#eldin is next

[lulu2992]

What's your favorite order to kill the Heralds in and why? <3

I don’t really have a favorite order, simply because I wish I could have not killed them 😅 In my first playthrough, I did John-Faith-Jacob, and in my second, Jacob-Faith-John, but I still started with the Holland Valley. I only went to the church for my Atonement when there was nothing left to do in the county.

That said, I think that what the game wants us to do is either Jacob-John-Faith (because of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse and the Seven Seals) or John-Jacob-Faith.

Dutch says to go to Fall’s End first because it’s the heart of the Resistance, and Holland Valley is also the mildest region since you mostly deal with regular cultists, not super soldiers and mind-controlled wolves or hallucinations and Angels everywhere. I kind of regret going to the Henbane River so early in my first playthrough because this region really took a toll on me. The Whitetails Mountains felt less intense in comparison.

In a way, John is the least powerful Herald and the easiest to take down (as frustrating as that dogfight can be) and, from what I understand, anyone who joins the Project has to meet The Baptist first, so I think it makes sense for the Deputy to do the same. After Jacob’s death, Wheaty motivates the Whitetails to end Eden’s Gate, but in my opinion, his speech implies that the fight against the cult is far from over, so killing The Soldier last seems a bit weird. Then, while her brothers each take only one Deputy, Faith captures two people, one of them being the Sheriff who, when she’s been defeated, says it’s time to go after Joseph, so taking down The Siren last feels right to me.

Also, in the Holland Valley, no major Resistance member dies, but in the Whitetail Mountains, one person is killed (Eli), and in the Henbane River, the Deputy loses two allies (Virgil and Burke), so if you play the regions in this order, things get more and more violent as you progress. And if you do John-Jacob-Faith, Joseph’s eulogies also get increasingly sad: he doesn’t cry for John, cries a bit for Jacob, and cries a lot for the last family member (Faith in this case).

Anyway, I think Holland Valley-Whitetail Mountains-Henbane River is the most logical order. Then, it makes sense to me to do either John-Jacob-Faith (for gameplay reasons) or Jacob-John-Faith (because of the prophecy).

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Oh wow ok then we straight up talk to the golden goddesses themselves in this game 👀

This Zelda’s gonna have everything LOL: blood of Hylia, royal authority, blessing of the ancient goddesses, and the Triforce 😂 y’all I’ve found the most OP Zelda in the series HA, and she’s the most petite little one 😂

Side note: the deku scrubs in this game are both adorable and hilarious 🤣❤️

[orlaite]

David Lean after finding out there's this Russian book called Anna Karenina about forbidden love and war and class and where the main character kills herself by train after having an affair but that there's already a movie adaptation of it with Omar Sharif

[funsizedcrow]

eow update condé is my new best friend

[odvunir]

i’ve probably put at least 60 hours into totk so far and i just refuse to advance anything. i have spent the past 3 days collecting ingredience and cooking and making a fortune and spending it all on arrows and more cooking ingredience. and getting Pony Points. i have not been below 200 arrows yet

i go to the lake behind kakariko and catch a bunch of fish then i go cuho mountain in hebra and get a bunch of wheat satori mountain has a tonnnn of forageables and just keep traveling around shops to pick up salt and other stuff

[paper-mario-wiki]

it's hard to appreciate the frigid snowfields of the Tabantha region when you haven't had a proper night's sleep in a month. your sleep cycle tends to unravel in the Abyss. many would tell you it's because the place seems designed to kill you, flora and fauna alike. what bugs me more than that is the creeping awareness that the sun will not come out, no matter how long i wait there.

many explorers prefer not to stay more than 3 days underground, though this time i spent 30. i'm more of an adventurer than a researcher so perhaps i was better equipped to take this trek than them, though i didnt intend for it to be that way. sometimes you lose the reigns over your own journey. at times there would be opportunities to leave when i had every incentive to keep pushing forward. very rarely did those opportunities come when i needed them the most.

my last moments in the underground were spent fleeing from a something gigantic that i could not see. as soon as i could hear the sound of the freezing cold wind above only a few layers of stone and soil, i started clawing through fistfuls of dirt until i emerged to a grey, snowy sky near the top of a mountain. Mount Drena i think. i'll ask a local as soon as i get to a lodge. i'm looking forward to a proper bed of course, but more than that i'm looking forward to a warm bath. my body, as it tends to go on my expeditions, is currently sustaining itself through adrenaline. even still my muscles are aching. i still have dirt under my fingernails from all the digging too.

arriving at the stable, i'm greeted by the clerk who saw me off when i began my trek through the underground a month ago, who tells me he's relieved to see me return in one piece. the look on his face when i collapsed onto one of the spare beds after setting down my backpack told me he meant that sincerely.

taking off my chest plate and chainmail gaiters, my coat, my protective chest padding, my undergarments, underpants, shoes, socks, and finally the hair tie that kept my vision clear, felt like emerging out of a cocoon. or maybe shedding my skin like a snake. my body breathes in the fresh air as if i needed every pore to fill my lungs. dipping into the hot water made every ache and pain i'd earned during my time underground scream all at once, only to get quieter, and quieter, and quieter, until it turned into a tranquil numb tingling. clean water, piping hot, doesn't seem like a luxury until it is kept from you. the underground had lakes, but the water stank like rainwater from the bottom of a vase left outside.

maybe next in my travels i'll spend some time in Eldin. the hotsprings are the first things people i've met on the road tell me about whenever it's brought up. i let my mind sink into that idea as i crawled into the wool covers of the bed i bought for the night. even with the stable being as rural as it was, i was lucky enough to get a privacy curtain. i appreciate this, because i'd prefer not to wear anything to bed. although it's still freezing cold just outside the lodge's door, i won't deprive even an inch of myself from the fresh air tonight. the delicious, fresh air.

[polarspaz]

Eldin Ring DLC is coming out next Friday!!!

[tenderleavesbob]

Twilight wasn't going to say it. He wasn't going to say it. He was going to keep his mouth shut and he wasn't going to --

"You're hovering," Twilight said and slapped a hand over his mouth.

He said it.

Warriors tensed, and Twilight wished he had smacked his mouth harder as Warriors's shoulders drew defensively inward. He stepped away from where Time and Wind slept and walked back to the fire. "It was a nasty battle today. Why are you still up? You don't have a shift tonight."

"Can't sleep," Twilight admitted. "Like you said, was a nasty battle. You okay?"

Everyone was sleeping in their quiet little camp. Even Wild and Legend, who often struggled with sleep, were passed out cold. Four had the next watch, and he was curled up close to Time and Wind. Sky was the last watch, and Twilight felt sorry for Four having to wake up the exhausted knight.

Warriors frowned at him when Twilight got up. He checked on Wild before joining Warriors at the fire. The bruise on Wild's cheek had almost faded completely, but Twilight would need to have a talk with him about throwing himself so recklessly in front of weapons.

"You alright?" Twilight repeated. He sat beside Warriors and studied his face in the firelight. Was he pale or was it just the shadows?

Warriors rolled his eyes at him. "I'm fine, you mama cucco."

Said the guy who was just clucking over his own kids. It was still weird to think of Time as anyone's kid and Twilight still didn't know the full story, but there was no denying that Warriors certainly fussed over Time like he was from his clutch.

"If you say so," Twilight murmured. He scanned the campsite and his sleeping brothers, then into the shadows beyond. It was quiet now. So different from earlier. Lizalfos were nasty enough without being able to electrocute people. Twilight thought that both Warriors and Time got zapped a little due to their shiny armor, but they had both seemed fine enough at dinnertime.

"I say so," Warriors agreed. Twilight jumped when Warriors threw an arm over his shoulders and pulled him close. "Not nearly the nastiest battle I've been in. First time I met the Great Deku Tree... ugh. Not a fun battle."

Twilight glanced at him, then back at where Wild slept. He was curled up close to Hyrule and Legend. Hyrule had been busy post battle helping Warriors with everyone's injuries. Even after a green potion Legend had shoved down his throat, he slept hard. "I don't think I've heard that one."

"Makes sense," Warriors said agreeably. "It was one of my first major battles after I was promoted to Captain."

That at last dragged Twilight's gaze away from the others. "Really? How was little baby Warriors promoted, anyway?"

