his mind now… But to bring him directly before his old Master may very well reinstate his position by Ganondorf’s side. 

And, if he was lucky, in his hands. This was his very last chance. 

—

As they arrived, within a second, Ghirahim saw his last chance slip from him, vanishing into thin air. He had taken Zant with almost suspicious eagerness, situating the both of them atop the cliffs that surrounded Hyrule Field. Stroking a hand through his hair, he propped the man in the shadow of a great tree. Leaning on makeshift crutches as he was, lacking his helmet, he would need to be a semblance of safe. Or at least feel the part. 

But when Ghirahim turned to face the battlefield, to where his Master was bringing chaos to the lands of Hyrule, he lost any hope he had. The source of the ground-shaking pounding of hooves, of the malice-filled roars, was unmistakable. There rampaged Ganon, Demon King, reducing the once-green fields to a barren wasteland under the deep-red skies. He was colossal, resembling the man he knew only by his fiery red mane. Now, he tore through barricades in the form of a boar, with tusks like battering rams and clawed fists decimating men by the dozens just by galloping past. In his wake, keeps had crumbled, monsters had feasted, and a gigantic sword had lodged itself in the most suitable pedestal of all: Hyrule Castle.

Zant limped to the edge of the shadow to stand behind Ghirahim, close enough for him to hear the manic giggle under his breath over the carnage.

“Magnificent, isn’t it? All that power. That is what the Triforce contains.”

It was. He was dazzling, awe-inspiring, enough to bring the demon to his knees, eyes and mouth agape. The world trembled before the Great King of Evil, who had brought ruin to the once-so-grand Hyrule Castle, and swept any resistance aside with a single swing of his hand. But it was also terribly, terribly, wrong.

“... He’s lost his mind. I have seen this before. Ganondorf, as we have known him, is gone. There will be no more negotiations, no more allegiances, and no Kingdom to rule. The Princess must have pushed him over the edge –”

“And he’s taking everything down with him,” Ghirahim finished, the words leaving him in a quiver, like it was the last breath he would ever take. He fell to his knees.

Zant had the gall to snicker. “Oh, but he will not win. He cannot, not if – Ah, there you have it.”

As if struck by some unseen force, Bestial Ganon recoiled. Attacks once focused on the Demon himself now veered to the Colossus Blade lodged in Hyrule Castle, instead. Ghirahim remembered this sword – forged for the hands of Giants, only to be seized by the clutches of Hell, and made into a conduit for the Demon King. If it functioned anything like the one kept in Demise’s palace, it would have served as an amulet, to cast a protective spell over its Master. 

And now, it was being bombarded by a deluge of shimmering arrows, and wicked little birds carrying explosives in their talons. It all pitter-pattered on the midnight steel like prismatic rain, but the shriek of cracking metal was no less foreboding. Though Ganon chased them down, with the arrival of the Rito, all troops were heading for the Castle to reclaim it. Ganon tore through brick and mortar with enough force to crack one of his horns clean off, but it was too late. Launching the demon boar back, the Colossus Sword shattered. Though no less dangerous, Ganon was now vulnerable. 

Ghirahim whipped around to glare at the man behind him. Those eyes looked on the ensuing chaos like nothing was out of place. “You know more than you let on. Spit it out.”

Zant squinted his eyes nearly shut with a wide grin. “Ah, well… It was a gamble on my part, but I confess. Do you remember Chancellor Meherat?”

Ghirahim grimaced at him fiercely enough that no words were necessary to get him to continue.

“I intercepted her in the desert, buried her in a shallow grave. But not before planting a letter on her body, detailing some… Educated guesses, on how he might attempt to conquer the Castle. I’d hoped her traitor-sisters might find the body and give her a proper burial, and I was correct. I’m almost a little taken aback by how well something so brash seems to have worked.”

Ghirahim at once flew back to his feet and lunged at the Twili. He grabbed him fiercely by the tabbard, tugging him down to eye-level with his fangs bared… But past his enraged panting, found he couldn’t force a single word to form. With every anguished bellow behind him, his grip on Zant slackened. He couldn’t bring himself to turn around and look. So he buried his face in the fabric of Zant’s cloak, and let it soak up every tear he spilled. When Zant brought his hand to his back and stroked it softly, he wanted to recoil. He wanted to shake off his wretched affection, sprint down to the battlefield and come to his Master’s aid, but all was hopeless. In this state, Ganon would not even recognize him. Not as his ally, not as his blade. He would shatter him to splinters on the spot.

Ganondorf had broken his promise. Ghirahim would never return to his hand.

So, defeated and ensnared in the Twilight King’s web, Ghirahim gave up. He hid himself from the sight of his dying Master, as the monomaniac he clung to looked on in fiendish delight, nearly drooling at the power he coveted.

Until, as the clamor continued, Zant prodded at him to catch his attention. “Ghirahim,” he hissed. “We have been spotted.”

Mind gone muggy from his despair, Ghirahim sluggishly turned to where Zant urged him. Surely, at a distance, there stood a trio of blue-clad Hyrulean soldiers – two Hylians and a Rito. They were almost mere specks in the yards between them, but certainly eye-locked, nonetheless. 

Zant leaned in, whispering as though they might hear from such a distance. “It is in our best interest that Hyrule believes we are dead. We cannot afford witnesses.”

Ghirahim stared a little longer, but soon the Rito braced himself, flapping his wings to take off in flight. 

“So, what are you waiting for?” Zant chimed, extending his bony hand in the direction of the now-fleeing group. “Go, Yima Gradiegra. Kill.”

Ghirahim hadn’t realized how he’d hungered for such words until the command alone blazed fire within him. Before he’d even registered it in his mind, his feet took off in a sprint. All his fatigue, his listlessness, had disappeared, peopling his mind instead with this newly-acquired purpose. With bloodlust.

Kill. 

The first head rolled. The next drew a sword on him, only to find his blade flying into the dirt and himself skewered in a flash. Downy feathers fluttering down from above reminded Ghirahim of the Rito, who had taken off beyond his reach. With a snap of his fingers, Ghirahim sent a cloud of daggers whistling through the skies and plunging themselves into the plumed flesh of his target. With a squawking scream and a few futile wingbeats, the Rito sank in the air, and plummeted down to the ground. 

Only when he pounced on the already corpse-bound soldier to carve his throat for good measure, did a call of his name snap him out of this droning state. Without even looking back at the carnage he’d left, he winked himself back to Zant, and hid himself in his arms.

“Excellent work, my Blade… You and I, we shall have Hyrule at our feet.”

Those words, those hands stroking his back, encouragingly… Something burned within him and it sickened him. Enough to burrow further in those wretched arms. It was not just the sights of war Ghirahim hid from. Not just the unbearable reality of watching his Master die before him a second – no, third time. Most of all, he hid from the off chance he would meet Ganon’s eye from afar and have him see the spark of delight that lingered there. The shame it would bring to admit he had followed another man’s commands – a mortal, – and found joy in it… It would be far easier, were He to die without knowing of it.

So Ghirahim let Him. In the shadows of the Twili’s cloak, he could see nothing, but the deafening sounds of the clash behind him spoke volumes. An army of demons, falling to the hands of flesh-born men. The mightiest of them all, slain by the powers of light. As he had time, and time, and time again. For once, Ghirahim had the privilege to avert his gaze from his Master’s fall. Though he took it, he regretted it in an instant. 

But this regret did not last long. His eyes snapped wide open when he heard a low rumble, followed by a horridly familiar giggle. A shockwave soon launched the both of them back. Ghirahim, still hidden in Zant’s arms, landed on top of the injured man completely unceremoniously. When he raised himself to see what pushed them back, he came upon clear amber skies of dusk, and Hyrule Field green and spry as if nothing had ever touched it. A crumbled land, bathed in golden light, stretched out before him.

“Ghirahim, my ribs,” groaned the man below him. Though addressed, Ghirahim lingered just a few seconds longer than necessary, before turning to sit beside him. Listlessly, he pulled his knees to his chest.

“Now, I truly cannot go back.”

“No,” said Zant. “But we can start anew, once more.”

Ghirahim deigned to respond. He supposed they would have to. 

So, they returned to that little forest town, as bit by bit, the World returned to normal for the victors. The two of them noticed nothing of these efforts, other than their bond slowly returning, as much as Ghirahim wished to struggle against it. With his last tethers to his True Master now gone, there was little, so, so very little, tying him to the wishes of his past life. Day, after day, Ghirahim’s walls chipped away, allowing that old fondness to peer cheekily at him through the cracks in the mortar. Captive and Keeper, Victim and Tormentor, Blade and Master. Conniver, and Target. Such words he would once have used for their dynamic, but he had no word for what it was melting into. The life they led, sheltered in these woods, defied everything he knew. 

It was bare, it was calm, it was quiet, this one-man sick bay. These days, the most excitement Ghirahim got was the occasional target practice on a woodland bird, that he could then feed to his patient. If they’d wanted, they could have fled, then, a pair of deserters never to be heard from again. But, deceptively, in these moments of peace, Zant was letting his plot simmer. A man like him would never have been content with a simple life. 

Neither was Ghirahim. Not for one minute did he consider this drag of an affair his possible future life. If he could not have Demise, then he would at the very least have vengeance. Now that Ganondorf could not give that to him, he would take it himself. Hyrule would burn for what it did.

Ghirahim dapped a wet rag on the gash by Zant’s forehead. Arterial scabs were stubborn to heal, and on Twili, this seemed to be no different. By all means, there was no reason for him to keep doing this. Zant was able to sit up by himself just fine and had long abandoned his fever. Yet, with so little to do but wait, not even an army below him to amuse himself with, he’d rather care for this fool and feel useful than sit around. When he finished reapplying the bandages, Zant thanked him with a coo and a stroke of his thumb across his cheek. Then, he requested from him his field guide, that strange hobby of his. Though he’d traded calligraphy ink for graphite, Zant was no less eager in his scholarly pursuits and would sit, hunched, working on sketches and descriptions of creatures whose appearances he’d long committed to memory. Ghirahim was thankful for these moments. There were only a few forces in this world that could rip Zant from his concentration now, and he wasn’t up to such nonsense that day. 

So, he did what he would every time the house got quiet. He went for a walk. At first, he would just explore the ruined town at his leisure, perhaps turn over a stone they had missed when they first came here and find anything of intrigue whatsoever. On the third evening, though, far into the woods, he began to hear voices. Whether it was the fairies, or huntsmen, or soldiers looking for the last monstrous hideouts, he was not keen on finding out. What if, upon the sight of him, they would scatter, and spread word of his survival to Hyrule? No, he would much rather ambush them than seek them out. Since then, he’d taken to calling his habit of wandering a patrol.

On the eighth day of his roaming, an unfamiliar sound sent his hair standing on end, and his fingers braced to summon his weapon. It was a rattle; not like the clacking of branches, as he was used to, but like the shaking of an instrument. Hollow… As his eyes scanned his surroundings, he remembered something Zant said, so long ago now. He, too, complained of hearing such a sound at the edge of the woods when Ghirahim himself could perceive no such thing. Did he, somehow, transfer this madness to him?

But madness it was not. For soon, the rattling returned, this time accompanied by a troubled little whine. Then, out from the bushes, a strange creature barely the height of his knees came toddling towards him. It seemed to be entirely made out of wood, with stumpy limbs, antlers like branches, and a painted leaf stuck to it, serving as its face. Once it had confirmed Ghirahim could see it (doubtlessly through his bewildered, and somewhat disgusted look), it spoke.

