#hylia-and-obsidian

[fourswords]

y'know just the fact that hylia had to ask link whether he was going to take revenge on the kingdom that held him in contempt or save it from doom was enough of an eye-opening moment as it was (even though hylia already knew what his answer was going to be):

but genuinely if he hadn't already died and could've heard what hylia said about his imprisonment and suffering being "willed by the heavens" because it was "necessary to transform him into the one fit to wield the master sword" i think he might've just been like Actually. Fuck you guys. Revenge it is. because while link DOES stand with his comrades again after his imprisonment and DOES call them his friends even after their betrayal and DOES pray for their happiness above the clouds with all his heart and DID want to take to the sky with them.....the emphasis on the land itself being what link fights for more than the people is absolutely woven into the story here. when he stands above the crowd of people and promises to always defend the land of hylia, he looks out at the mountains, not down at the crowd, and even says:

"Though people's hearts may change with time, this land's beauty, pride and purity never change. If you have need of me... ...then I will forever fight to defend you."

and the amount of times the destruction of the land is emphasized....

"Wicked desire assaulted the world's surface, staining it the color of obsidian... ...and the mountains, the plains, and all that flowed pure on the earth were ruthlessly scoured by fire."

and when the demon king strikes link down and goes on to continue his rampage before hylia eventually seals him away, link doesn't think even once of the people until the red loftwing appears and link asks him if he would show their people to the skies. instead, he thinks this:

"My hometown... The beautiful air... The mountains... The rivers... ...reduced to this. Will this be the last thing I ever see?"

like. he stands with the people even after all they've done to him. he acts as their figurehead. their pawn that they cast aside to torture and rot and only dragged back out because lord dagianis died and they finally decided that a hero was needed again. he fights with them. he calls them his friends despite everything. he hopes for their happiness. but first and foremost, it's the land itself that he fights for, not the people living on it. not really. when he says "people's hearts may change with time" he kind of even acknowledges that—it's a verbal slight against them and all of their fickleness concerning him and his imprisonment and his freedom the instant they were in danger again (same as when he said "It was you—my own people—who said you had no need for a powerful hero. And now that it's convenient for you, you want me to fight?"). and maybe nothing would've changed if he'd heard his suffering was ordained by the gods. maybe his love of the land still would have won over his hatred of the people and the gods doing what they did to him and he still would have fought just the same. but i honestly would not have blamed this dude one bit if he'd just decided to be like "Fuck This. Fuck All Of You." and dipped. he's suffering more than jesus out here

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 29: "What happened to me?"

Read it on Ao3

- First

- Summary: Link becomes an uwilling pawn in a dastardy plot

CW for possession, blood and injury, mentions of death, captivity, and torture

----------------

Everything hurts.

Link drags his eyes open, groaning as consciousness alerts him to the agony that tears him apart. The emptiness he had been drifting in had been far preferable to this.

…whatever this is.

He stands in crimson-tinged near-darkness, held up solely by the manacles around his wrists and ankles. The only light source is from the pools of lava that gurgle and bubble on either side of him. The heat that emanates from them seems to claw at him, smothering and searing. Chained as he is, he can’t escape its reach.

Link swallows, wincing as something wet trickles down his forehead and into his eye. He can’t even tell where his wounds begin and where they end. 

How had he even gotten them? He wonders, trying to force his dazed, jumbled thoughts into something coherent. And how had he ended up here?

As far as he knows, he has never set foot in this place before. It positively wreaks of dark power though, almost as suffocating as the flaming heat that burns his exposed skin and laps at the tattered remains of his tunic and trousers.

He closes his eyes, attempting to ignore the pain and let the memories he knows are there come forth. But they are stubborn things. He recalls nothing save for the abyss he had floated in, buoyed upon soft, weightless waves of light. 

It was painless there. Pleasant, almost. Save for those odd moments when he had sworn he was doing something…speaking, acting, feeling. But those moments had not been his own. Not truly. No, his life, his reality…

Ah.

He blinks his eyes open again, a grim smile on his lips. The flickering of flames upon the obsidian surface of the opposite wall seems to taunt him.