Warriors beamed at him. He looked strangely satisfied. Twilight supposed Time and Wind had been sleeping peacefully enough to soothe him. "Went straight from trainee to Captain, I'll have you know."

"Yeah, right," Twilight scoffed.

"It's true," Warriors insisted. He pulled Twilight a little further into his side. Twilight went without a fight. If his company comforted the captain, Twilight was more than happy to sit with him like this. "It was the craziest day..."

By the time Warriors reached the part about Princess Zelda going missing, Twilight was dozing on his shoulder. The next day, Four scolded Warriors for not waking him up and Hyrule ended up making him tea for his sore throat, but it was worth it.

For that night, for once, everything was peaceful. Several members of the chained dreamed of heroic battles and fairies, and Warriors's soothing voice carried them all safely through the dark.

"And let me tell you about Eldin Caverns..."

[ofcowardiceandkings]

What kinds of animals (if any) do Gorons keep as livestock?

[slaps the desk]

FINALLY i have results for everyone

the huuuuuuge rift of time between when i like .. got this ask and now means i at least had a good long time to think about this lmao

so, my first (silly) thought was if any enterprising and perhaps foolhardy Gorons had tried to keep Eldin Ostrich ? people keep ostriches for meat n eggs irl after all

but yknow thats probably like ... a bad idea, eldin ostriches are stinky

next thought, travelling might not have been SUPER common for people during the era after the Calamity but surely there must have been some kind of consistent demand for fireproof elixirs over the years for people to just have them on hand to purchace. PERSONALLY i feel like collecting all those wild critters would be um annoying and depending on how healthy the environment around Eldin is, maybe not an awesome idea lmfao so ??

Local Friend Keeps Smoky Butterflies In Conservatory?

Kiddo and his chill lizard population ???

there's also what i'd call the Tarrey Town factor!

Gorons are very large and strong, and friend shaped and helpful so i doubt any Hylian would pass up employing a Goron at a loose end for some farm work ! I'm sure there are gonna be some of them out there who have a passing knowledge of animal husbandry just from proximity to Hylians at least :3

this made me think a lot and also consider whether Zora might gently curate fish populations in certain areas because that feels sensible !

gerudo livestock || rito livestock canon animals || exploring animals 1 || exploring animals 2

[yourlocaltreesimp]

Valentine’s Special: Wild

Yeah!!! Two down, 16 more to go. No TW, hope yall enjoy!

۵♡۵

Wild

Valentine’s spent in or out on the town?

He’d definitely prefer staying in with you as opposed to going out. Now of course, we must take into consideration that this is the Hero of the Wilds we’re talking about and he most certainly has a list of places that are absolutely stunning for a picnic date. You won’t be ‘in’ so much as being inside, He just prefers to not make a whole big affair out of his love for you.

He’d spend days -maybe months- in advance gathering your favourite foods and meal prepping exactly for valentine’s. He’d take many trips and photos of each location of Hyrule and narrow it down to whichever one he believes you’d have the most fun and enjoy yourself.

The picnic may extend into a whole camping trip/expedition/quest/adventure but you’ll hardly notice the days bleed into one another with the endless entertainment he brings. Afterall, he did pick out a place not only for scenery, but where his beloved would enjoy the most. He’d find a place in Eldin if that’s where you’d most enjoy.

I could see him making you jewellery with stones he mined. Taking a few lessons from the jeweller in Gerudo town on the weekends is surprisingly manageable.

I don’t see him as the type to enjoy Valentine’s until he meets you. It just made him sad about his life before, what he’d lost, what he could never return to. But it’s you who teaches him that there’s more to love than idolization, that it’s something far softer and fragile that it’s no wonder people made a holiday to fawn over it.

He’s a bit emotionally dense so good luck ig!

۵♡۵

The cabin was by no means luxurious, it’s wooden beams dipping inward with the weight of itself and the cold of Hebra slipped through the cracks. The wind whistled within the cracks of the wooden walls, blending in with the ambience of the fire crackling away within its hearth. You sat on the counter as Link finished up lunch— a hearty stew to replenish your energy from hiking all the way up here with him. He beamed, handing you a bowl and sliding up onto the counter next to you, watching eagerly to see your opinions. Though to the world he held up the character of indifference for the sake of strength, for you he was worlds away from such a standard. You hummed in contentment with the warmth that came with the meal he presented to you, and his eyes lit up even more. To him, you were his heart. You were the source of all the feelings he was taught to suppress and still, you drew them out of him. He owes every daring grin and glower in anger to you. You who taught him not how to feel —such a thing is innate to most people— but how to accept what he feels. To read them.

“Hey… do you wanna go shield surfing after this?” But maybe that was just because you knew how to read him.

[cutthroatcarnival]

Revered Deity, Unknown Hero (1/10)

This is a special one! Thank you @bokettochild for allowing me to write a fic using your God of War!Warriors idea! It was super fun to write. :)

Read chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

Find it on AO3 here!

Divine and Draconic Differences

The skies were clear and the weather was pleasant as the heroes congregated outside of Wild and Flora’s Hateno home. It was peaceful, a nice and welcomed reprieve from the era before.

Wind, a still growing teenager, was overflowing with energy, tugging around an equally as eager Hyrule, to explore everything possible. He had his spyglass out, sweeping across the vast land of the Wild Era. Every so often, he’d hand his spyglass over to the traveler to allow him a go.

His telescope was focused on a chasm far out, watching the remaining wisps of gloom fade into the air. Mesmerized by the red-purple, he didn’t fully register the white-blue on the edge until it had blocked his view.

“Wild! What the fuck is that?!” Keeping his focus on the serpentine creature in the sky, he heard Wild approach his side with the familiar sound of him activating his slate’s scope mode.

“That’s Naydra, one of the dragons.”

That… didn’t look like a dragon. Dropping his spyglass from his eye, Wind fixed Wild with a stare. The scarred hero stared back.

“Don’t look at me like that. There’s three dragons, they’re all servants of the springs. Naydra happens to be the servant of the Spring of Wisdom, which is,” he grabbed Wind’s shoulder and spun him around, pointing to a mountain peak covered in snow, “right on that peak over there.” Wind moved his gaze to the mountain peak, following Wild’s finger. He could see the vague shape of pillars.

“Huh… so you have dragons too? They look different from mine.” Wind began walking back to the rest of the group, who had been listening in on the conversation, no matter how hard they tried hiding it. Wild took a few seconds to decipher the information, and ran to catch up with the sailor.

“What do you mean “you too”? I didn’t know anyone else had dragons!” Wind shrugged.

“Like I said, mine are different, like Valoo. He was a sky spirit I met during my first adventure. And the only one that didn’t try to kill me.” He plopped down next to Warriors, who offered the young hero one of the apples he had.

“Still! Does anyone else have dragons?” All hands went up except for the smithy, who looked utterly confused as he mouthed dragons over and over, eyes swirling different colors.

“In my defense, all of my dragons wanted to kill me.” Hyrule exclaimed, being seconded by Time, Twilight, Warriors, and Legend.

The five heroes delved into further conversation about their draconic enemies. Wind wiggled into the group, chattering about the gleeoks he fought. Wild chimed in about having to fight gleeoks as well, explaining about the King Gleeoks residing in hard-to-reach locations.

“The dragons I know serve Hylia.” A few grimaced at the mention of the goddess, but the dislike was outweighed by the curiosity of Sky’s dragons.

“The three of them were assigned to watch over different provinces of the Surface. They also protected the sacred flames, and held parts of the Song of the Hero.”

Wild was immediately upon Sky, spitting out questions with very little breaths between, all centered on what they looked like, if they had any powers, and anything of the sort.

“Of course they have powers, they guard and protect the Triforce. Even the gods wouldn’t be able to reach it with them guarding the key to it.

Gods and Goddesses were a touchy subject. Some were openly hostile towards them, others in the middle, and some revered them. Yet, the topic always raised an interesting thought; just how many are there?

“Do you think there’s more than just Hylia?” Came Four’s voice, eyes shining a curious violet.

“There’s the light spirits in my era,” Twilight rested his chin in his palm, “Ordona, Lanayru, Eldin, and Faron. They protect the regions they share names with.”

“Oh, and the Golden Goddesses! They’re the ones that submerged Hyrule!” Wind piped up, leaning against Warriors, who grimaced as the sailor’s sharp elbow dug into his thigh.