“ᚺᛁᛏ:ᚾᛖ:ᛊᛁ:ᛊᛈᚱᛖᚲᚨ��ᚨ:ᚹᛁᚦᚱᚨ:ᛃᚢᛉ:ᛁᛏ:ᚷᚱᚨᚢᛏᚨᛉ:ᛒᚱᛖᛊᛏᚨᚾᚨ:ᚾᛖ:ᛚᚨᛁᛒᛁᛃᚨᚾᚨ! ᚠᚢᛚᚷᚨᚾᚨ:ᛗᛖᚲ!”

Of course, Ghirahim understood not a word of what it had just said, but had an idea of what it wanted. It waddled away from him with great urgency, only to turn and jump up and down a few paces later. Ghirahim looked behind him, thinking what would become of Zant, were he too stray too far… Well, if he was spirited away, that wouldn’t matter to him anymore, would it? With his true purpose gone, his sense of caution had also gone almost entirely slack. He decided he didn’t much care for the consequences of following woodland creatures into the thicket. So he just did that, and set off after the panickedly bouncing creature. Every once a while, it hopped high enough to see past the tall grass. Which was a thoughtful, but unnecessary gesture. He had long since set his dowsing to the odd little thing, and could follow it to the ends of the continent if he had to. 

It had already been later in the day when Ghirahim departed their shelter, but the light in the forest grew ever more ochre as he chased after his odd chaperone. They passed through wisps of fog, which were familiar in their chill… For a moment, Ghirahim thought the moment of his disappearance must have arrived, and the soaring sound of wind seemed to agree. Until, with just a few steps, the clouds pulled away at once, and his sight could not have been more clear. The wooden creature guiding him then came to a sudden halt, refusing to go any further. When Ghirahim stopped behind it, it quickly grew anxiously irritated. Squeaking some unintelligible request, it got up behind him and started pushing him in the calves, urging him to go on. Generously, he complied. Less generously, he took offense to this undignified interaction, and promptly kicked the creature off of him. It led out some little cry of pain, tumbled backwards into the brush, and, alive nonetheless, scurried out of sight.

The last stretch the pixie expected him to walk was short, as soon he waded past a juvenile treeline to find a clearing. In the middle of it, hovering above the gnarled stump of a felled tree, was Majora. And, the poor sod it inhabited, slumped over in the air like a marionette at rest. The second Ghirahim stepped closer, though, the puppet came to life. Glowing a deep purple, it shrieked a little, before rapidly jerking its arms to and fro. Having sufficiently awakened, its mask leered down at him.

“Ahh, how nice of you to join meee, Ghi-ra-hi mmm,” spoke the mask, hitching on each vowel like a rusty hinge. Majora’s host convulsed, creaked, its master forcing its head into jittering angles. 

Somewhat unnerved, but unwilling to show it, Ghirahim crossed his arms and managed a pleasant greeting. “Good evening, Great Gluttony. Your vessel is looking a little worse for wear.”

“Yesss-s-s-ss, it is becoming… Too small for me ee e. Crampedddd d. T t t. But it matters not. Not for me, and not for it. W itness me.”

The puppet stopped shivering. Its arms fell limply by its side. Hand by hand, it then began to grasp at its face, feeling around for the edge of the mask. Gloved hands, their talons poking through the fabric, found the opening of the puppet’s jaw and yanked. 

From its open mouth, a claw surfaced. More curled around the rim, one by one, until an entire draconic hand forced itself through the far-too-small opening, and slammed itself into the ground. From this anchoring point, Majora pulled itself out. Wild, iridiscent manes pooled from the defenseless Skull Kid in an avalanche, until from this mass of fur, an armored dragon burst outward. The mask, once stuck to the vessel, now rooted itself to the dragon’s face, leeching into its flesh by pulsing, pink veins.

It bristled and shook. The last of its body wormed itself unnaturally from the beak of its vessel, like a snake shedding its skin. With a single flick of its furred tail, it had completed this metamorphosis, and discarded the Skull Kid against a nearby tree with a thwack. 

Now before Ghirahim, the towering mountain of armor and mane that it was, stood Majora, the spitting image of its former self. Once, it was more massive than this, yet Ghirahim was dwarfed before it. The tips of its horns almost grazed the lower canopy of these infant woods as it sat. Where its colors were muted and meager millennia past, the bright colors of its sealing curse had turned it into a veritable prism. Through the trees, the light of the setting sun enshrined its wispy fur in an infernal halo, leaving Ghirahim imprisoned in its shadow. The Great Gluttony, Arch-Demon of the Timeless Lands, had returned to this realm.

Well, for as long as that mask could keep this form up, at least. It rumbled with satisfaction, shaking out its head to dislodge its fur from its triple set of horns. As it moved, the plates of its armor clanked together like cymbals. Ch-Ch-Chsss!

“Charmed. Anyhow,” said Ghirahim, thoroughly unamused and checking his manicure. “A little woodland sprite hassled me to come pay you a visit.”

Majora grimaced, for as far as a reptilian face could do so. It dropped itself to the ground, folding its claws comfortably. “Messing around with fairies? Have you learned nothing from our last encounter?”

Stepping back slightly from the gnarled purple face leering closely at him, Ghirahim kept his countenance cold. “I’ve learned to spot a trail when I see it. Now, what do you want from me? I’m a very busy man.”

Majora wagged its head side to side almost cheerfully. “Oh, I wanted nothing more than to say my thanks for the little nudge you’ve given me. And, of course, to have you witness my return to glory,” it said and raised its behind. Curving into an arc, Majora stretched out its long-dormant body. “It’s been soooo long since I could properly stretch my legs!”

“I don’t recall doing a single thing for you. But, if it gets you out of my hair, then I most gratefully accept.”

Sitting back down with a gasp, Majora had its eyes wide and grin wry. “You truly must give yourself more credit, your lordship! Had it not been for your oh-so punctual summoning, I wouldn’t have had enough power to feed!”

Majora sat up on its haunches, coloring its words with gestures of its claws. “With the lives you sacrificed in the Desert, I could finally clamp my jaws into a long-desired target. All of Ganondorf’s misery, mine, all mine!”

Standing in the dragon’s shadow, Ghirahim widened his eyes and covered his mouth in shock. But before he could sink into guilt over complicity in his Master’s death, Majora took his expression alone as a cue to keep babbling. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. How else do you think Hyrule returned to peace so quickly? This place would have been a wasteland, had even a drop of his rage been left to simmer. By all means, I’m such a nice little demon! The Hylians should love me.”

Amidst that self-satisfied prattling, Ghirahim could have been gnawing his nails clean off. Had he not accepted Majora’s offer, then it wouldn’t have been able to, ‘eat Ganondorf’s misery,’ as it said. But then, did this contribute to Ganon’s defeat? Had he, by purging Gerudo Valley, ensured that untimely demise? Or was Majora merely a scavenger, picking the scraps off the Demon King’s carcass? 

Could he be certain Zant hadn’t known all this, the second they left those woods, mere months ago?

Nail polish sticking to his teeth, he was quickly snapped out of his thoughts by large, shimmering talons pawing at him. “Ghirahim!! Lookie-look! My little vessel seems to have survived. How quaint!”

Just by the tree where Majora left the little creature, small squeaks and groans emitted from a beaten form. It sat up shakily, patting at itself. Said vessel’s true face was now revealed. It was a featureless, shadowy thing, with two glowing beady eyes and a sparrow’s beak. Soon, that beak burst open, freeing an anguished wail. Unintelligible babbles poured from it, prompting the two distraught fairies beside it to start dragging it to the shrubbery, doubtlessly perturbed by the pair of demons glaring down at them. But being parted from what was once its mask only made the childish thing shriek harder. Nevertheless, the fairies prevailed in their escort, as more and more of them poured from the woods to help pull it away. 

“Poor thing,” tutted Majora, watching along. “It must have gotten attached to me. And who can blame it? Power is alluring, even as it devours you.”

Ghirahim turned, feeling thoroughly addressed, to indeed find Majora looking at him closely. When their eyes met, it flashed its teeth with a grin and got back to its feet, prowling circles around him. Ghirahim felt his hand itching for his blade. Why did he come here unarmed?

“Either way, once more,” Majora purred, teeth still bared past its lips. The marks on its mask coiling, coiling, coiling, in the illusion of its shimmering scales. “I thank you two for your generous assistance. Consider your debt from the Lost Woods… Thoroughly repaid.”

Yet the intimidation display shook Ghirahim none. It could prowl around him all it wanted, he would not be prey. 

“Us two?” Hook, line, and sinker. “So, you were aware of Zant’s intentions, all along? Have you both wound me up in your cahoots behind my back?”

Majora stopped in its tracks, but Ghirahim would be hard-pressed to find even a split second of insecurity in that wicked face. “Cahoots? Oh, I didn’t have to get involved with him whatsoever to know his intentions,” it said. “They were clear as day! But, even though I poked around him a bit… He most likely does not even know I exist.”

So, his two tormentors just so happened to get viciously lucky. Ghirahim didn’t believe a lick of it. Though, the idea of the Arch-Demon breaking past Zant’s mental wards unnoticed… It was as unlikely as it was intriguing.

Guilt turned to contempt in a flash. He now saw Majora as responsible for the death of his beloved Master, rather than a tool that ran haywire under his watch. His apprehension, as such, disappeared just as quickly. Anger scrubbed every courtier’s discretion from him, and returned to him his true foul temper of a Demon. Ghirahim crossed his arms and faced Majora. 

“If you supposedly know everything, surely you can tell me if Zant is hiding anything else from me.”

He very quickly saw that boldness cost him. Majora approached him, placing each claw carefully before the last in an elegant prowl, and burst into laughter once it was right before him. Just then, it braced itself, bristled its fur to become a mountain of shimmering fleece, and hurled itself at him.

Ghirahim yelled out as he was pounced. Had he thought quick enough, he could have summoned his sabre and buried its tip in the pink flesh of its throat, bared as it was when it guffawed at him. But he hadn’t, so pinned between its claws, he stumbled to the floor, and let it loom over him.

“You are getting greedy, imp,” hissed Majora, inches away from his face. The colors in its eyes pulsed with warning. “By all means, I have been generous with my information… Yet you demand more? Knew I not steel to taste terribly…”

“You cannot blame me for trying –”

“I can,” it growled.

Yet in its rage, Ghirahim found his escape. His one hand concealed under the bulk of the dragon’s scaled claw, he snapped his fingers, and promptly disappeared from under its grip. Instantly annoyed, Majora hobbled in a circle, only to find Ghirahim sitting on a branch above just out of its reach.

“Right, then, I suppose I will have to find out some other way,” said Ghirahim, idly swaying his leg over the edge of the branch. “If neither of us have anything else to tell each other, I assume our little parley ends here.”

Majora flexed its talons, for a moment looking as if it would jump up and scuff him. But it narrowed its eyes in a relinquished temper. 

It sat back down. “If that’s how you want to part, fine by me. You’re dismissed, ‘Demon Lord’.”

“Wonderful. I hope to be seeing very little of you, Great Gluttony Majora. Enjoy the new skin. I found mine suited me quite well.”