He had been dead. Felled by Demise’s lightning, torn asunder by his claws.

And as he had taken his final breaths, Hylia had sent his people to the sky.

“Link, hurry! Jump into the light! Please!”

He had wanted to. In truth, he would have given anything to take to the skies with them, make a new home, get a second chance at protecting his beloved people. But fate had not willed it so. 

Apparently, however, he is not quite off its leash just yet. Otherwise he would not be sitting here would he? In some cruel joke to the gods.

There is no rest for the wicked, he has heard some say. There is no rest for heroes either. Not the ones who failed, at least.

He should feel bitter, he supposes. All he feels is tired. It seeps in through the bloodied cracks in his skin, oozing into his bones and muscles, encompassing his soul. He sags beneath its weight.

Forgive me, Hylia. I do not know if I have the strength to face whatever trial fate has set before me.  

“So, even in this place, you dare to pray to your goddess. It will do you no good.”

The voice booms around the space, echoing off of the walls. Footsteps join in its aftermath, loud and heavy, mingling with the scrape of a door sliding open. Link raises his head.

Before him stands an all-too-familiar figure. His hair is like burning flames, his flesh the color of ash. His eyes are ablaze with the fury Link faced so long ago.  

“Demise.”

He spits the title with all the animosity he can conjure. There is no shortage of it, to be certain. It boils within him, hotter than the lava that leaps toward him. 

“I thought Hylia sealed you away. How are you here now?”

“One could ask you the same thing,” the demon god rumbles. “But you have no right to question me in the first place.”

He stalks toward him and Link tenses. 

“You are as much of a pathetic worm as you were back then.”

A clawed hand forces his chin up, nails drawing blood, hold so tight that Link grits his teeth to keep from crying out.

“I am not so pathetic as you think,” he retorts. “I defeated you back then, did I not?”

Demise laughs, actually laughs, and the earth shakes with the sound. 

“You did nothing. It was your goddess who sealed me and her sword which saved your people. Your only accomplishment was securing an untimely death for yourself.”

His expression darkens. Link meets it with an answering glare. He refused to bow before this deity back then. He refuses to now.

“However, there are ways in which you can be useful.”

He turns away. A short distance away there sits a large throne, shrouded in shadow, and adorned with carved depictions of people writhing in agony. An enormous claymore rests against it and Demise scoops it up as though holding it is no feat at all. He runs a finger across its ridged edges and Link feels his breath stutter. 

“You won’t kill me again so soon,” he says, steady tone belying the terrified turmoil within.

“No, I will not do that.” Demise walks back to him. Lifting the weapon, he presses the tip of it against Link’s neck. “Only humans kill indiscriminately.”

Link swallows, feeling the chill of cold metal on his skin. It is almost unnatural amidst all this heat.

“You may say that. But you certainly killed indiscriminately during the war. What of all the people you slaughtered in your attempt at bringing about a world of darkness?”

“You misunderstand, pitiful human,” he snarls. “I take as many lives as I wish. But I take them with purpose.”

He presses the blade closer. It bites mercilessly into Link’s flesh. Blood bubbles up beneath it. 

“Know this. I threaten with purpose, as well. I have use for you and you will fulfill it.”

“No. I won’t.”

The blade bites harder. Link clenches his hands into fists. The pain within him is an unending rhythm. The heat smothers him. But he won’t back down. He won’t surrender. Whatever this demon god wants, he refuses to give it to him.

“No is not an answer you give to a god, fool.”

Suddenly, his body lights up with agony. Link arches back, a strangled scream breaking free. Flames sear through his very bones, fire courses through his veins. All he can see is red. 

And then, just as quickly, it’s over. He sags against his chains, gasping for breath.

“There are nine heroes. Nine men and boys like yourself.”

He blinks, dazedly trying to comprehend Demise’s words.

“N-nine?” Link raises his head, hardly registering the absence of the blade. “There should…should only be one. Me.”

Again, Demise’s laughter fills the cavernous space. 

“The failure you and your goddess share has haunted many, boy. These nine possess your spirit. I wish for them to be wiped from history itself.” 