A soft hum emitted from Time, who had been running his fingers along his markings, a pensive look across his face. Wild bounded off of Sky, and settled next to Twilight.

“I know of one! Legends talk about a Fierce Deity… they say that if one dons his armor and mask they gain godlike power.”

Time gave a sharp inhale, and his fingers dropped from his face.

Others shook their heads, either not having any other gods, goddesses, or deities in their time, or having the same ones as someone else.

“Not anymore.”

Eight heads turned towards Sky, who had found a stick and was whittling absentmindedly, a stormy look across his face. They all shared a few glances- curiosity, and a little bit of fear.

‘Not anymore’?

“Oh! There is another- the Deity of War.” Hyrule broke the silence, fingers tying blades of grass into circles while his gaze rested on the other heroes.

“Isn’t that the same as the Fierce Deity?” Twilight cocked his head.

Legend scoffed.

“Many think that, but”, he stood up and turned so he was facing all eight heroes, “they are different. He’s the Deity of War, exactly as his name implies; a powerhouse on the battlefield, calculated and quick. The Fierce Deity doesn’t focus on war, he focuses on ferocity, on power, on courage. It’s in their names, it really is that simple.”

The veteran launched further into an explanation about the two, pointing out the similarities and differences, both surface level and deeper. Pointed ears all upright, revealing without words how invested they were in this newly learned-about deity.

Wild shot up out of his seat and ran to the house, slamming the door open, sounds of rustling and clanging could be heard, and the heroes remaining shared concerned glances. The current era’s hero came racing back out- not bothering to shut the door- with a book in his grasp.

“Legends Throughout the Ages” read the title of the book in intricate gold. The book itself seemed to be in good condition, missing the normal wear and tear they had seen on other things in the champion’s era.

“I know about him! Flora was talking about some books she had found in the castle,” he thumbed through the pages, “and she thought I would like this one… Aha!” Wild smoothed the book to lay flat on pages marked with blue fabric scraps.

On the pages were long paragraphs of stories and legends of the deity, exploring where he originated from and what eras his legends came from. Taking up a sizable portion of the right page was an image.

“Hey, he kind of looks like Warriors!”

Wind grabbed the book from Wild and pranced back over to the captain, who only raised an eyebrow at him, his now finished apple set off to the side. The sailor raised the book next to Warriors and basked in the ‘oohs’ when they realized that their youngest was right.

The picture and the captain looked nearly identical; only differentiated by the gold and blue markings on the deity’s face, blank eyes, and the color of the armor- a vibrant gold- and the tunic- a pale cream.

Snatching the book, Warriors scanned over the page, lingering on the photo a little longer.

“I don’t see it.”

That caused an uproar, as Wind and Wild both pounced on the captain, claiming that he was wrong and everyone could very well see it, while Hyrule just looked at the captain like he had grown a second head. The others groaned quietly.

There goes the relaxing day they were hoping for.

[abbyz-elda]

A Link to the Stars Chapter 16 Sneak Peek

Now, Ganondorf expected to be spurred on to the next step to taking the crown. But Nabooru, being the ambassador to Hyrule, had other matters to attend to. So Ganondorf lounged in a chair at a huge dining table, sipping the most delicious coffee he had ever tasted, and watched her work.  After a few minutes, one of her eyebrows drew up in surprise. “Apparently the Hylian Princess and that general of yours have recently departed to Eldin to do research on that strange moon.”  Ganondorf leaned back in his chair, flashing a crooked smile to mask the jealousy that suddenly sprang up in his chest. Why did they get to go on adventures while he had to sit here and wait for Nabooru to finish her paperwork? “Just the two of them?”  She nodded, swiping through the report on her tablet with her fingers.  Ganondorf couldn’t contain his chuckle. Link and Zelda, alone, on a trip to save their planet? It was inevitable, then. Link would not be returning to Hyrule a single man. “Guess I better start working on my best man speech.”

[bekaterrier]

Happy Audio Drama Sunday! I wasn't able to put together a post last week so this week you're getting a double dose.

@tellnotalespod S2 E14 - Fixing Things: I'm with Leo and being concerned about Riley. I'm glad they ended up talking things out, in the way that only friends of 20 years can do: incredibly bluntly. The talk with Mickey was what Leo needed, but now I'm also concerned about her and all the other ghosts we've met! They really need to figure out this deteriorating spirit plane thing...

Tell No Tales S2 E15 - Crafting Universes: If S2 E2 was a love letter to audio drama, this episode felt like a love letter to D&D.

"...with the right people, you and your friends are making entire worlds unfold at the table. . . five of the people you love most in the world are sat at the table with you, telling stories of their own, with goals and motivations of their own. . . if everyone there has that trust in each other, then the table fades away entirely, and by the end you’ve crafted a universe together."

Also, I've been saying all season that Julia would be such a great asset to their research, and I'm glad to be proven right!

@proserpinapark S2 & S3: It was so fun hearing Alina, Drew, and Jun learn more about the park and the creatures within, as well as listen to Dog struggle to keep them safe. I'd heard of some of the creatures and myths, but I learned about so many more! It was also great to hear more from Mirai and what's going on with her and her trek to find her other brother. I have so many questions about the park, how they're going to save it, what happened to the other Jun, where has Mirai gone off to...I can't wait for the next season to start up!

@monkeymanproductions's Moonbase Theta, Out - Phases: The MTO world continues to live on through short stories on Patreon. July's story gave us some insight into the origins of an absolutely beloved character, Moddy Sarah. Deej proves once again that they belong in feelings jail as this story made me cry. If you're like me and you want to live with the MTO characters a little longer, their Patreon with these short stories is the place to be.

@midnightburgr's Welcome to the Horizon Part 4: The Recluse: I go into every Horizon episode wondering what weird stuff we're getting this time, and this episode did not disappoint. The fungi! I like how June is thinking outside the box and getting Verge's (and Eldin's) help. I am concerned about Frank running in with no mask, even though Eldin said he thought he would be fine. I also like seeing the other town members starting to come together over these weird things, like Flat Doug comforting Trinkett at the end. This mini-series contributes to be hilarious and intriguing.

@vestaclinicpod: I needed something comforting to listen to at the end of this week, so I did a re-listen of The Vesta Clinic. There are so many things I love about this show: how compassionate it is, the rapport between the docs (yes, Sec counts here), the absolute creativity in the world building and patient cases... I can't wait for S2, hearing more from the other docs and clinic team members, finding out more about what was up with the prof and what Sec asked Faye to help him with, and all of the captivating new patients.

[yiga-hellhole]

TWILIGHT FOREST, TWILIGHT KING CHAPTER 11

IT'S HERE!! ANOTHER ZANT CHAPTER!! i'm SOOO excited about this one. i wanna give a quick shoutout to @bulgariansumo for pseudo-proofreading this chapter, and @aortic-inkwell for inspiring me to also make a fancy portrait of our beloved (?) twilight king. hope you don’t mind the ping, but i gotta give credit where credit is due!

this time, we deal with the aftermath of the hard-fought battle at the Eldin border. as the lieutenants recuperate, one very important task still lies at hand... yuga's portrait of the Twilight King. 7.4k words under the cut!

content warning: self harm

ao3 mirror: HERE!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

"Good morning, [my Diamond]."

For the first time since that battle, where their souls became one, Ghirahim awakened. Zant lay next to him in his nightgowns, brushing the backs of his fingers across his jaw. The sword spirit’s mattress was much harder than his own. Likely, because it often went unused. Ghirahim groaned, squinting his eyes shut, and rubbed his fingers through his hair. In all of the time they spent together, Zant had not seen him sleep until now. He could only surmise he was rousing from a most unfamiliar feeling. 

“What happened,” he murmured. “I… I remember the battle, but… How did I get back to the Palace?” Hands stroked his face, pulling at puffy eyebags. 

Zant propped himself up on his elbow. “You have slept for five days,” he stated, very matter-of-factly.

“Five days!?”