With another snap of his fingers, he was out of sight of the clearing. He felt like a buzzing in his head finally faded, while he hadn’t even noticed it come on as he spoke with Majora. With a few more paces, it had gone completely. Just as he, Majora had departed. As it did, the forest took just a moment of quiet; held its breath. Then, it sighed collectively, a knee-height plume of fog pouring in through every crack. Above him, at his feet, and every which way, chittering and chirping filled his empty head in gratitude. He supposed, for now, the annoyance of fairies was preferable to the hatred and regret he’d left simmering on the backburner after the encounter of mere moments ago. 

It was time to head back.

Ghirahim shambled back through the treeline. Gossamer fog pulled away from him like a sigh the further he departed from that clearing, the fairies’ cries faded with every step. As luck would have it, he’d let himself be lured into the woods by the Fair Folk, and they hadn’t even had the decency to spirit him away.

Back he went to his house of conspiracy. With that excuse for escape now locked behind him, Ghirahim felt an odd sense of peace. A resigned one, but peace nonetheless. 

Ghirahim neared the edge of the forest, but did not yet surface from it. Through the leaves, the last light of dusk colored his surroundings golden, tree trunks carving big black pillars of shadows all throughout this dying light. These shadows made for a fine hiding spot, but not at all from the man looking for him. It then struck him just how long he must have spent with Majora, even if at the time, it seemed like minutes.

Which meant all the more that he should quit dawdling. Ghirahim stepped through the mouth of the little elephant path he’d followed before and entered the town. 

His King was waiting for him there. Zant sat on a stack of firewood outside the house, staring at the first stars speckling the skies. On his hands, he was idly letting some kind of beetle tromp along his wheeling fingers. He perked up from his thoughts when Ghirahim’s arrival rustled the thicket. The two met eyes.

“Gone for a bit of an evening walk?”

“Indeed. You don’t mind, do you?” Ghirahim scoffed. “Surely, you can manage an hour or two without me?”

Zant smiled, turquoise flashing through the marks of his forehead. “Yes, I can, but I would prefer not to,” he responded, beckoning him over to sit with him. Ghirahim only half-refused, opting to lean against the shack wall behind him, instead. 

With a brief pause, Zant looked over his shoulder to address him. “Right, ah… Listen, Ghirahim. I wish to divulge the next step of my plans with you.”

Ghirahim hummed, cocking his head. “Just about time, I’d say.”

While Zant should have expected snark, he clearly didn’t. A little caught off guard and flustered, he continued. “... Yes, my apologies. I –”

“Oh, please,” interrupted Ghirahim. “I don’t want any excuses. Just tell me.”

Zant nodded sheepishly, then scraped together what little dignity he could. “I will allow myself a few more days of rest, six at the latest. We will reclaim the Triforce of Power first, but we cannot take the Valley with just the two of us. We will need troops.”

So, that’s what he wanted all along. Ghirahim couldn’t even find it in him to be surprised. Perhaps somewhere, he’d hoped that Zant was content with Ganon’s death alone. But, always there was more. His Master and Zant, both, thirsted for Hyrule’s throne. It was to be expected that he would follow through, and, with enemies like theirs… They’d need some seriously hefty tools for the job. Taking the Triforce was the next logical step. 

‘We can start anew,’ indeed… They were back at square one. 

The lack of response made his companion nervous. Somewhat anxiously tapping his foot in the dirt by his seat, Zant continued. “The Bulblin Clans have been loyal to me before, and they are easier to persuade than most. When I have recovered, we will recruit them first thing.”

Eyes cast to the ground, Ghirahim hummed, crossed his arms. So, their little getaway was to end so soon.

Zant shifted in his seat. He looked up at him. “But, in the meantime, Ghirahim, I want to ask you a favor.”

“And what would that be?” Ghirahim asked, tipping his head. Might as well humor him.

“I have been resigned to bedrest for too long, and I fear I have grown sluggish. For both our sakes, Ghirahim, teach me how to wield you again.”

Ah, this was it. Just as he’d predicted, Zant was to break through his walls, and free what part of himself he had so thoroughly kept locked away. Smothered no more, the little dagger that loved him so pressed itself to the gate of its prison, and awaited its opening with bated breath. They would give it what it wanted. The Demon Scimitar was made to be wielded, just as he was. At least a part of him should feel that satisfaction.

So, saying nothing, Ghirahim pulled the Twili to his feet. In doing so, the wobbly creature stumbled into him, squeaking in surprise. That saved him the trouble of pulling him close, he supposed. Hands at his sides, Ghirahim craned his head up to look at him, daring him to act. Zant had wronged him, worse than he thought he ever could. Yet, Ghirahim saved his life, twice over. The least he could do now was show him that he at least had the guts to assert himself. Ghirahim would not lead this dance.

After some deliberation, the wide-eyed gawking of his amber eyes and wiggling fingers on reserved hands, Zant made his move at last. One lanky arm curled around his waist, as it would always do, while the other hovered above his chest. For once, it was Zant avoiding his gaze, not the other way around. All this effort, all this plotting, all these meticulous efforts to secure his usurpation… And now he could not even touch the one he called his lover. He was a fool. A coward. And Ghirahim would not stand for it. So he tested what Majora claimed it had done.

He pierced through that frail, mortal mind at once. Of course, against his Gradiegra, he’d built no wards. Ghirahim seized him firmly by what tethers he could grab, and commanded him.

Look at me.

With a yelp, Zant obeyed at once. And when those glowing eyes found the deep, void pupils of his own, Zant faltered. His hand fell on his chest and the Scimitar was beckoned. Their souls latched together, just like that. Crack, crack, Twilit magic slowly peeling away the skin to his core to lay bare that precious gem. Where he was once apprehensive, Zant quickly became eager. For a powerful blade was just that, and he would chase after such an allure without cease. Even if it meant toying with the heart of the one who mattered most to him. Especially then. But it was not just Ghirahim’s deepest self brought to light – he still had Zant ensnared, like fingers wrapping around his throat. As his questing magic lapped at the edges between them, Ghirahim saw every inch of him. Through his mind, through his hands, and through his eyes, so close to him now.

So was the truth to be revealed. Zant had not changed. After parting his veil of lies, Ghirahim expected to find a completely different man hiding behind. But he did not. All that had changed was the light he saw him in. And how dazzling it was, pointing at his every nook and cranny, bright as day! He’d torn him open, baring every ugly rotten part of him, that stabbed and plotted and hated, so, so deeply, sticking out from his flesh like hooks to gutted fish. And yet, amidst all now in plain sight, Zant’s eyes looked at him that very same way. A laughably simple plea for affection glinted in the wetness of his eyes. Somehow, even when orchestrating a grander scheme than Ghirahim could even dream of doing, a deathly weapon within reach, Zant could think to wish for his companionship – No, to strive for it, to hold it tight and make it his own. As if it could be of any importance, as if Ghirahim cared, as if he expected him to simply forgive him overnight. All just because he loved him.

They were the same, in this way. They’d ripped each other apart and sat panting across each other, hands drenched in each others’ deepest parts. In this idiotic, violent act, the borders between them had blurred and slurried together.

Oh, how they were the same. And how gently Zant traced his fingers along the measly wall that kept them separate. Hoping, perhaps, that a tender touch now might ease the violence that would come later. It would not, but the sentimentality of it all would bring mirth to even this demon. Nevertheless, Ghirahim groped his wrist, dragging him along to place his hand square on his chest. Ghirahim then wished nothing more than to be breached. To return the favor, to mend what was broken. The gentle flutter of eyelashes and Zant’s shaky breath tickling his skin made the wait unbearable. All at once, the heat in his body gathered in his chest, and its surface cracked. His core was within view, within touch. Enter me. Let us blur together some more.

So, Zant’s fingers slipped past him. Dodging his sharpest facets, and plunging directly into the molten heat of his core, Zant made his way to that promised hilt. And as his hand drew closer to its goal, so too did their bodies draw together. They hid in each other, their faces buried into the napes of each others’ necks. Like this, Ghirahim could feel every wince, every drop of sweat from that awful Twili, who struggled through his endurance to keep his hand in the blazing heat of his chest. Ghirahim smiled a wicked smile, and at last, embraced the man who tried so hard for him.

“By the eighteen Hells, I hate you,” Ghirahim hissed. But how I missed this love. 

“Then, forged by the fires of those Hells, and your burning hatred, Yima Oibede, let me draw our blade.”

Ghirahim laughed in mockery. Yet, all the same, he jut his chest forward, and in doing so, pushed the pommel of the blade he’d hidden into Zant’s hand. Such tenderness had earned him this gift; embraced as he was, with each engrossed in nothing but the other. For a sword was equally made to be held, as it was made to kill. 

Spindly fingers finally dared to curl around the grip of him. But when Zant tugged, he found it stuck. Once again, the blade was incomplete – after such a betrayal, the image of their bond had irrevocably changed. So, the little dagger that embodied it had to change, too. This time, when the blade sapped Zant of his strength, he did not yelp, he did not even flinch. Readily, he poured his magic into it, and let its threads be woven into a truly wicked sword.

Ghirahim hated it. He wanted that composure shattered and he wanted it fast. So he sunk his teeth into the tender flesh of Zant’s neck and let him squirm. And, though indeed, his reaction was as delicious as the taste of his blood, it only lasted so long. Zant, driven by what could only be instinct, snarled with bared teeth and bit him back. Like two wild dogs entangled in strife, they took from each other, one pulling at shards of the soul, and the other savoring drops of blood. Ghirahim let ichor leave him past the holes left in him by needle teeth, and Zant lapped it up, even if by all means, it could poison him. 

Zant whined at him through black-stained lips. “Ghirahim-ili… How I’ve longed to rule with you by my side.” 

With that promise, Zant freed the blade with one last tug. It burst from him, spurting an arc of white-hot liquid metal in its trail as Zant held it by their side. The Demon Scimitar has returned to his hand, once wicked but now gnarled, black and red in hatred and the love of a bleeding heart. Even with this blade in his hand, as instrumental a key it was in his plans, Zant never took his eyes off the scabbard in his arms.

When they kissed, it was like lightning. Fierce, shocking, and above all, bold, serving to release their bottled-up affections and frustrations both. With the taste of iron on their lips, they sealed their blood pact in this way. A promise of carnal pleasure, turbulent love, and of course, with blade in hand… The violent glory of battle. 

When they parted, neither of them could say how long they’d stood there in lip-lock, though the smearing of blood and cosmetics gave them an idea. 

Now, Zant stepped back, his arm still loosely resting on Ghirahim’s waist. He finally took the time to survey the changes to their blade. A grin stretched across his face… He likely didn’t even notice it did.

“Beautiful, Ghirahim-ili,” he said, turning it in his hand to drink in every angle. “I would go to war with no other blade.”

Ghirahim slipped from his embrace and laughed. “Then prove it. Let’s fight.”

Ghirahim drew his own blade, one simple and heavy. He did not have the concentration to summon anything more thoughtful, for his core hummed and buzzed far too erratically to let him even think of a careful choice. The man whose hands just plunged into his soul and pulled out his own piece stood before him… With his stance too wide and his arms wobbling. Where Ghirahim wanted to again spiral into conflict and despair, he now puffed out a laugh. 