He hefts the weapon in his hand, regarding it calmly. Link stares dimly at it. Thoughts tumble through his mind in a panicked race to be heard. 

Nine heroes with his spirit. A failure that doomed them all. Demise standing before him now. 

The seal broke. It must have. And he hadn’t been there to recreate it.

…neither had Hylia.

No.

Link’s eyes widen. 

He remembers bits and pieces of his last moments. Words spoken in soft tones. Broken messages that hadn’t seemed important in the face of death.

“I…shed divinity…simple human.”

He chokes on a cry.

Hylia, what did you do?

“My servants attempted to do the deed,” Demise is saying now, as though his previous words are not fit to destroy Link completely. “But they failed. Every one of them.”

Flaming irises skewer him. He is like a fairy trapped in the bottle of an unsavory person – helpless, terrified. 

“You will not.”

Link bares his teeth in a snarl. A mixture of terror and guilt and hopelessness, he has found, quickly becomes rage in the heart of a warrior. It fills him now, blinding him to the pain, to the sorrow, dragging him from the depths like a wild animal struggling against the walls of its cage.

“What…what makes you assume I will do your bidding? You may have dragged me back from the land of the dead, but I have no goodwill in my heart towards you for it.” 

He cocks his head, a harsh grin splitting his lips. Every word tastes like ash and blood in his mouth, an outpouring of the fires of battle roaring in his soul.

“Or perhaps you think you can intimidate me because my goddess is gone and my people with her? I assure you, I am well accustomed to facing terrors alone. Your idle threats don’t frighten me.”

“You dare speak to a god in such a manner, insolent human?” Demise practically looms over him, all flaming power and dark magic. He steps closer and his meaty fist closes around Link’s neck. He chokes, gasping as agony streaks up his throat and a skull-crushing rush fills his ears. “You will find that my threats are anything but idle. You will do my bidding.”

He leans in, heedless of Link’s thrashing and clawing. 

“You will do it because I will make you. Open your mind, little human, and let me in.”

Link’s eyes blow wide with panic. His attempts to break free grow impossibly more desperate as the reality of what Demise is about to do strikes home. 

He can’t possibly resist a god’s attempts to make him an unwilling, unthinking pawn. He isn’t strong enough. Especially not now, after everything. 

I could not even slay him the first time. By the gods, I failed so completely that I burdened nine with the task that was meant only for me. 

How on earth can I hold him back now?

He lifts his eyes to the heavens, tears of pain and desperation burning in them. 

If you hear me, Hylia, help me! Give me the strength to…

His thoughts shatter. It comes at him in a rush of roaring power, thundering into his mind like an oncoming tsunami. And at the same time his body ignites again with searing agony. His world dissolves into a hellish haze of inescapable pain.

He thinks he screams. At least, that must be the terrible sound that echoes in his ears and tears at his throat. But he can’t be sure. He can’t be sure of anything really. Suddenly, everything is upside down and sideways and a swirl of hazy, nauseating confusion.

“You are strong,” someone sneers and he hardly understands the words. “It sickens me. Fall before me, Chosen Hero of the Goddess. Become my puppet.”

Everything intensifies. Colors explode before his eyes, memories rush by at incomprehensible speeds – his own and those he has never seen before, that don’t even belong in his mind. Desires snake into his heart, his limbs grow heavy, his body unnaturally cold. 

He screams again, but this time it is more pitiful, more weak – a last ditch attempt to protest what distantly, he knows is coming. 

“Yes.” Demise’s face is inches from his. Abruptly, he can make it out with striking clarity. “You are mine.”

Link chokes on a sob.

I’m sorry. 

He doesn’t even remember who he is apologizing to anymore. Or what he was doing here. Or why everything hurts so badly.

But he doesn’t need to. Not really. Because in the next moment, everything falls away. 

Between one strangled, gasping, desperate breath and the next, he loses himself.

[summertimemusician]

Linktober Shadow, Day 4

Lost

I feel like we really need to talk more about how the Lost Woods are a concept as beautiful as it is terrifying actually.