Five days. That is how long he spent by his side. After driving himself to his very limit, Ghirahim fell to the ground at the Eldin Border, and simply would not rise. Zant remembered how quickly he dove for him, clutching him in his arms, searching for any sign of life. The pulse of his core was weak, then, but undeniably there. It hid there, the precious thing, sheltering deep within him in recuperation. Medics and generals gathered around the pair, fearing for the worst, but Zant pacified them soon enough. But he could not remain there. Using his magic to lift him, the large, metal man was soon brought hovering to his chest, a hand held in the small of his back to guide him through the air before him the same ease one would when playing with bubbles of soap. When he returned him to their keep in Eldin, he did not leave his side. When his comatose body was sent to the palace, he did not leave his side. And though duty called during the negotiations with their Master, he returned each night to his chambers without fail, and joined him in his bed. Zant knew nothing of sword spirits, of demons, yet every day he kept a watchful eye over that gentle flicker within his core. Whatever happened, that faint glow must not die. The cost of power would not be paid with the life of his companion. 

Every night that glow remained stable was one of simultaneous relief and guilt. Ghirahim was not dying. Yet, Zant could not help but think that his current state was his doing. So gleefully he had danced through the battlefield, his dagger, and so tranquil he laid there now. To be united in the way that they were, he was granted a peek through the screens to reveal so much of him. As small and relenting as their tether had been, Ghirahim’s pure joy and pride glowed through the strings that bound them. Time and time again he stated that he was a weapon, but the fulfillment he took in acting the part bloomed even into Zant’s very soul, and he now understood it fully. It put a twisted warmth in his chest, one he could only recall fondly now that it was gone. He wondered, then, what pieces of himself had entered into his beloved. What knowledge he held of him now. 

Three days, Ghirahim had laid unchanged. On the fourth night, suddenly, his chosen skin appeared again to shroud his body. Zant sat excitedly, then, waiting for him to awaken. Only to splay across him, weeping softly, when he did not. Certainly, it meant slowly, but surely, Ghirahim was regaining his strength, but his impatience, his desire to see him, was taking its toll. Ganondorf was growing impatient, their generals anxious, and Yuga, oh, spare the thought.

It was the sixth morning. Ghirahim was awake.

In response to his startled query, he nodded, cooing happily as he nuzzled him. Ghirahim was anxious, only meeting his affection for a second. A smile graced his lips, but his brow creased with worry. Soon, he dismissed him to sit up, a feverish eagerness to return to his post overtaking him. The Sword only knew to serve. But before he could fully rise, he clutched his head and fell back into the pillows. 

Zant braced his hand on his shoulder. “Do not rush, Ghirahim. All your duties are accounted for until your recovery.”

The demon groaned and writhed before him. For a man such as he, having not a single thing to attend to was unheard of, surely. Even as he took his hand, he continued to bemoan his fate. “How pesky it is, to lay here idle! What of our Master? I’m certain he will be positively cross with me, for our carelessness.”

Zant stroked his thumb over Ghirahim’s gloved fingers. Indeed, Ganondorf had been displeased with the lack of progress of Ghirahim’s recovery, and certainly, now that he was awake again, he would put him to work straight away. For now, he wished to shelter him as long as he could. To enjoy that rare moment of being his sole occupation. “I have briefed our successes to our Master. Fortunately for us, word travels fast. Your massacre on the Eastern front was most thrilling to him, [my dear].” Sweetened was the pot, and Ghirahim relaxed just a bit. “Though, I’ve not relayed all the details yet. He will want to see us again and inquire.”

Ghirahim’s lips tightened to a thin, white line as he averted his gaze to the sun peeking past the shutters. Zant drew his attention to him again, with the press of a kiss to his knuckles. He turned to him and spoke. “What of our advance?”

“Oh, you needn’t fret for another few days. We are sending out skirmishes before returning to the border. The Master wishes to send us to Death Mountain, next. The Gorons are holding too fast for his liking, and I must agree.”

Ghirahim nodded again thoughtfully. The buzzing ache of duty ate away at him, hollowing him out beneath his false skin, leaving nothing but the desire to rip himself out of bed and get to his post. Even his affections could not slither their way past that worried scowl. Zant thought carefully, wondering how he could lower his guard, and sink him back into the pillows in relaxation for just a few more precious minutes.

He scooted on the bed towards him, clutching his hand to his chest. Ghirahim looked with hooded eyes at the odd gesture of affection, his attention captured by the heartbeat that resonated through his metallic interior. Zant smiled when he faced him again. “You still have not recovered, Ghirahim. It is quite alright to spend a little more time in leisure.”

“Sentimental creature,” Ghirahim scoffed, a smirk splitting his lips. “I take it you have just been laying here, waiting until I wake up? So unwisely you spend your time.”

He squinted at him. The gravity of the situation simply did not occur to Ghirahim. Not for a moment, did he consider his worries, how he had agonized over his sleeping state. A sword he was, indeed! So tragic was he, to be forged for bloodshed, and understand so little of everything else. If it was practicalities he was worried about, he would soothe him with them, first. “Rest assured, I have been attending to my duties, and yours, perfectly adequately. But, indeed, I spent my nights to watch over you. I do not regret it. Privileged am I, to be the first to see your waking face.”

Ghirahim’s eyes widened, and his brow subtly knit, the tips of his ears getting just a small reddish glow. He was to say something bothersome again, to try to push his buttons. How he desired, instead, to see that blush increase. “Stay with me, just a little longer? I have missed you so terribly, Ghirahim.”

A pause. Ghirahim rolled over on his side, slowly, as to not agitate his dizziness, to face him properly. He looked down at the hand Zant still had pressed to his chest, fixated on the grey fingers gently stroking his own. His eyes flitted up to him again, his milky lips parting as he sought his words. The Demon Lord witnessed him now, truly saw him, how haggard his countenance and disheveled his hair had become. “You worried for me?”

“The term ‘worry’ cannot begin to encapsulate the grief I felt, looking upon you in that wretched slumber.”

A flicker of recognition shone in Ghirahim’s ink-black eyes. The reflection of his chandelier danced in his irises as the stars would reflect in a midnight lake, the fancies he carried within those deep voids bubbling to the surface. A gasp escaped his lips. Slowly, he drew closer to him. They silently entangled, Ghirahim’s face burrowing into the pillowy fabric on his chest as he held him tight. Silently he whispered, muffled and elusive like the turning of a page. “Thank you, for caring for me,” the words left his lips with uncertainty, their pitch stuck between a broken sob and a question. 

The frigid waking body of the Demon Lord slowly warmed in his arms. Cry before him, he would not, but the heavy eyelids fluttering shut as he rested his face upon his breast carried solemnity. Words of gratitude, of lament, and the joy of reunion did not need to be said. They carried their meaning in the gentle touches they placed upon one another, of hands grasping at clothing, and fingers combing through each others’ hair. 

As he cradled him so tenderly against him, Zant smiled.

——

"Tell me. Which of you was it who faced the Chosen Hero?"

Even the spellbinding intimacy of that morning, as much as he’d safeguarded it, had to come to an end. As Zant expected, the very minute their Master suspected Ghirahim’s return to the waking world, he had them summoned to his throne room. They kneeled at his feet, faces cast down to the ground as they gave him their report. Most of it, Zant had relayed himself. But Ganondorf found one slight crack in his report that could cost them both. The Gerudo King fully intended to wring the concealed guilt out of his subordinate ‘til the last drop.

"You let him live," Ganondorf stated coldly. That disdain in his voice. Though he was not permitted to take his eyes off of him, through the very air, a silent whimper. He heard Ghirahim falter. 

"... Yes, Master."

"In your carelessness, your thirst for battle, you injured that boy into defenselessness, and you let him live," he snarled, a fist balling with a creak of his gauntlet's hinges as he pounded it on his armrest. A stammer quaked out beside him, dribbling from the lips of a paralyzed Ghirahim who sought desperately for a proper excuse for his selfish behavior. Against his precious Master, he could never find one.

"I do beg your pardon, My Lord," Zant interjected, immediately attracting the furious gaze of the Demon King to himself. "Though indeed it may appear careless, would you not say his actions on the battlefield accorded well to your wishes? The boy is your prized kill. To take such a monumental achievement from you would only displease you."

Silence tore through the throne room in an instant. Ghirahim, wide-eyed and shocked, ceased his mousey whimpers. Zant and Ganondorf were locked in a sharp, fiery gaze, golden eyes burning holes in one another.