“Last time I struck you in the chin for such sloppy stancework, Zant, but I’m a little hesitant to do so, without your helmet to guard you.”

Zant grinned. “I don’t think you’re hesitant at all.”

“You’re right,” Ghirahim chimed. At once, he launched for him. Zant flinched, but did not falter, swinging upwards to catch the offending blade on his fingerguard. Of course, Ghirahim didn’t fight him with all his vigor… They were only practicing, after all, and Zant was recovering from the brink of death, still. But every few swings, he found he could hit harder than he anticipated. Only once did Zant’s hands shake enough for their clings to slip, and land him a painful jab to the wards in his armpit. He was still just as careful, as analytical, and as fierce as he was before his bed-ridding… Taking advantage of the new, thorny shapes jutting from the Demon Scimitar, he flicked Ghirahim’s swing off course. 

When Ghirahim was then struck, he stumbled, and realized how he’d been tricked. 

“ ‘Teach me how to wield you again’ ? What an awful excuse! You remember what I’ve taught you just fine,” Ghirahim grimaced, poorly masking a grin with fake rage as he brought the flat of his blade down on Zant’s shoulder. “Deceitful fiend! You baited me.”

“Indeed, I teased you,” Zant whistled through gritted teeth, prying the both of them apart through the locking of their swords. “But I could use the refresher.”

They trained for what felt like hours – not from dull exhaustion, but because the minutes melted away as they clashed their blades under the setting sun. Zant’s joy was infectious – or was it he who had started laughing? – and soon, they chased each other in a true mockery of swordsmanship. They then cared not what bruised or what tore. All that mattered was this dance.

Inbetween manic giggles, Zant reeled him in with glee. “Don’t you feel it, Ghirahim-hasir? The thrill of sparring again? Day, after day, how I’ve longed for this!”

Ghirahim could have berated him then, for having dared dream of such childish things while bringing him such suffering. But to reject this shared joy now, nothing could feel more unnatural. So, he went for the next best thing: a swordmaster’s scolding. He had been merciful with Zant’s sloppy mistakes up until then, but no longer. Whacking right into the Scimitar’s sharp edge, he trapped Zant’s blade in his and wrenched it from his hands with one sweep of his arms. With nothing left to protect him, Zant flinched, staying perfectly in place to then be kicked square in the chest and knocked to the ground.

Sword planted firmly in the soil right beside Zant’s face, Ghirahim stepped over him, one foot at each side of his chest, and leered down. “Then, you ought to long for tomorrow, too, Twilight King. You’re getting rusty.”

Blinking up at him and panting, Zant was frozen in place from his startle and exhaustion. A drop of ichor falling on his cheek thawed him out quickly enough. His fingers curling around his victor’s blade, he smiled.

–

And so, six days went by, with Zant retiring from his bedrest and taking up their blade once more. Before the sun rose, Ghirahim was shaken from a daze to find the bed next to him empty. Stood waiting at the window, eyes wide and staring miles ahead of himself, was Zant. The day to recruit their soldiers had arrived.

They joined hands. Zant knew just where the Bulblins would be that season, and could warp the both of them there, without Ghirahim’s assistance. Since the event of Ganon’s death, Zant had recovered almost to the point of being his old self, if one ignored the gray hairs, the scars, and the dent along his jaw. Magic flowed through his veins once again – if Ghirahim had to hazard a guess, he must have been conservative with it before, not wanting to draw the attention of their Master. He wondered, idly, if sharing a piece of the same Triforce came with a bond he could not have had. Ghirahim shut this line of thought, very quickly, before he could vie for the attention of a dead man all too severely.

They arrived at the outskirts of the Bulblin settlement shortly, just as the sun began to set behind the dry grass. The expanse colored ochre in the light of dusk, almost bloodstained, to cast the camp in a similar light. It was a tall-fenced enclosure, with only some shacks on the outside for the occasional pastoralists… Who were now glaring at them with great scrutiny. Upon wandering a smidge too close to the gate, a small troupe of guards marched up to halt them. Only to then, where they’d been blinded by the sun before, realize who stood before them, and sent one of their numbers to inform the Earl post-haste.

Led through the sea of tents and cabins, they arrived at a large, black, goat-hair tent at the nexus of the settlement. Inside, they found – eyes led to the center by racks upon racks of ornamental weaponry and tapestries – the Bulblin Earl, Lord Hallra, seated upon a wooden throne, and surrounded by smaller blins. 

Upon their entry, Lord Hallra laughed, his arms spread and clutching a massive axe in his right hand. “Shadow Lord Zant,” he shouted, beckoning them to approach. “What a surprise. Word had it you’re dead. Or has your Master resurrected you once more?”

Zant bowed his head, just to be polite. Ghirahim did no such thing. “No, Lord Hallra. I am alive and well. And, here today, of my own accord.”

The Earl leaned forward, his elbow resting on his knee. He wore a cheeky grin. “Then, I take it that you need something from me.”

“Indeed I do,” said Zant, prompted to continue by a gesture of Lord Hallra’s meaty hand. “Your hospitality is much appreciated, Your Excellency, and assures me that our favor with you has not yet faded. I will keep it short. As soon as our forces are ready, I will march for the Valley of Seers. To do this, I need soldiers. Your clans happen to be the finest that I know.”

Flattery. How bold. Ghirahim decided to sit this one out – he had very little to do with the brutes around them, as interested as they seemed to be in him. Doubtlessly, the smaller Bulblins peeking at him through the spear racks were making plans to make some room for him in the armory. 

Lord Hallra, meanwhile, rumbled thoughtfully and sank back into his chair. He ruminated on the offer for a frustratingly long time. Finally, he shook his head, rattling the decorations on his horned helmet. 

“My people have sworn ourselves to you before, Shadow Lord. You are strong, I know this, but we have already pledged our allegiance to Ganondorf before. By all means, he was your superior, and still he failed. I see no reason to join forces with you again.”

Such words were poison to Zant, made vile by the mentioning of his former Master. Zant recoiled accordingly but did not back down. “Ganondorf was a fool, and so was I, when I followed him the first time. He was under the impression that he could rule alone, abandoning those who served him to keep his throne of ashes to himself. He did so in the Age of Twilight, and he would have done so again. My usurpation of Hyrule now will be very different from back then. I will not settle for a mere piece of the Triforce. This time, we will claim all of its power in full, for our own.”

Though he seemed ready to have the two dismissed just seconds before, Lord Hallra sat back in his throne, scratching at his beard with intrigue. “Curious, then, how you didn’t attempt taking it before.”

“Back then I did not know I could. The Triforce will only settle in the palms of those with its birthright. Unless you know how to tear it from them.”

“Hah! I don’t suppose you can simply tell me?”

Just then, Zant exchanged a glance with Ghirahim. They at once spotted a weakness in Lord Hallra’s otherwise powerful stature. An obvious fracture to Ghirahim, but seemingly, just as clear to his companion. Zant was a demon in this way. A desire – and if the Earl had something to wish for, so did the Twilight King have a bargaining chip.

Naturally, Zant sunk his teeth into the opportunity with a smile and amicably raised hands. “You spoke of our allegiance before. Centuries past for you, and mere months ago for me. I remember it clearly. Particularly, how you abandoned your bond to me when Hyrule’s Hero bested you in battle.”

At the first sign of a frown from Lord Hallra, Zant stepped closer. Sand puffed up from the tapestry below his brass slipper. “The Bulblins are an honorable people. You follow the strongest. With Hyrule’s victory over Ganondorf, I do suppose that would make Queen Zelda your superior, but I know neither of you would fancy such an alliance. Instead, I propose the following.”

Reaching behind him, Zant took the hand of his Sword without having to look for him. He held him as if escorting him to a dance, feather-light. “Lord Hallra, I challenge you to a duel. If I am the victor, the Bulblins will serve me with their numbers in overtaking the Valley of Seers once more. Should you win, I will surrender, and with it, bestow the knowledge upon you that shall lead you to the Triforce. It will be yours to command, and yours alone.”

As Zant spoke, the pudge of Lord Hallra’s cheeks dented more and more under the force of his knuckles as he leaned his face upon them. With that last sentence, a spark of greed lit in his eyes and raised his brows – the bane of all Men. “... Hah! You pillock. Ganondorf would never have proposed such a promising offer.”

Zant’s smile did not even twitch. Slowly raising his hand, he led Ghirahim closer. “Did I not tell you my rule would be very different?”

With a chuckle, the Earl lowered his eyes, hiding his gaze behind wrinkled lids and plucky lashes, like straw stuck into his skin. He leaned into the whispers of a Blin beside him, nodding all the while, until so boldly, he grinned widely, and defiantly shook his head. His hand firmly clutched his armrest. He sat up and boomed his answer. “Aye, that you did. Very well. I accept your terms!”

As the sun set, torches lit around the camp. Zant fitted himself in his form-fitting armor and plates beneath his robes, though his helmet remained as absent as it had been. The Earl’s squires, in the meantime, clad him in chainmail, helmet, and banners, every splinter of metal glittering in the flickering light.

In this almost companionable silence, Zant drew the ire of every bulblin in the room, and lightly addressed his fellow duelist. “I must ask for reassurance, Lord Hallra. For the sake of your people, I hope you have procured some heirs.”

Lord Hallra’s eyes remained ever hostile, until the weight of Zant’s words hit him. Jagged teeth bared, he erupted into gut-shaking laughter, pounding the staff of his axe on the ground beside his throne. His underlings burst out in a heckling chortle beside him.

“Shadow Lord. I have lived to see fifty-three monsoons, and in this time, taken four wives. You tell me if you think I have heirs.” Creaking his chair, he leaned forward with a mocking grimace. “Do you?”

“Oh, I do not expect to need them,” Zant waved him off. With a single tug, he pulled his Demon into his arms, one hand bracing on his shoulder. “Ghirahim, our blade, if you will.”

So was the Demon Scimitar drawn. Their entourage was led behind the Earl’s throne room to an open-air battlefield. At the sight of their leader, clad in steel and axe in hand, clamor burst out throughout the camp. Every blin and mount, be they green, red, or magenta, just about plastered themselves to the fence to watch the battle unfold. All were eager to witness their leader off another poser. His people were confident in him and cheered thrice as loud, wishing him his fortunes in defeating their former lieutenant.

And, truth to be told, Lord Hallra was formidable. Decades of pure, honed strength jettisoned his every swing. The massive axe flew through the air, never losing its edge no matter how hard he cleaved it into the dirt. More and more of their arena was destroyed, both men leaving decimation in their wake. The Earl pushed Zant off of him with shoves of his axe handle, or kicks of his feet, or swings of his horns. Against anyone, man or beast, Lord Hallra would fall to no weapon.

Had his opponent not been Zant. Ghirahim could see it in his floaty gait – he was simply stretching time, perhaps to allow this washed-up senior his last moments of glory in front of his people. But when Zant drew his blade; truly drew it, with killing intent palpable enough for Ghirahim to feel it in his soul, it was over in seconds. Shadows trailed Zant as he burst forward, then assailed the Bulblin General from all angles in wicked tendrils. One slice of the Demon Scimitar, and the first of Lord Hallra’s armor was torn through like paper. A second swing, and yellowed fat tissue pooled free from a blood-drenched wound. Before the third could land, the hammer-end of the axe crunched into Zant’s upper arm, but it wasn’t enough to save Hallra’s life.