Wrinkles formed at the corners of Ganondorf's eyes. The mighty Demon King threw his head back in roaring laughter, his hand smacking atop his armrest. "Right you are, Shadow Lord. Truly, you know your King."

Zant smiled, closing his eyes and nodding with cold serenity. Better than you could ever know, My Lord.

Ganondorf grunted as his laughter died down, looking between the two of them. "You have done well in securing the border, and though the fortune of coincidence has smiled upon you this time, I will tolerate no further acts of mercy. I have summoned you here to kill for me, not engage in quarrels of your own."

The two of them nodded solemnly in response. Their Master had no need to remind them of the consequences, should they displease him even a shred further. The arrival of Yuga may have strengthened their forces significantly, but it also jeopardized the positions of the two lieutenants. Bit by bit, they became gradually less irreplaceable. A man of flesh and blood at the surface, but below that bronze skin weaved an ever-growing tapestry of golden power. Anything that stood in the way of that power was to be disposed of, camaraderie be damned. 

The pair marched back to the hall, soles clacking on the polished tiles in unison. Veiled Gerudo women closed the massive, gilded door behind them.

Ghirahim remained silent. The thoughts racing through his mind the second he crossed the threshold of subservience might as well have been reflected in his eyes. Yet, not a single word passed his lips. He was stunned.

Zant placed his hand on his shoulder. Ghirahim shrugged it off. 

“Why did you make excuses for me? I am no child. Such blunders have consequences, and I was prepared to face them,” he snarled after whipping around to face him.

Zant remembered the tremor in the air. How the very floor bore the burden of his fears, threatening to crack and fissure, swallowing Ghirahim into the fires resting below the surface. The look on the sword spirit’s face, reflected in the polished surface of their Master’s shin guards. It was the face of a man who had fled the clutches of death, only to hear it knocking on his windowsill in the dead of night.

The shutters of Zant’s helmet closed over his face before his scowl could become any more obvious. “You were not.”

Ghirahim clenched his fist and grit his teeth, but could find no retort. Such a whirlwind of emotions, this one. If only he knew the extent of the typhoon that reckoned before him. Zant braced his hand on the small of Ghirahim’s back and began to walk. He knew that he hadn’t the strength to move the solid metal being if he tried, but much to his satisfaction, he followed along with him, a barely-disguised shuffle stumbling his otherwise straight-postured gait.

“Come, [my nightshade], let us mull over it no longer,” he purred, walking him down the corridor. “The Master has forgiven us for now. If you wish to please him, you would do better to return to your duties than to sulk at me. There is plenty to discuss in the camp. Troops are expected to return with our supplies, to-day.”

Ghirahim clicked his tongue, the pep returning to his step. “I wasn’t sulking. With all the nonsense you pull, I am fully justified in my occasional outburst.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

——

A sharp gasp startled Zant nearly out of his desk chair.

“What beautiful embroidery,” Ghirahim marveled, taking a folded garment carefully out from his wardrobe. He unfolded it, holding it before him. The dark fuchsia robe, decorated with a subtle wave pattern in white, was dangling from his fingertips, its ends just barely off the ground. “And such exquisite colors! Zant, why do you never wear this?”

Ah, he’d almost forgotten about it. Perhaps now was a good time to retrieve it, but… Somewhere, he shuddered to. With Ghirahim rousing from his deep sleep, Zant was finally in a fair enough mood that Yuga felt comfortable pestering him about portraiture again. Of course, his sword spirit caught onto this and appointed himself to be the one to dress him for the event. Or rather, simply ripped his wardrobe open to rummage inside. Powerless to stop him, Zant had resigned himself with a sigh. Instead, he sat at his desk, attempting to engross himself in completing a field chapter through all the noise. It was not going well. 

He leaned back in his chair, meeting eyes with the giddy thing peeking past the sea of fabric. A hum escaped through his nose. “That… Is part of a set. It is far too ill-fitting on its own.”

The immediate glitter in Ghirahim’s eyes made him somewhat regret those words. “A set?” He immediately dove back into the closet. “Where is the rest of it?”

With a sigh, he stood up from his chair and joined his side. “There are ten layers total-“

“Ten!?”

“Yes,” ignoring the rude interruption, he gestured with his sleeve to the closet’s interior. “These shelves hold the bottom eight layers, and the two overcoats, I’ve hung back here,” Zant murmured, pushing the coats and robes that hung in his closet aside with a sweep of his arms, revealing a pair of spread robes hung tightly against the wall. The outermost was an almost sheer, midnight blue, adorned with the pale swirls of twilit medallions, while the one below it was a bright cyan, decorated with a sprawling pattern of ferns. 

Ghirahim gasped, delighted at the craftsmanship of the robes that were so scandalously tucked away from the light of day. Indignated, almost, he ran the fabric through his fingers. “Why you choose to wear the same thing nigh every day when you have these gorgeous robes just catching dust is beyond me.”

“They’re quite arduous to don,” he pondered. “The whole ensemble needs several attendants to put together.”

Ghirahim looked at him so sharply and quickly that the alarming jingle of his earring drew his eyes straight to him. “How many attendants?”

A dawning realization fell on Zant as he drew a breath. “At least two,” he murmured after a beat of silence. 

It did not take long for him to be set up in the middle of the room, his co-lieutenants once again swarming him like scavengers around an increasingly more well-dressed carcass. He stuck his arms out to either side, while the two men — one behind him, the other up front, busied themselves with robes and sashes. Groaning and frowning, the pair of rag-tag dressing maids soon realized the reason Zant hadn’t worn it in their presence before. It was an incredibly complex piece, requiring specific layering of pins, ribbons, and knots. Not only to keep it in place but to retain the inherent symbolism hidden within the layering of the garment. This, Zant insisted on. Despite it having been a year since he last donned it, he somehow managed to remember what pin went where. More amusingly, it gave him the opportunity to swat and bicker whenever either of them failed to follow his instructions. Childish it was, perhaps, but he wanted to exact a little vengeance on them. They’d been far too comfortable pushing him around!

Nevertheless, sooner or later, they had him dressed. Heavy layers dragged on the ground behind him as he walked towards the standing mirror. He’d been clad in a palette of black, gold, turquoise, and fuchsia, embracing one another in a turbulent gradient. Sweating and disheveled, Ghirahim and Yuga squeezed hands in quiet celebration behind him. Indeed, they’d done fine work. It was a lovely garment, though looking at it, he decided he’d rather not dwell on the memories of having commissioned it. After looking himself up and down once more, he turned back towards the pair, only to find them lingering awfully close behind him. Zant flinched, backing up just a step in surprise, blinking down at the pair that followed him in step. As it turned out, a change of clothes alone would not suffice for royal portraiture. His attendants would not rest until he left this room jingling and glittering with bits, bobs, and bangles. There was a painting to make.

More doll than man was he now, held together by pins and combs and jewels. Zant found himself in the Lorulian sorcerer’s atelier, seated on a prop wooden throne that just barely managed to fit his mass of robes. Across from him sat Yuga, accompanied by Ghirahim, who decided to stick around until he got bored of watching blotches of paint sculpt into shape. Eyes bore down on him, one gawking at him from idle curiosity, while the other pair glared at him with an intensity that could rival the light of the sun. Yuga’s eyes held him in a tight grasp, almost, forbidding him from moving. Rattling at the gate of his consciousness. Though there was nothing antagonistic about it, the sheer heat that flushed the back of his neck prompted him only to stare back, contesting that fierce gaze. And yet, he found he could not trap Yuga within like he could do others. The fluttering sounds of pencil dancing across canvas crackled in his ears as every detail of his form was devoured by the sorcerer’s ravenous eyes. The curve of his jawline, the shade falling upon his nose, and the markings upon his brow, every essence was plucked from him and copied onto the canvas. 

Their gazes met once more. Deep brown met gold, locked together, and stayed, until he was no longer looking at him at all. Zant stared straight through him, swallowed by the void black of his pupils.

Vision blurred, faded, and regained shape. He was now on his throne back at home, illuminated only by the soft glow of turquoise runes, and gazed out in front of him. Though he looked, he saw nothing, his vision clouded by a strange haze. He stared, and stared, and stared, until he realized what it was that he saw. It was not a blur that troubled the translation of sight and interpretation in his mind. Instead, his sight was segmented. Like the bulbous, paned eyeballs of a fly, he saw himself. Not through his own eyes, no, but stolen from the blank stares of his attendants standing at the foot of his throne. Now, he understood the depth of his bewitchment! His curse! 