A flash of darkness. A splatter, a deafening silence from the crowd. Zant limped to the severed head now on the floor and raised it before his army. Their contract was sealed.

[wellmetmat]

@nohoperadio tagged me in an ask meme. I was delighted to get to read their answers and delighted to be tagged. One question is about objects you have some attachment to, and I cannot post merely one or two of those; I am a compulsive fiddler surrounded by graspable objects at all times, and am furthermore very materialistic and like pleasant objects, and a few dozen of them are always tied for first place, so this question needs to be a post unto itself. Will be long, take warning.

"Show us an object in your daily life that you have an emotional attachment to - tell us a little bit about it if you want! (a favourite mug perhaps? socks with a cute pattern? dealers choice)" So keen.

Above:

1. A ring made from scrap copper sheet long ago in a workshop with someone who could solder. It is a reminder of my repeated failure to solder anything later in life. (It does recall failure, but I like its colour: heat-mottled, bright in the scratches. It looks like a speckled fish.)

2. A dark blocky figurine of a man sitting hunched over in despair, face in his hands. This is a wonderful shape to roll around: a carving with some narrative suggestion to it, which is also nearly a ball; brilliant. Because of the man's hopeless curled-up attitude, I also place it on top of stacks of paper I have yet to get to.

3. A sticker of Hans Holbein's portrait of Erasmus, whom I mostly like. It's a fine, distinctive, enjoyable portrait and I like his nose. I got this wishing to put it on either a notebook in which I finally wrote the Reformation theological heist story of my daydreams, or a suitable nonfiction book. I cannot decide on the most suitable book and have never actually written more than five thousand words of continuous story, so the sticker stays unplaced.

4. Two gifts from a friend who does Viking for his historical persona. He made the knife: blade, handle and sheath. He cut out and punch-decorated the brass bird, based on a period original.

A Herne-the-Hunter type I whittled into a camphor laurel stick.

A goose I scratched, based on a Pictish rock-carving.

Tiny toys owned by my mother. They're more than seventy years old. Their smallness always made them appealing.

A ring form I carved in wax once, then never cast (because that's harder and more steps and I went so far as making an attempted backyard furnace and it was lousy). So this, too, is a reminder of failure, but - it's a good object. It didn't reach precision, but it reached a degree of smoothness at which the compulsion to roll it round one's fingers switches on.

I pick up pretty stones and ceramic fragments as I walk, out of tactile covetousness. Some I try to make represent characters or historical people in narratives, as an aid to memory. The cracked crystal, rainbow at its flaw, stands (I decided) for Erasmus, and the blue-glazed shard for Zeus (during an attempt to learn the Hymn to Hermes well enough to tell it).

A pewter badge of membership issued by the historical society I go to, based on a Mongolian gerege.

A (bought) piece of amber whose shape suggests a koala. One day to be a return gift to the friend who made the knife. I delay because it would be good to carve it a bit first.

A pebble from Sherwood Forest. I went to England as a young adult, and was very excited, especially about Sherwood Forest and Canterbury.

A handle I carved (slightly) out of a fallen eucalyptus branch. The wood is hard; it took a lot of sanding. It is lovely in the hand now. I don't know what it should be a handle for; maybe an awl.

I was trying to write out a poem from memory, with good penmanship, for double practice. Of course I muffed both. Then I painted a marginal cassowary to express the anger and disdain my writing deserved. Then it turned out a fairly good cassowary and I couldn't stand to throw the paper out.

Spoon and brass flask-stopper.

Old example notebook. I usually carry around a notebook, and always long to fill it with good drawings and witty writings and helpful notes, and never succeed in so doing, and get attached anyway to my dismally lowbrow and feckless notes and then never throw them away. Alas.

I left my first cloak (a second-hand woolen blanket of a peculiar shade of teal) in a lovely friend's car and she SURPRISE-EMBROIDERED it. And returned it with this note pinned to it. As though I would ask her to remove her surprise embroidery! Pshaw. (The note has been in my treasure box for fifteen years.)

A work mate. I drew him. The carpark was boring.

[petermorwood]

“E” or “O”...?

A comment in the “It Was Sugar!” post wondered if "castor" with an "O" was the American spelling for caster sugar, or a typo.

It’s a typo, but one with an interesting history.

*****

“CastOr” is the spelling when referring to castor oil (pressed from castor beans) and, even older, a hat made from felted beaver fur (Castor canadiensis).

Fans of historical fiction might occasionally read that a character “doffed their castor” - meaning, raised or removed their hat in a token of good manners to ladies or respect to superiors.

"CastEr" is the spelling for a container (or its contents) for strewing, sprinkling or throwing, as in "cast aside" or “cast a shadow”.

In homophones (same-sounding words) such as sow / sew, rein / rain, peal / peel, breach / breech etc., just one letter gives the different meaning.

Words like “cast”, however, depend on context - cast a spell, cast a bell, cast a role, arm in a cast, cast in an eye, cast of the show...

English is like that.

*****

Besides sugar casters for sprinkling sugar, there were “sand casters” of wood, ceramic or metal, which contained the powder used to blot ink before or instead of blotting-paper.

This powder might be fine sand or ground sandarac resin (two reasons for “sand caster”) but also ground cuttlefish bone, or ground pumice which was called “pounce” - the French for pumice stone is “pierre ponce” - in which case the container was called a “pounce pot”.

Blotting a letter with sand or pounce may even be the origin of the phrase “done and dusted”, meaning “job all done”, though that might just derive from a room or house completely cleaned, so YMMV.

Its use is often seen in historical films, though they often get the end of the action wrong by showing writers blowing or shaking the powder off onto the floor.

In fact blotting powder was re-usable, and was poured off the paper back into the pot, whose top was often funnel-shaped to make that easier.

Using sand or pounce continued until fairly recently: here’s a silver writing set - inkstand with matching inkwell and pounce pot / sander - hallmarked 1908.

Fountain-pens were already in use (mass-produced since 1880) though prone to leakage until that problem was fixed in, surprise,1908, so it’s not surprising that this handsome set relied on dip pens. Also, it was probably on the desk of An Important Person who had to write little more than signatures.

The pounce pot is a curious anachronism; I’ve read one source suggesting pounce and sand continued in use because they was cheap, but penny-pinching doesn’t seem an issue here.

Maybe used blotting-paper was considered unsightly, whether as a sheet or mounted on one of those rocker-blotters still used occasionally when signing treaties.

Or maybe pounce was considered more secure; if blotting-paper picks up a good reverse impression of the writing, it can be mirror-read; there’s no way to mirror-read anything from powder.

Writer Note; a fantasy story could mention a spell which makes the pounce or sand reassemble itself as the words it blotted, so re-use is done for more than mere economy. Each time pounce is poured back into the pot it gets a thorough shaking, that world’s version of a micro-cut paper shredder or multi-pass disc wipe.

This was originally about spelling variations, so yet again I seem to have wandered a bit off-topic

I do like the silver desk-set, though.

[somethingsomethingwitchcraft]

Burning Frankincense! I just learned how to, let me show you!

(dime for scale)

Like most people who burn good smelling stuff in their spiritual practice, I've used mostly incense sticks and cones because those are the cheapest and easiest to find in your local general store. But I recently went into a shop specifically for aromas, and the shop lady showed me how to burn these frankincense resin pellets!

Some of us might be familiar with charcoal tablets to burn herbs, but you can also use charcoal for resins, and even loose powdered incense. Though, if you're in the broom closet, new to witchcraft, or on a budget, you might not be aware this is what you can do with charcoal. Charcoal is great for any loose material you want to burn, not just resin.

Keep in mind, the charcoal keeps itself lit and makes a lot of CO2, so make sure you're not doing this around pets and people with sensitive lungs. ALWAYS make sure you're in a well ventilated area and keep your fire prevention tools in reach. NEVER burn charcoal in a container that can't handle heat like ceramics or plastics, and do not handle a metal container while it is lit, as charcoal makes a lot of heat and keeps it for a long time. If you have a cast-iron cauldron, this is better suited for it, but you need sand or used ash around the charcoal as a anti-fire barrier. I would not recommend doing this indoors if you can help it.

This was not lit so that I could take a photo, but you should have more sand around the charcoal. But once you have it set up and lit the charcoal, you just place your item of choice on the charcoal, and it will ignite. Resin lights fast and will make a lot of smoke, so if you're just doing something small, chipping a piece off the charcoal and using just a bit of your item works best, otherwise the whole thing will keep going and you might set off a fire/CO2 detector somewhere. Lastly, if you get a headache, smother whatever you're burning and get fresh air.

I figured I'd post about my recent discovery here for y'all, since I don't see many posts on how to use things like charcoal, and most people use sticks not resin. Hope this was helpful!

[deputyash]

OC Aesthetics - Naturecore

Thank you for tagging me @harmonyowl and I believe @strafethesesinners :3

Tagging: @teamhawkeye @ri-a-rose @statichvm @derelictheretic @cobb-vanthss @cryptichobbit and anyone else who wants to! (Pretty sure most people have been tagged but just in case.)

Rules: Bold what always/definitely applies to your OC, italicize what somewhat/sometimes applies, strikethrough what definitely doesn’t/never applies.

- Dove Ash - 

Cottagecore: 

homemade bread, throwing seeds out for the chickens, a tabby cat, patchwork quilts, puffy skirts, ceramic dishes, fresh flowers in a glass jar, herbs hanging from the ceiling, freckles, grey eyes, Athena, old recipe books, a cookie tin filled with recipe cards from grandma, home-sewn pillows, a plate of cookies, the smell of rosemary cooking in a pot of water on the stove, a floral tea pot, salt and pepper shakers, pansies, bartering with neighbors, biking to town, stained glass windows

Zen Gardencore: 

rocks raked with precision, bonsai trees, holy temples, moss covering statues of gods and goddesses, reading ancient texts, being blessed by your ancestors, trusting and family devotion, watercolors on paper, ink on skin, poetry and art, hot springs, cherry blossoms, little flames flickering behind paper curtains, the smell of incense burning, figurines carved from jade and gold from centuries ago, rain, a mist seeping around your ankles as you make your way to school, a chalkboard, scraps of cloth made into art, origami, your father’s heirloom sword you long to one day pick up like your favorite Disney Princess, tranquility and peace, stubborn and proud

Junglecore:  

exotic animals, tree house, waterfalls, learning the calls of native birds, bright colors and natural materials, bracelets made from wooden beads and bones and feathers, collecting mushrooms, shirts with the sleeves cut off, leaving plastic bottle caps out full of water for frogs to soak in, cutting jeans to make them into shorts, wading in the river, cutting your own hair, bamboo wind chimes, upcycled art, fish in plastic jugs, air plants, climbing up trees using the vines, harvesting your own fruit

Forestcore: 

deep silences of the oldest trees, darkness, log cabins, deer antlers mounted on the wall, rearticulated skeletons, hand-dried pelts, pots of stew cooking over a fire, pancakes in a cast iron pan, brown boots worn from hiking, an old walking stick, bonfires at night, roasting marshmallows and making s’mores, strange markings carved into the bark of trees, ferns that curl up when touched, hearing animals dart here and there but never being able to catch more than a quick glimpse of them out of the corner of your eye, finding half-eaten acorns and mushrooms, large tracks from something you can’t identify, bow hunting

Beachcore:  

seashell collection, model boats, jars of sand, windswept hair, the feel of the wooden boardwalk on your bare feet, big sunglasses, light blue walls, rope hammock, pillows with anchors embroidered on them, flip flops, shining sun, fish tank, sea animal plushies, a steering wheel from a boat on your wall, plates and mugs with seahorses on them, bracelets with plastic shell and dolphin and turtle beads on them, postcards from the ocean, wind chimes made of sea glass

Mountain/Meadowcore: 

watching the rabbits down in the valley, reading a book in a window seat, checking the sky for storms, knitting heavy quilts for the winter, many layers of clothing, waking up to see the sunrise and sitting outside for the sunset, enjoying the company of ones-self, mountain goats, clovers, laying in the tall grass underneath the sun, field mice, crystal and gemstone collection, a tin filled with buttons and sewing needles and thread, fresh-brewed coffee in the morning, scones

[fenharel-archived]

OC NATURE AESTHETICS.

tagged by @risingsh0t, thank you! tagging @rkyloren​, @shadowglens​, @arlathen​, @denerims​, @solasan​, @thefathersbride​, @queennymeria​, @solasan​, @leviiackrman​, @necroticpetals​ & you!

rules: bold what always/definitely applies, italicize what sometimes applies, strikethrough what never applies.