Oh, how he missed his shadow puppets. So obedient, yet so vicious. 

Each and every one of his servants was caught in an endless web of puppet strings, himself at the center, attached to him through jagged hooks embedded in his mind. He needed not to raise even a finger to force them to do his bidding, powerless against his invasion. On his throne, he sat, indeed, but simultaneously, he was everywhere. Yet he was not scattered, he was fulfilled! Drowning in the delirious tyranny of his own power! Every particle of light that entered his countless eyes, blinding enough to roll his pupils to the back of his skull. The rustle of even the smallest creature scuttling away from his vessels could not go unnoticed. Scents of dried grass and ocean winds and urban bustle, enough to make him see smoke. The overwhelming potpourri of senses collided into him all at once. He was presented with the gift of omnipotence in a goblet and had gripped it with both his hands, gluttonously gulping down to drain every last drop, whether it would go down his throat or spill past his chin. 

Contented he sat, the blur of his vision replaced by disturbing clarity. If he looked closely now, he could see the little strings of his marionettes suspended between himself and his thralls, glittering under the light of his runes.

Until something snagged on his wrist. His eyes snapped open, as if he had opened yet another pair of lids, and transfixed on the source of the odd little tug. There, from under his skin, burrowed in the veins, was another string. Subtly, it shone and sparkled under the light, drawing his eyes up, up, up towards the ceiling to trace its trajectory. His mouth fell agape when he saw it disappear into the shadows of the ceiling.

A voice called.

It insisted.

"Zant," called a shrill voice now with astounding clarity.

He was in Yuga's room. That's right. He was posing. "Yes?"

"Are you feeling quite alright?" Yuga inquired, having stepped away from behind his canvas to approach him. He noticed now that while he drifted someplace else, Ghirahim had left, and Yuga was looking quite a bit more paint-smeared than when he last saw him. The curtains were drawn, though, so he hadn’t the slightest idea how long he’d wandered into the fog of his mind. Rather a touch disoriented than baking in the sun, he supposed. 

The painter continued, cocking his head and clearing his throat as he spotted him losing focus again. "You had quite the scowl on your face for a moment there."

Zant chuckled in response. An artist’s eye is eternally sharp, especially when staring intently at its muse. How careless, to let himself get so lost in terrible thoughts! "Oh, it's really quite embarrassing. I have an itch I daren't relieve, and I didn't want to move to tend to it. I must have gotten distracted."

Yuga laughed, seemingly a little relieved. To mislead him through mundane matters seemed like the best option, indeed. "You can feel free to move a bit, you know! So long as you return to your position after." 

"No, I do not want to risk dislodging my robes. I will manage."

Yuga hummed, and returned to his place behind the easel, humming cheerfully. "Do know that you can be candid with me. I do quite enjoy it!"

Over the next few days, Zant would oblige that offer. A marvelously quick worker, Yuga was, but even she could not finish such an arduous project in a single day. Every day they would have a handful of free hours, Zant found himself returning to the foppish lady’s studio, clad in those heaving robes and sweating the hours away. Every time silence fell, and those heavily painted eyes peeped curiously past the canvas, he found himself sharing just a little snippet of his life.

"It was not a delusion, you know. My pursuit for the throne."

The wispy, scratching sound of brush upon canvas ceased. Yuga looked past her easel with intrigue.

"I truly was considered to be next in line. Our throne is elective – the reigning monarch perishes, and the most suitable successor is decided through vote."

For a moment, Yuga simply stopped and blinked, until a slight smile crossed her, and she returned to painting. So, so eager to catch this expression, this tug of the lips. Zant was fulfilling her wish for candor, every word caught like precious raindrops in the drought. "Is that so? I daren't offend, my most esteemed sitter, but I must say, I had always assumed you to occupy a similar position as I."

Zant shook his head, stiffly and controlled as to not dislodge his many adornments. Jewelry and hairpins jingled in the motion. "I served, indeed, as High Clergy, but I occupied the same realm as princes. But alas, it was not meant to be. Midna, due only to the love of our people and her blood relation to the previous monarch, claimed it for her own."

On a particularly hot day, he appeared to the painter in his undershirt. The unpredictable, ever-changing nature of the Light World never ceased to bewitch him. Still, he allowed himself moments to complain about this so-unfamiliar concept of sweltering desert heat. Wax candles needn’t be lit to melt, in this weather! Yuga lounged around him, piecing together sketches of his face from various angles. Madly he hovered around him, wielding a candlestick to observe how the shadows fell upon his face. Little wicker flames flickered, stuttering in the wind of movement. An almost crazed look lingered in Yuga’s eyes, engrossed in his task. Studious was he, pointed and lacquered nails digging into his skin as he turned his face to whichever angle he wished. Yuga peered at him, a brush between his teeth, lap-sized canvas clutched tightly in his hand. Any other time, it would have unnerved him, but his professionalism made it endurable.

Another ramble struck him. "I do admit, she was my equal in the realm of magic. But she was stubborn. Childish. In scholarly realms, I by far exceeded her, and in ambition. Gods! The only ambition she had was that of peace. In that wretched place, we had suffered nothing else than this coveted 'peace'. The word stagnation would suit it better. A slow death of her spirit. I could have brought feasible change, but alas, I lacked her charisma, her poise."

Yuga, though visibly interested, allowed him to finish speaking, yet still admonished him for daring to move his jaw during such a careful study. He refrained from sharing any more that day.

Yuga was in a fair mood that day. He had presented him with a basket of grapes, to idly eat while the painter worked into the last details of his robes. No longer did he have to stare so intently at his face, but he spied the man occasionally meeting his eye, either way. He popped one of the dark, purple fruits into his mouth. Casually he sat eating, waiting for a chance to once again draw his attention.

"In any other case, to have retained my position would have been strategic. I could have exerted my influence over the reigning monarch and forced that change into being, but Midna… Midna, I could never hope to control. She is too steadfast for that."

His fingers twitched in his lap. The many robes stifled him, made his skin itch like it was ill-fitted. Never could he fully sit still when his temper failed him, his anger masked by gritted teeth and a bitter smile. "Perhaps… Had I kept my old name, I would have had a better chance at gaining the throne."

Again, a pause. Zant partook in another grape. His tongue crushed it against the roof of his mouth, bursting its juices to the inside of his cheeks. He grimaced, subtly. This one was sour. His ear twitched, acutely hearing the quiver of the brush in Yuga's hand. Earrings jingled. 

Hesitation, yet burning with curiosity, held back slimly by his desire to stay polite. Hisself-controll snapped like worn rope. "Oho," Yuga inquired, "If I may ask, whatever might that be?"

Zant chuckled in response. "Perhaps some other time."

This final day was fairest of all, but longest, as well. Yuga pleaded him to sit hours into the night, and had even invited Ghirahim over to join them. His sword spirit sat behind Yuga, draped over a lounging couch, chin resting on his hand. Deep, black eyes curiously, yet with a hint of boyish boredom and envy, stared at the canvas that Zant himself could not see. He looked between him and the painting, and Ghirahim smiled fondly. It was the smile of someone trying their best to hide a surprise, the bouquet they hid just barely peeking past their silhouette. Zant flashed a smile in return, before returning his attention to Yuga. The man paced before the canvas, smearing the excess paint on his hands off on his stained apron, and wiped his brow. Thrilled eyes darted between Zant and the canvas, perfectionism curling his fingers into claws. He lunged back to his canvas every so often between his fits of staring, feverishly working on nothing but a few dots of white on shining lips and jewelry. Amused by his enthusiasm, the pair of lovers exchanged a glance, mouths tightening to stifle a smile.

Finally, Yuga decisively dunked his brushes into the tin of water perched upon his stool and marveled at his work with his hands thrown into the air. “It is finished!”

Ghirahim rose from his chair, covering his lips with his hand. Almost bashful, he gazed upon his depiction! Could he be shy to see him in such opulence? 

“Why, Yuga. Such fine work you’ve put in! This really is one of your better works yet.”

Yuga beamed in response, adoringly grasping Ghirahim by the cheeks. 