Cottagecore

homemade bread, throwing seeds out for the chickens, a tabby cat, patchwork quilts, puffy skirts, ceramic dishes, fresh flowers in a glass jar, herbs hanging from the ceiling, freckles, grey eyes, Athena, old recipe books, a cookie tin filled with recipe cards from grandma, home-sewn pillows, a plate of cookies, the smell of rosemary cooking in a pot of water on the stove, a floral tea pot, salt and pepper shakers, pansies, bartering with neighbors, biking to town, stained glass windows

Zen Gardencore

rocks raked with precision, bonsai trees, holy temples, moss covering statues of gods and godesses, reading ancient texts, being blessed by your ancestors, trusting and family devotion, watercolors on paper, ink on skin, poetry and art, hot springs, cherry blossoms, little flames flickering behind paper curtains, the smell of incense burning, figurines carved from jade and gold from centuries ago, rain, a mist seeping around your ankles as you make your way to school, a chalkboard, scraps of cloth made into art, origami, your father’s heirloom sword you long to one day pick up like your favorite Disney Princess, tranquility and peace, stubborn and proud

Junglecore

exotic animals, tree house, waterfalls, learning the calls of native birds, bright colors and natural materials, bracelets made from wooden beads and bones and feathers, collecting mushrooms, shirts with the sleeves cut off, leaving plastic bottle caps out full of water for frogs to soak in, cutting jeans to make them into shorts, wading in the river, cutting your own hair, bamboo wind chimes, upcycled art, fish in plastic jugs, air plants, climbing up trees using the vines, harvesting your own fruit

Forestcore

deep silences of the oldest trees, darkness, log cabins, deer antlers mounted on the wall, rearticulated skeletons, hand-dried pelts, pots of stew cooking over a fire, pancakes in a cast iron pan, brown boots worn from hiking, an old walking stick, bonfires at night, roasting marshmallows and making s’mores, strange markings carved into the bark of trees, ferns that curl up when touched, hearing animals dart here and there but never being able to catch more than a quick glimpse of them out of the corner of your eye, finding half-eaten acorns and mushrooms, large tracks from something you can’t identify, bow hunting

Beachcore

seashell collection, model boats, jars of sand, windswept hair, the feel of the wooden boardwalk on your bare feet, big sunglasses, light blue walls, rope hammock, pillows with anchors embroidered on them, flip flops, shining sun, fish tank, sea animal plushies, a steering wheel from a boat on your wall, plates and mugs with seahorses on them, bracelets with plastic shell and dolphin and turtle beads on them, postcards from the ocean, wind chimes made of sea glass

Mountain/Meadowcore

watching the rabbits down in the valley, reading a book in a window seat, checking the sky for storms, knitting heavy quilts for the winter, many layers of clothing, waking up to see the sunrise and sitting outside for the sunset, enjoying the company of ones-self, mountain goats, clovers, laying in the tall grass underneath the sun, field mice, crystal and gemstone collection, a tin filled with buttons and sewing needles and thread, fresh-brewed coffee in the morning, scones

[tacticalhimbo]

-> OCS AS NATURE AESTHETICS

tagged by the stunning @galeboettichergf ! sat on this one but i'm feeling it now !!

gonna tag the dash for this one fkjlsjf def tag me if you feel like doing it! i wanna see y'all's stunning ocs

decided to go for a wip character of mine because the meme is perf for her! she's a his dark materials oc

— COTTAGECORE.

homemade bread,throwing seeds out for the chickens, a tabby cat, patchwork quilts, puffy skirts,ceramic dishes,fresh flowers in a glass jar, herbs hanging from the ceiling,freckles, grey eyes, athena, old recipe books, a cookie tin filled with recipe cards from grandma,home-sewn pillows, a plate of cookies, the smell of rosemary cooking in a pot of water on the stove, a floral tea pot, salt and pepper shakers,pansies, bartering with neighbors, biking to town, stained glass windows

— ZEN GARDENCORE.

rocks raked with precision, bonsai trees, holy temples, moss covering statues of gods and godesses, reading ancient texts, being blessed by your ancestors, trusting and family devotion, watercolors on paper, ink on skin, poetry and art, hot springs, cherry blossoms, little flames flickering behind paper curtains, the smell of incense burning, figurines carved from jade and gold from centuries ago, rain, a mist seeping around your ankles as you make your way to school, a chalkboard, scraps of cloth made into art, origami, your father’s heirloom sword mask you long to one day pick up like your favorite disney princess, tranquility and peace, stubborn and proud

— JUNGLECORE.

exotic animals, tree house, waterfalls, learning the calls of native birds, bright colors and natural materials, bracelets made from wooden beads and bones and feathers, collecting mushrooms, shirts with the sleeves cut off, leaving plastic bottle caps out full of water for frogs to soak in, cutting jeans to make them into shorts, wading in the river, cutting your own hair, bamboo wind chimes, upcycled art, fish in plastic jugs, air plants, climbing up trees using the vines, harvesting your own fruit

— FORESTCORE.

deep silences of the oldest trees, darkness, log cabins, deer antlers mounted on the wall, rearticulated skeletons, hand-dried pelts, pots of stew cooking over a fire, pancakes in a cast iron pan,brown boots worn from hiking, an old walking stick,bonfires at night, roasting marshmallows and making s’mores, strange markings carved into the bark of trees, ferns that curl up when touched, hearing animals dart here and there but never being able to catch more than a quick glimpse of them out of the corner of your eye, finding half-eaten acorns and mushrooms, large tracks from something you can’t identify, bow hunting

— BEACHCORE.

seashell collection, model boats, jars of sand, windswept hair, the feel of the wooden boardwalk on your bare feet, big sunglasses, light blue walls, rope hammock, pillows with anchors embroidered on them, flip flops, shining sun, fish tank, sea animal plushies, a steering wheel from a boat on your wall, plates and mugs with seahorses on them, bracelets with plastic shell and dolphin and turtle beads on them, postcards from the ocean, wind chimes made of sea glass

— MOUNTAIN/MEADOWCORE.

watching the rabbits down in the valley, reading a book in a window seat, checking the sky for storms, knitting heavy quilts for the winter, many layers of clothing, waking up to see the sunrise and sitting outside for the sunset, enjoying the company of ones-self, mountain goats, clovers, laying in the tall grass underneath the sun, field mice, crystal and gemstone collection, a tin filled with buttons and sewing needles and thread, fresh-brewed coffee in the morning, scones

[duravit-india]

Concrete grey

From the architects’ favorite to the bathroom trend with new design opportunities

The many different shades of grey have long been among the best-loved colors in architecture and interior design. This is hardly surprising given that grey is the ideal partner for countless color combinations, making bright colors positively shine whilst at the same time generating visual calm. Grey further creates the necessary clarity and sense of surface to draw out the impact of rooms, interiors, and thus also architecture. Similarly, we are increasingly seeing grey used in the bathroom – as exposed concrete or grey tiles in a range of shades, soft grey wall paint through to dark anthracite tones and accessories; these are today’s trends. Grey provides a perfect contrast in combination with wooden furniture; in interaction with sober colors such as the new Duravit bathroom furniture color matt concrete grey it underlines a uniform, timeless look.

In the bathroom, too, there is now a growing trend towards grey - exposed concrete or grey tiles in a wide variety of shades, soft grey wall colours through to dark anthracite shades and accessories; all of these are currently very much in vogue. In combination with wooden furniture, grey forms a perfect contrast, and in combination with simple colours such as the new Duravit furniture colour Concrete Grey Matt, it underlines the uniform, timeless look. The Stonetto shower tray now also sets the tone in colour: The successful project by Duravit and the Viennese design group EOOS is available in the colour concrete in addition to the stone tones of white, sand and anthracite, thus creating a new fresh spatial effect.

The Stonetto shower tray, too, is setting the tone in color terms: in addition to the stone shades white, sand, and anthracite, the successful collaboration between Duravit and the Viennese design group EOOS is available in the color concrete, which creates a new and fresh effect within the room.

The Stonetto features a stone-like yet uniform texture. The silky-soft surface is incomparable to the touch. It is matt and at the same time anti-slip and scratch-proof. Stonetto is made from Durasolid® Q, a high-grade cast mineral material. Stonetto is also impressive in functional terms. Its high surface hardness and density mean that the shower tray is extraordinarily resistant to damage and dirt. The barely visible slope of the tray enables water to drain away perfectly. Even large quantities of water flow quickly through the powerful drain. The homogenous covering enables ease of cleaning.

Stonetto can be installed flush with the floor, recessed or floor-

Stonetto

The versatility and sophistication of Greige has made it a firm fixture in interior design. Its color temperature lies somewhere between beige and grey, and it features in the cushion in Duravit’s Happy D.2 Plus range.

Happy D.2 Plus

Happy D.2 Plus Graphite Super Matt

Stylish and avant-garde: the Happy D.2 Plus bathroom in the dark style collection with c-bonded furniture washbasin plus vanity unit, semi-tall cabinet, and free-standing acrylic bathtub with seamless paneling in Graphit Super Matt.

Happy D.2 Plus

ME by Starck White Matt

Grey furniture finishes and white ceramics come together to produce a minimalist look: the Brioso vanity unit in Concrete Grey Matt Decor highlights the clear geometry of the ME by Starck furniture washbasin in White Satin Matt.

ME by Starck

Brioso

XSquare Concrete Grey Matt

Concrete Matt Grey – charm wins over drabness: combined with the ME by Starck furniture washbasin, the XSquare vanity unit in Concrete Matt Grey Decor creates a timeless, light effect.

XSquare

ME by Starck

XBase Graphit Matt

Sophisticated look in Graphite: the gleaming chrome handle stands out against the interplay between the ME by Starck washbasin and the XBase tall cabinet and vanity unit in Graphite Matt Decor.

XBase

ME by Starck

[rosecochonnetduprintemps]

Tagged by @deputyash thank you!!

Rules: Bold what always/definitely applies to your OC, italicize what somewhat/sometimes applies, strikethrough what definitely doesn’t/never applies.