“Could one of you help me up? These robes weigh me down, after so many hours of sitting,” Zant cut in. A scandal it would be, for the very subject of the painting to be left out of the conversation. Ghirahim soon made his way over to take his hands, pulling him back upright from the wooden throne. Hand in hand, the two of them walked over to the easel, as a valet would help his Lordship from a carriage. 

Zant gasped as his eyes fell on the painting. So elegantly, he had been depicted! He clutched his robes to his chest to keep them from disheveling, leaning forward close enough for the golden coating to glitter in his eyes. Cosmetics split and creased on his face as he grinned widely. “Oh, Yuga. I adore it. Such a fine way to be immortalized! Truly, you see beauty where others fail to notice it.”

Yuga shrieked with laughter. “Of course you’d love it! I settle for nothing less than perfection, with such a stunning model.” Caked with dried paint, perfumed hands found his face again, and tugged him down. Overcome with joy, Yuga pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving a smudge of gloss upon it. The past days have made him awfully comfortable with touching him. He wasn’t sure he minded. “What a marvelous sitter you’ve been! I would be very fortunate, indeed, if you were to pose for me again.”

A subtle clear of the throat rang behind him. For the first time since he first laid eyes upon it, he managed to tear his gaze away from the glorious painting and turn his neck to face the noise. “I believe someone else needs tending to, first, Yuga.”

Ghirahim stood self-importantly behind them, pacified only slightly by the paint-stained hand that patted reassuringly on his shoulder.

“Of course I have you penned thoroughly in my schedule already, my dear Ghirahim. But a man can look to the future and hope!”

The gloved hands posed grumpily at his waist, dropped down to dangle beside him, and a playful smile graced his lips. Sneering some comment or other in a whisper at Yuga, he stepped forward, and stuffed his hand into the mass of robes at Zant’s side. Ghirahim locked their elbows together and leaned his head on his shoulder, resting on the pillowing layers of fabric. For just a moment, they gazed at the portrait together, with Yuga stanced proudly behind them. Zant wondered, then, what could be going through the sword spirit’s head. What emotion burned so brightly, that he felt it through countless robes? Perhaps once Yuga had finished his painting of that ivory creature, he would gaze upon it, and understand what Ghirahim felt at that very moment.

Suddenly, something tapped insistently at both their shoulders, and they turned.

“Alright. Out, you rascals! My masterpiece needs to be varnished and framed. I wish to be alone with it!” he squawked, pushing against the both of them, herding them towards the doorway. Bewildered, the sorcerer could never make him anymore, but a startled smile pulled at his lips nonetheless. So intense he was, even at this hour, after such tiring labor! He feared what would become of him when he sat down to paint the capricious man now latching on to his arm. The door slammed shut behind them, and the two were alone. 

In silence they stood in place, disturbed only by the sound of eveningtide cicadas outside. This side of the palace was dark and abandoned, and by now, the maidstaff knew better than to even think about this corridor past sundown.

“… So,” Ghirahim purred, pulling on his arm. “Shall we get those robes off of you?”

“If I did not agree with you so thoroughly, I would scold you, you tomcat,” he snickered, eyes squinting under the fondness of his smile.

——

That very morning, Yuga arrived with bokoblins in tow, carrying his preciously wrapped portrait. It was displayed proudly on the wall opposite to his bed, Yuga beaming and prattling on with pride the entire time he lingered, eager to spend every second he could get with his work. Nevertheless, he left. With the men departing from the room, the day went on, the secret vanity of having one's portrait taken trapped behind the shelter of his helmet.

His door closed behind him with a click, followed by the harsh thunk of the lock, twisted into its socket with a decisive turn of his clenched fist. Tonight, no company would join his chambers. He did not fear they would. The Lorulian sorcerer, his paint-stained hands and chewed-end brushes prowling for a model, had begun to deeply fancy the Demon Lord. Fine he was indeed, with his pearlescent hair and skin the color of bleached bone, with such beautifully sculpted features. Yuga had found his muse. Desperate to be admired as he was, Ghirahim could linger hours into the night, simply wasting wax, just to satisfy the hunger for being ogled and depicted. 

They would not disturb him.

He stepped towards the center of the room. 

Shadows licked at the paved floor from beneath his brass slippers, writhing beneath him like wicked tendrils. He took another step. Next to him, the curtains were drawn tightly, blocking the last rays of sunlight from entering the room fully. 

His sole landed on the tiled floor with a clank, the sound bouncing off of the black walls, echoing throughout the room before being swallowed by the hum and crackle of twilight magic. There was another curtain on the wall opposite him. This one did not quite lead to a window, but in a more fortunate life, it might have been. Yuga would have been appalled by the presence of this curtain, but Zant cared not. Not a soul, beyond the three of them, could know what lay beneath. Not even the servants could be trusted with a peep. They gossip.

He stood before it now, craning his head up as he gazed at the turquoise velvet drapes that hung from the rod fastened into the wall. Something buzzed at the back of his mind as he lingered there. Not a whisper, not an urge, but more like the crawling of an insect, taking residence behind his skull and chewing on his optical nerves. If eyes could itch to see, had a mind of their own to bear witness, his would be clawing their way out of their sockets to clamber behind the curtains. Such a simple offer, really. Take a look? 

He dug his fingers into the fabric and ranked the curtain down. Rings were sent flying, fabric tore at the grommets, and the drapery fell to the ground.

Behind it, lied his own face.

Yuga’s portrait.

He stumbled back. With a flick of his wrist and a clench of his hand, one of the chairs from his seating corner screeched across the floor towards him. Eyes never leaving the portrait, he slumped back into his seat. Upon his dressing table stood a delicate crystal drinking set, with a bottle of brandy as its centerpiece. Gingerly, he lifted its faceted bottle cap, and poured himself a glass. 

Yes. It was a fine portrait. 

Drink tingled at his lips as he took his first burning sip. He looked at the version of himself beyond the picture frame, where he sat smiling serenely, enshrined eternally in an infinite, golden haze. The eyes that gazed back at him, too, were rendered with golden paint at his irises. So intricately, Yuga had captured him. Angular and flowing were the contours of his robes, blurring into one another like the stratum of a rock face. They led the eye towards his face, where a black shroud and tyrian purple hair framed his marble-like visage. Golden pins, blackened metal clasps, and the sharp facets of gemstones accumulated into their own little treasury around his face. His pointed lips rested in the mere hint of a smirk. Brows relaxed, and eyes slightly hooded, he was the picture of peace, of contentment, of a man aware of his achievements and having eaten his fill of them. 

Yet, past that peaceful smile gracing sharp and perky lips, that little sparkle of triumph, Yuga had captured something else. True emotions remained irresistible to any painter. The sorcerer must have seized this moment when he thrust upon him his sliver of candor and immortalized it unknowingly in his work. Past the layers of paint and varnish, something wicked had nestled! Something carved below, seeping in through the scraping wounds left by brush on canvas, and festered in its makeshift grave! True intentions had been captured in that atelier. He saw it, now. 

It was a stab, an insult! A simple indulgence of a delusion, playing along with the poor, wretched Usurper, who’d been bumped twice from the throne he’d claimed. This other version of himself now mocked him in its tranquility. On the other side of the canvas, it lived in a world where it was King, knowing itself to dwell in the twisted abomination of a juvenile dream. 

There Zant stood, on his own side, feet planted in the reality where he was nobody at all. 

And it gazed right at him, lips curled into a disdainful smile, mocking him for daring to have ever dreamed at all. Suddenly, he was struck by the vanity of the piece. His glass shattered in his grip, sending a glittering shower of crystal and spirits splattering onto the floor. Teeth gritted, little drops of blood seeped from his hands. Instead of recognizing his honor, his grace, the painting posed him as the candid guest of a Masquerade. No, it was not vanity; it was confrontation, fodder for the beast of shame and delusion. In an instant, he felt his footing wobble, the tower he had built to the heights of glory crumbling beneath him. Truly! What was he, without a throne? Licking the heels of those more successful than he? Those eyes. Those shining, golden eyes encapsulated everything that had been stolen from him, and sat on the spoils, taunting him from the painted realm!