☾ - BLAIRE (FC5 Deputy) - ☽

🌻 Cottagecore  🌻

homemade bread, throwing seeds out for the chickens, a tabby cat, patchwork quilts, puffy skirts, ceramic dishes, fresh flowers in a glass jar, herbs hanging from the ceiling, freckles, grey eyes, Athena, old recipe books, a cookie tin filled with recipe cards from grandma, home-sewn pillows, a plate of cookies, the smell of rosemary cooking in a pot of water on the stove, a floral tea pot, salt and pepper shakers, pansies, bartering with neighbors, biking to town, stained glass windows

💮 Zen Gardencore 🌸

rocks raked with precision, bonsai trees, holy temples, moss covering statues of gods and goddesses, reading ancient texts, being blessed by your ancestors, trusting and family devotion, watercolors on paper, ink on skin, poetry and art, hot springs, cherry blossoms, little flames flickering behind paper curtains, the smell of incense burning, figurines carved from jade and gold from centuries ago, rain, a mist seeping around your ankles as you make your way to school, a chalkboard, scraps of cloth made into art, origami, your father’s heirloom sword you long to one day pick up like your favorite Disney Princess, tranquility and peace, stubborn and proud

🦜 Junglecore 🦜

exotic animals, tree house, waterfalls, learning the calls of native birds, bright colors and natural materials, bracelets made from wooden beads and bones and feathers, collecting mushrooms, shirts with the sleeves cut off, leaving plastic bottle caps out full of water for frogs to soak in, cutting jeans to make them into shorts, wading in the river, cutting your own hair, bamboo wind chimes, upcycled art, fish in plastic jugs, air plants, climbing up trees using the vines, harvesting your own fruits

🌲 Forestcore 🌲

deep silences of the oldest trees, darkness, log cabins, deer antlers mounted on the wall, rearticulated skeletons, hand-dried pelts, pots of stew cooking over a fire, pancakes in a cast iron pan, brown boots worn from hiking, an old walking stick, bonfires at night, roasting marshmallows and making s’mores, strange markings carved into the bark of trees, ferns that curl up when touched, hearing animals dart here and there but never being able to catch more than a quick glimpse of them out of the corner of your eye, finding half-eaten acorns and mushrooms, large tracks from something you can’t identify, bow hunting

🌊 Beachcore 🐚

seashell collection, model boats, jars of sand, windswept hair, the feel of the wooden boardwalk on your bare feet, big sunglasses, light blue walls, rope hammock, pillows with anchors embroidered on them, flip flops, shining sun, fish tank, sea animal plushies, a steering wheel from a boat on your wall, plates and mugs with seahorses on them, bracelets with plastic shell and dolphin and turtle beads on them, postcards from the ocean, wind chimes made of sea glass

⛰️ Mountain/Meadowcore ⛰️

watching the rabbits down in the valley, reading a book in a window seat, checking the sky for storms, knitting heavy quilts for the winter, many layers of clothing, waking up to see the sunrise and sitting outside for the sunset, enjoying the company of ones-self, mountain goats, clovers, laying in the tall grass underneath the sun, field mice, crystal and gemstone collection, a tin filled with buttons and sewing needles and thread, fresh-brewed coffee in the morning, scones

[sudarshangroup22]

Leading Quartz Powder Manufacturers and Their Impact on Industry Standards

One of the most popular industrial minerals, Quartz Powder Manufacturers finds employment in a wide range of sectors, including semiconductor manufacture, glassmaking, ceramics, and construction. Premium quartz, a naturally occurring stone prized for its durability and hardness, is used to make this fine, granular powder. Manufacturers of quartz powder are therefore essential in giving companies top-notch goods that satisfy the particular requirements of their sectors.

What is Quartz Powder?

Quartz stones are ground into a fine powder to create quartz powder. A common mineral in nature, particularly in the earth's crust, quartz is composed of silicon dioxide (SiO2). It is perfect for usage in a variety of manufacturing processes because of its hardness, chemical stability, and durability to high temperatures. There are various grades of quartz powder available, and some producers create ultra-fine powders that are in high demand for specific applications, including the electronics sector.

The Role of Quartz Powder in Different Industries

Construction Industry: Quartz powder is widely used in the construction industry, particularly in the production of concrete, mortar, and flooring materials. Its hardness and resistance to wear make it an ideal component in cement and concrete mixtures. Quartz powder helps in improving the overall strength and durability of construction materials, making them more resistant to abrasion, weathering, and chemical reactions.

Ceramics and Glass Manufacturing: In the ceramics industry, quartz powder is used in the production of ceramic tiles, sanitary ware, and other ceramic products. It provides excellent thermal stability and enhances the mechanical properties of ceramics. Similarly, quartz powder is a key ingredient in glass manufacturing, where it is used to produce high-quality glass with superior clarity and strength. The fine particles of quartz ensure the uniformity and smooth texture of the final glass products.

Paints and Coatings: Quartz powder is used as a filler material in paints and coatings, contributing to the texture and durability of the final product. Its fine particle size allows it to mix well with other ingredients, ensuring smooth application and improved adhesion. Quartz powder also helps in enhancing the resistance of paints to UV rays, chemicals, and moisture, making it an essential component in both exterior and interior paints.

Electronics and Semiconductors: With its high purity and insulating properties, quartz powder is also used in the electronics industry, particularly in the production of semiconductors. The fine powder is utilized in the creation of electronic components such as capacitors, transistors, and integrated circuits. The ability of quartz powder to withstand high temperatures and its electrical insulating properties make it a key material in the electronics manufacturing process.

Foundry Industry: Quartz powder is an important material in the foundry industry, where it is used as a molding material for casting metal parts. It helps in producing molds with high precision and durability, ensuring that the casted metal products have a smooth and flawless surface. Additionally, quartz powder is used to make sand molds and cores, which are crucial in the manufacturing of engine components, automotive parts, and other industrial products.

Choosing the Right Quartz Powder Manufacturer

Selecting a manufacturer who upholds strict quality and manufacturing standards is crucial when searching for providers of quartz powder. A trustworthy producer of quartz powder will guarantee that the final product is devoid of contaminants and satisfies the particular requirements of various sectors. Depending on the grade, purity, and particle size of quartz powder needed, manufacturers frequently offer bespoke solutions.

One such manufacturer in the industry is Sudarshan Group, which has built a reputation for delivering high-quality quartz powder. Sudarshan Group offers a wide range of quartz powder products that cater to different industry requirements, ensuring consistent quality and timely delivery. The company uses advanced production techniques to ensure the powder is of the highest standard, meeting the stringent specifications of industries like construction, ceramics, and electronics.

Factors to Consider When Selecting a Quartz Powder Manufacturer

Quality and Purity: Ensure that the quartz powder manufacturer follows strict quality control measures to produce high-purity quartz powder. Impurities can affect the performance of the powder, especially in sensitive industries like electronics and glass manufacturing.

Consistency in Supply: A reliable manufacturer should have a consistent supply of quartz powder. Industries that rely on quartz powder for their production processes require regular and timely deliveries to avoid disruptions in their operations.

Customization: Different industries require different grades and particle sizes of quartz powder. A good manufacturer should be able to customize the product based on the specific needs of the customer, offering tailored solutions to meet unique requirements.

Pricing: Competitive pricing is an important factor when selecting a quartz powder manufacturer. However, the focus should also be on quality and reliability, as low-quality products can lead to costly issues down the line.

Conclusion

Quartz powder is an essential component of many different sectors, including electronics and construction. Manufacturers of premium quartz powder are crucial to guaranteeing the long-term viability, effectiveness, and efficiency of the final products. Businesses can guarantee that they get the best material for their purposes and that their goods will perform better and last longer by choosing a reliable and respectable quartz powder manufacturer.

[iotametaflux]

Soda Feldspar Powder Manufacturers

Soda Feldspar Powder Manufacturers

Quartz Silica powder is a versatile material used across various industries for its unique properties In the glass industry, it serves a key ingredient, providing clarity and strength. In metal casting, quartz sand is combined with other substances to create durable molds. Additionally, it plays a crucial role in ceramics, abrasives, fillers, water filtration, and even in some personal care products, showcasing its wide-ranging applications.

Iota Metaflux is manufacturing and exporting Quartz powder in different grades for various Industrial uses. Iota metaflux is manufacturing Grade A quartz powder with high brightness of around 98% and high whiteness of 95% plus with confirmation of product quality through Rasin test in all the lots produced.

Iota Metaflux is also manufacturing Grade B and Grade Super Quartz powder for industries like paint Industry, Cement Industry, ceremic industry, coating Industry etc. We specilize in manufacturing quartz powder as per the clients specifications. Our Quartz powder is widely used in cement Industries for concrete slab manufacturing.

Welcome to Iota Metaflux, a thriving mineral manufacturing and supplying company established in 2010. Nestled in the heart of the Rajasthan-North region in India, our mines and processing plants yield an abundant supply of high-grade materials, specializing in feldspar, quartz, rice husk ash powders, and more. Soda Potash Feldspar

Our roots trace back to a founding team of IIT/NIT alumni with over two decades of industry experience. Comprising experts in Metallurgy and Material Science, Chemistry, Ceramic Engineering, and Chemical and Process Engineering, our professionals bring a wealth of knowledge to the table. At Iota Metaflux, we pride ourselves on our unique approach to understanding the science behind minerals, fostering high-level customer interaction to meet specific industrial needs. Click for more information Soda Feldspar Powder

We are committed to offering our clients top-notch, competitively priced raw materials with consistent and timely supplies. Our goal is to emerge as an industry leader, leveraging our unparalleled knowledge and expertise. From our in-house processing technology to the dedicated efforts of our R&D teams, we prioritize precision and maintain stringent quality standards. Click now for more update Potash Feldspar Powder

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At Iota Metaflux, we operate under three core principles:

Top Quality: Our commitment to delivering products of the highest caliber sets us apart. We adhere to rigorous quality control measures to ensure our materials meet the most demanding industry standards.

Customer-Friendly: We understand the unique requirements of our clients and engage in meaningful interactions to tailor our offerings accordingly. Your satisfaction is our priority, and we strive to foster long-lasting partnerships.

Reduced Environmental Impact: We are dedicated to sustainability. By adopting eco-friendly practices and minimizing our environmental footprint, we contribute to a greener future. Click now Soda Feldspar Powder Manufacturers

As technology evolves, so do we. By staying at the forefront of industry advancements, we guarantee that our clients receive the best products available. Explore our site to discover how Iota Metaflux can provide you with quality, innovation, and reliability.

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The Top Advantages of Solid Surface Resin Bathtubs

When it comes to choosing a bathtub, homeowners often find themselves torn between various materials, each with its own set of benefits and drawbacks. Solid surface resin bathtubs are becoming increasingly popular for modern bathrooms, thanks to their unique blend of aesthetics, durability, and functionality. This article explores the top advantages of solid surface resin bathtubs, making them a go-to choice for homeowners and designers alike.

1. Sleek and Modern Design

One of the most significant advantages of solid surface resin bathtubs is their sleek, contemporary design. These bathtubs are known for their minimalist aesthetics, with smooth, seamless lines that complement various bathroom styles, whether you prefer a clean, modern look or something more traditional. Solid surface bathtubs are often available in matte or satin finishes, which add a touch of luxury to the bathroom.