Zant shrieked and threw himself at his depiction. His chair clattered to the ground behind him, but before it could land, he had already dug his fingers into the canvas. Nails tore the painted surface to ribbons. Lovingly rendered, grey skin disappeared into shreds as he clawed his way through. Gold faded; ostentatious robes tore to bits; his smile, ripped into a yawning, shredded hole, splitting across his doll-like face. Yet, no matter how fiercely he scratched his way through that miserable canvas, nails screeching and bending as they hit the paneling below, those piercing, golden eyes would not relent in their gaze. Wider, they seemed to grow, staring straight at him. Mockery. Disdain. Amusement at his plight! He whimpered and cried, digging his claws desperately in an effort to break that horrid stare away from him. To release him from its judgment, from that horrible reminder of his own hubris. From the knowledge that he had died and failed, thrown away every chance he was given. That gaze. That wicked gaze, why would it not cease!?

Tears burned on his cheeks. Something trickled down to the floor. Like the snapping of a harp string, suddenly, Zant was able to wrestle away from the stifling eye contact of his painting, and looked down at his hands. 

Grey fingers were coated in blood, the underside of his nails sticky and clumpy with fresh scabs and skin. He stared at them in horror. Had the accursed depiction come to life, bearing blood and flesh? His lip quivering, he raised his face —

Only to be met with the mirror, and his portrait behind him, left untouched. It was not the canvas he had assaulted. Instead, in his frenzy, he had clawed at his own face. He shuddered and examined his reflection. Blunt nails did not damage him too terribly, but the bloody red streaks they’d left would surely raise questions. Pain brought clarity. Indeed, that picture, in its loveliness, had taught him a very valuable lesson. None �� not even those he had come to consider dear friends, considered him king. Those assertions of his title had been playful, a play-pretend to keep him meek and satisfied. Curiously, he could not find it in him to resent his companions for it. Their dishonesty, in and of itself, held truth. 

Standing there, tracing gingerly over the grooves he’d left on his skin, the blood from his tender flesh staining his fingers, he made a silent promise. He realized what he must do. What had to be done, to prove that he, too, belonged in that promised Golden land!

But first, he had to come up with a proper excuse for these injuries.

[ask-the-nine-links]

Hey, Twilight. I just warned the bulblins about the black-blood infection; they said they'll try to stay away from other monsters and closer to Kakariko for now. King Bulblin does want to race you and Epona on Lord Bulbo whenever you next visit, though. Two laps around Eldin Province, I think he said.

To the other Links, one of Twilight's nonhuman friends(?) looks forward to meeting you all! He doesn't want you guys going near the boar-like monsters his people use for transportation, though. Twilight's destroyed enough buildings by recklessly riding one that he knows better than to trust the rest of you to avoid property damage.

Twilight: Huh, that's actually pretty helpful, thank you!

Twilight: I don't think its a good idea to race th' King, though. A lot of people are still scared of them for what they did, plus he's a poor sport and couldn't handle th' loss.

Wind: I think I just got whiplash from reading this letter and hearing Twi's response. What the hell do you mean he rode a boar-like monster and smashed through building?!

Twilight: I'll tell you the story later, but th' Anon's right, I'm not letting you guys near them.

[layraket]

Day 16 - Necrosis

Character(s): Colors (Green and Vio) (LBS)

Words: 1106

Summary: Vio is wondering how would it work for a shadow being the process of dead

Whump scale: 2 (see the full scale here)

Warnings: Discussion of death, implied character death

-

It has been some months since they came back to their home, now just patrolling around and helping their father with monsters.

Zelda managed to imitate the magic of the Four Sword and gave them an amulet to split. It’s not permanent, it would last only two days and will need to recharge, but it’s some progress.

The first time they split again was in front of their father, he didn’t take it too bad—He freaked out a little, but it wasn’t that bad— and made his mission of raise them all together. Blue at first didn’t though that this was a good idea, but at the end he accepted.

Green and Vio went for a walk around their house, ending up siting on a big rock next to the river.

“I had missed this river” The leaf-like hero commented, watching the fish and crabs in the water.

“It’s smaller than I remember. There should be even more crabs” Vio always looked for the familiar, practical things to comment and analyze.

He got more and more attentive through time since their adventure finished, preferring to overanalyze almost anything he saw.

“Maybe it’s because of the season, the river is bigger after winter, remember?” Before his brother gets to try and search for more reasons he wanted to give him a simple answer.

“Mm, maybe it’s true” His eyes have been more unfocused since the last time he saw him, very distracted too.

Silence fell between them once again. Green wanted to help his brother; he knew that Vio was hiding something that bothered him.

A sigh made him turn his attention again towards the violet hero “Do you know how Necrosis works on injures?”

“What.” That’s a very weird and normal thing for Vio to ask at the same time.

“It’s when premature cells die, unable to regulate ingestion of components” He grabbed a leaf that fell close to him. “When the cells get infected or trauma it causes them to start dying, causing inflammation or making it impossible to heal that injury”

This talk reminded Green of that one book that Vio seemed interested a while ago, something about “Cellular process of death” or something like that. He didn’t pay attention too much to that kind of books.

“Huh, really? I didn’t know that” Now thinking about all the injuries, would they get at some point something like this?

“Yeah, if not threated it would start expanding” The leaf Vio grabbed some moments ago was slowly getting peeled off from its veins “It is not mortal though, unless the infection is in an organ”

That was. A little disturbing.

“Most I know is how it works in normal hylians, and a little on animals. But in different races it gets a little weird” The skeleton of the leaf was almost clean now.

“What do you mean?” This already got Green’s attention. How much time did Vio spend reading without them noticing?

“For example:” He grabbed a small rock “For gorons this works as a process of solidification, the cells that allow free movement and flexibility for their bodies start dying, just leaving the different minerals that make their skin act like rocks”

Huh, that made some sense, Gorons always seemed like weird lizards for Green “So, they get these minerals into their bodies by…”

“Eating” The violet hero knocked a little the rock that they were sitting on with the other one “That’s why they need so much a good quality of rocks and minerals. In Eldin there’s a lot of these”

“Right” He’s barely processing the information, but not every day Vio starts sharing so much of what he reads.

“Going back with the process, the death of their cells will leave only minerals, which will solidify into pure rocks, making the risk of losing some extremity for an injury like this a possibility” He hit the rock harder, until it cracked. “If we take the solidified part and crack it open, in the center there will be a big concentration of various minerals crystalized.”

He showed Green the rock open in two, in it being visible a small geode with maybe quartz and bits of iron. It was pretty.

“So that’s why even if their bodies are really strong they take care of all injuries with caution” He remembers seeing gorons fuzz over cuts, declaring that they didn’t want it to get infected. Maybe it was because of that.

Vio hummed in agreement and went back to the leaf, almost finishing peeling it to only leave the skeleton.

“For most races is almost the same, maybe exceptions with plant-based ones and some kinds of monsters, but I still need to learn about it” The skeleton of the leaf was now completely clean “Together with how it works with magic-based beings.”

“Magic-based? Do you mean…” His gut had a feeling.

“Creatures that their flesh was created by external means, like invocations and corporeal spirits.” He put the skeleton of the leaf in one of the pieces of the rock, making sure that it didn’t break.

“But it would work different, right?” Green tried to make sense what Vio told him moments before “If this is the death of cells making it impossible to heal a wound, those that were made by magic would be able to heal themselves?”

“It’s possible” Vio’s eyes seemed now distant “Maybe with a specific kind of magic, or maybe with the element that the being was created from, but it isn’t completely sure.”

“Mm…” There’s something that he wants to ask, but he wasn’t sure if it would be appropriated.

The fact that Vio had been searching information about this makes his stomach have a bad feeling.

“No, I couldn’t find anything about this process in shadow beings” The violet hero declared suddenly in a neutral voice.

That took Green a little for surprise, maybe he was easier to read that he though.

“Maybe in another book? Zelda has a lot in the library at the castle” He knew the state that Vio was, even if he hasn’t tried to tell any of them.

“Maybe.” He closed the geode with the other half of the rock, with the skeleton inside. “If someone had the right amount of energy and was able to recreate a source of this element, a new body could be formed with functional cells. Maybe even stronger ones.”

“It would need a lot of research to get”

“Yeah. I suppose.”

…

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I could’ve helped him. I know that if I…”

“Maybe you could’ve, but it happened.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Nobody does.”