Because solid surface resin can be molded into various shapes and sizes, the design possibilities are nearly endless. Whether you want a simple rectangular tub or a more creative, sculptural shape, solid surface resin allows for a high degree of customization, making it perfect for both standard and bespoke bathroom designs.

2. Durability and Strength

Solid surface resin bathtubs are incredibly durable. Made from a blend of natural stone powder and resin, these bathtubs are designed to withstand the test of time. The material is non-porous, which means it won’t easily chip, crack, or wear down with regular use. This durability is especially important for families or households where the bathtub may see frequent use.

The robust nature of solid surface resin also means that it is resistant to common bathroom issues like mold, mildew, and water damage. Unlike some materials that may degrade in humid environments, solid surface resin remains resilient, ensuring that your bathtub will maintain its appearance and structural integrity for many years.

3. Easy to Clean and Maintain

One of the most practical benefits of solid surface resin bathtubs is how easy they are to clean and maintain. Because the surface is non-porous, it doesn’t absorb moisture or stains, making it resistant to mold and bacteria growth. Routine cleaning with mild soap and water is usually sufficient to keep the tub looking pristine.

If the bathtub surface becomes scratched or damaged, it’s often easily repairable. Many solid surface resin bathtubs can be sanded and buffed back to their original condition, something not possible with other materials like acrylic or fiberglass. This feature makes them a long-term investment, reducing the need for replacement over time.

4. Heat Retention

For those who enjoy a long, relaxing soak, solid surface resin bathtubs offer excellent heat retention. The material naturally holds onto heat, ensuring that bathwater stays warmer for longer periods compared to bathtubs made from materials like steel or cast iron. This feature enhances the bathing experience, making it perfect for individuals who prioritize comfort and relaxation.

Additionally, the surface of the tub remains warm to the touch, which adds to the luxurious feel and makes entering the bath more comfortable, especially during colder months.

5. Eco-Friendly and Sustainable

Solid surface resin bathtubs are often considered an eco-friendly option for those looking to reduce their environmental impact. Many solid surface materials are made from recycled or renewable materials, and the production process generally consumes less energy than other types of bathtub materials, such as cast iron or ceramic.

Furthermore, the durability and longevity of solid surface resin mean that homeowners are less likely to replace their bathtubs frequently, reducing the waste associated with bathroom renovations. When a solid surface resin bathtub does need to be replaced, it is also fully recyclable.

6. Customizable and Versatile

The versatility of solid surface resin bathtubs is another key advantage. They can be customized to fit a variety of bathroom sizes and layouts. Whether you need a freestanding tub, a built-in option, or a bathtub designed for a small or awkwardly shaped space, solid surface resin can be tailored to meet your specific needs.

Furthermore, solid surface resin bathtubs come in a variety of colors and finishes, allowing you to match your bathtub to your bathroom’s overall design aesthetic. Whether you prefer a classic white finish or something bolder, solid surface resin offers a wide range of design options.

7. Luxurious Feel

Finally, solid surface resin bathtubs provide a luxurious feel that enhances the overall bathing experience. The smooth, velvety texture of the material feels soft and inviting against the skin, providing a spa-like atmosphere in the comfort of your own home. This tactile quality sets solid surface resin apart from other materials, making it a favorite among those who value comfort as much as style.

Conclusion

In summary, solid surface resin bathtubs offer a perfect combination of modern design, durability, ease of maintenance, heat retention, and eco-friendliness. These qualities make them an excellent investment for any bathroom renovation or new home build. Whether you’re aiming for a luxurious spa-like experience or simply looking for a practical and long-lasting bathtub option, solid surface resin delivers on all fronts.

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An Introduction to Metal Casting.

Metal casting is an ancient  process that has formed the development of industries and civilizations for hundreds of years. In its simplest form, metal Casting involves pouring molten metal into a mold, where it solidifies into a specific shape. This  process is essential in producing complex metal components. It has been extensively used to manufacture everything from tools to  intricate machinery parts.. In today's international industry, metal casting plays a critical role in diverse industries, such as automobile, aerospace, agriculture, and construction. The system keeps up with advancements in a generation, making it more efficient and flexible than ever earlier.

What is Metal Casting?

Metal casting is a manufacturing technique in which molten metal is  poured right into a mold to shape a preferred shape after it cools and solidifies. The mold utilized in metallic Casting may be crafted from several substances, which incorporate sand, plaster, or ceramic, relying on the form of metal and the popular final results. Metal casting is used to create a massive variety of steel merchandise,  from small components like gears and valves to massive equipment and infrastructure components. The versatility of the metal casting method makes it a crucial part of contemporary production, contributing drastically to industries that require immoderate electricity and long-lasting and particular metal components.

Types of Metal Casting

There are several types of metal casting processes each with its advantages and unique use instances. Understanding those types is vital for choosing the best technique for a selected utility. The most commonplace varieties of metallic Casting consist of the following:

1. Sand Casting

Sand casting is one of the oldest and most extensively used kinds of steel casting. In this approach, sand is used to create a mold into which molten metal is poured. Sand casting is ideal for generating significant additives and complicated shapes, making it suitable for automobile parts, heavy equipment, and creation materials. Sand casting is value-powerful, particularly for small manufacturing runs, but might also require additional completing steps to achieve the desired surface quality..

2. Die Casting

Die casting is an highly precise and automated process wherein molten metal is injected right into a steel mold (die) under high pressure.  This technique is usually used for mass-generating parts that require tight tolerances and terrific surface finishes. Die casting is typically used for production merchandise, including engine components, gear housings, and home equipment.The process offers high repeatability and is best suited for high-volume production.

3. Investment Casting

Also called out-of-lost-wax casting, investment casting consists of growing a wax model of the desired part. It is then lined with ceramic to form a mold. Once the ceramic mold is shaped, the wax is melted and dried, and molten metal is poured into the cavity. Investment casting is used for making complicated and pretty exquisite metallic elements, including components for aerospace, scientific gadgets, and jewelry. The process provides excellent dimensional accuracy and surface finish

4. Centrifugal Casting

In centrifugal Casting, molten metal is poured right into a rotating mold. The centrifugal pressure pushes the metal closer to the partitions of the mold, developing hole additives with a uniform form. This technique is broadly used for generating pipes, cylinders, and other round items. Centrifugal Casting is known for its capability to provide elements with an excessive stage of density and minimum impurities.

5. Permanent Mold Casting

Permanent mold casting uses reusable metal molds, usually metal or iron. Molten metel is poured into the  mold, which cools quickly, leading to a faster manufacturing cycle than other strategies. Permanent mold casting is ideal for medium—to high-volume manufacturing of elements, including pistons, wheels, and other components that require exact dimensional accuracy and surface finish. This procedure is frequently used for aluminum and magnesium alloys.

The Metal Casting Process

The metal casting process can vary depending on the method used, but the basic steps remain consistent. These steps include:

1. Pattern Making

Before the metal casting procedure can start, a pattern or model of the preferred part must be created. Depending on the sort of casting being used, this sample may be made from wood, plastic, or metal. The pattern shapes the mold hollow space into which molten metallic may be poured.

2. Mold Preparation

Once the sample is prepared, the mold is ready. In sand casting, The pattern is placed in a sand mixture to create the mold cavity. In die casting, the mold is a pre-made steel die. The mold's indoor surface is often covered with a parting agent or a launch agent to prevent the molten steel from sticking to the mildew walls.

3. Melting and Pouring

After the mold is ready, the metal is heated until it reaches a molten state. Common metals used in Casting are iron, aluminum, copper, and steel.  Once the metal reaches the appropriate temperature, it is poured into the mold through a system of channels known as gates and risers. This ensures the molten metal fills the mold cavity evenly.

4. Cooling and Solidification

Once the mold is filled with molten metal, it's left to chill and solidify. The cooling technique might also take anywhere from a couple of minutes to several hours, depending on the size and complexity of the part being cast. . During cooling, the metal undergoes a phase alternate from liquid to stable, and the very last form is shaped.

5. Casting Removal

After the metal has solidified, the mold is damaged enough to be removed from the Casting. In sand casting, the mold is broken apart, while in die casting, the metal component is ejected from the mildew using the mechanical method. Any excess metallic, known as flash, is trimmed off at some stage in this degree.

6. Finishing and Inspection

Once the Casting is removed from the mold, various finishing processes to achieve the desired surface quality and dimensional accuracy.This can also contain machining, grinding, polishing, or warmness remedy. The very last component is then inspected for defects together with cracks, voids, or surface imperfections. Non-negative testing strategies, along with X-rays or ultrasonic testing, may also be used to ensure the integrity of the Casting.

Metal Casting Products

Metal casting products are utilized in each  industry, from automobile and aerospace to creation and electronics. The versatility of metal casting allows for the manufacturing of both simple and complicated components that meet stringent enterprise requirements. Some of the maximum everyday metallic casting products encompass:

1. Engine Components

Metal casting is broadly used in the automotive enterprise to produce engine components such as cylinder heads, engine blocks, and crankshafts. These additives require high strength and precision, making metal casting a perfect manufacturing technique.

2. Pipes and Valves

Casting is regularly used to produce pipes, valves, and fittings for diverse industries, including oil and gas, water treatment, and plumbing. The ability to create complex geometries and durable products makes metal casting a crucial system for producing these additives.

3. Machinery Parts

Heavy machinery and industrial systems often depend on metal castings for parts, including gears, housings, and brackets. Metal casting permits the manufacturing of big, durable components that can withstand the cruel situations of commercial environments.

4. Art and Sculpture

Beyond commercial programs, metal casting is also used to create creative products, including sculptures, monuments, and jewelry. The precision and versatility of casting permit artists to express their creative visions in metal form.

5. Aerospace Components

The aerospace industry requires lightweight yet strong materials  for components such as turbine blades, engine parts, and structural elements. Investment casting is typically used inside the aerospace zone because of its potential to provide high-precision elements with fantastic mechanical properties.

Advantages of Metal Casting

Metal casting offers  several advantages over other manufacturing methods. .One of the number one benefits is its capability to create complicated shapes that might be hard or not possible to achieve through machining or fabrication. Casting is also a cost-effective system for producing large volumes of parts, specifically for complex designs. Additionally, metal casting allows the use of a vast range of materials, from common metals like aluminum and iron to specialized alloys with precise properties.

Conclusion

Metal casting is a crucial manufacturing process that plays a vital role in various industries. Its capability to produce complex, high-strength components makes it a flexible and value-effective approach for developing a wide variety of merchandise. From engine parts to artistic sculptures, metal casting offers numerous benefits in terms of design flexibility, fabric choice, and manufacturing efficiency. Understanding the unique types of metal casting, the metal casting process, and the metal casting products to be had can assist manufacturers and architects in choosing the first-class method for their unique desires. As technology advances, meta   turning of metal parts.

Sigma Malleable is a leading metal casting manufacturer in India, specializing in high-quality cast metal components for a range of industries. With cutting-edge technology and decades of expertise, Sigma Malleable offers precision-engineered products to satisfy the needs of sectors together with automobile, agriculture, heavy machinery, and commercial gadget. Our dedication to pleasant and innovation guarantees that each casting we produce meets the highest enterprise standards, imparting sturdiness, power, and reliability. Whether for custom designs or big-scale manufacturing, Sigma Malleable is dependent on accomplices for all metal casting solutions  in India.