Wild/BOTW/TOTK Link fans, this one's for you and brought by my severe sleep deprivation, enough caffeine to kill a grown woman with less spite and my medieval literature/narrative/poetry teacher who motivated me through the entire creative process via helping me throw ideas at the wall even as all of the essays I gotta turn in are going to make me late in posting Sage. *laughs hysterically, immediately collapses*

As always can be read as romantic or platonic, and it's up to interpretation what's going down on this one. And can also be read in or outside of an LU context, I'm leaving it vague both on purpose and because of sleep deprivation lol.

Of all places you could say you most intimately did not wish to be alone after being separated from the Chain, the Lost Woods of literally any era but specially Wild’s would definitely be on your top three at a pristine number one.

Really, if you weren’t currently being stalked through the darkened, shadowed weald of the once welcoming evergreen home of both the Minish and Kokiri, whom you knew could be much, much more beautiful lovely (it did aid in raising a good chunk of your beloved heroes, after all) and with your heart working with all the urgency of a wounded deer being chased by a wolf. You’d almost commend it for it’s choice in setting this time.

Keyword being almost, for it compared naught to the sheer and utter terror that burned through your every sinew, marrow and veins at the accuracy of that statement, and the implication that your nebulous and hauntingly familiar current hunter grew ever more clever each passing second of your adventure.

You ran, ran and ran through the living woods, trying desperately to find any possible landmark, an oddly shaped tree, one of the torches or the remain of the skeletons from the old, ruined iterations of the Temple of Time from long bygone eras that the forest had reclaimed, or the hint of the breeze soft whispers from the echoes of the Kokiri or the elated branch rattle giggling laughter of the Skull Children. At this point you’d take even the the mad, beast like howling of the Stalfos or the tortured wailing of Poes, somewhere between vesania tainted laughter and the primal, feral pleading for one’s survival that shook you to the marrow.

There was no such symphony now, the woods as silent as a grave.

(The hauting ground of so, so many that it did not love or could not hold onto anymore, whispered a corner of your mind, and it sounded like the Shadow, with it’s ominous phlegmatic hissing, twisted amusement and sadistic brutality all in one.)

Your arm had long gone numb, broken under the impossible force held by the beast of sulfur and obsidian that the world itself rebelled against warring at it’s very existence as it roared it’s wrath back at it, the Goddesses, Hylia and Demise and your heroes and princesses caught in the middle of divine design, your legs giving out under the weight of your exhaustion, you tasted copper from the wound on your head dripping down your lips but that did not stop you. Would not stop you, couldn’t stop you.

You grit your teeth so hard against the shout that wanted to tear it’s way out of your throat as you barely kept yourself from hitting your head, diverting your momentum against an old, lonely tree. Your blood sinking into the wood, good, better it than Dark Link.

You were tired, you were exhausted, you swore you could hear a growl among the melancholy of the mist. You hoped the shade did not manage to track you down as you made sure not to leave a trail of blood, but something tells you that it wouldn’t need it to track you even with the faint moonlight barely giving enough aid in your own quest to find it before it found you with your only, laughable weapon being an old arrow you’ve pilfered from a long decomposed corpse almost falling from your white knuckled grip.

You didn’t want to die, you needed to survive.

You though of the Chain, your lovely, chaotic, kind boys, of Sky’s ever ecompassing kindness and Four’s brilliant cleverness, Time’s quiet comfort and Legend’s fierce hidden gentleness and Wind’s trailblazing joy, Hyrule’s tender sweetness and Warrior’s warm protectiveness and Wild’s beautiful adoration for life.

You missed them, and it was likely you wouldn’t see them again, that more than anything hurt more than all of your wounds combined.

You try to push yourself up, to move, to live, to keep moving forward, caring not for the stillness of the glade. Barely noticing the sudden silence as you almost pitched forward once again, stumbling onto the earth as your grip onto your makeshift weapon finally gave out-

Only for a pair of arms to catch you, steady, magnolias and rosemary, petrichor from untamed, ancient Hyrule. A bright Sheikah cerulean tunic and a navy cloak falling over darkned boots.

You freeze, hands twitching, it couldn’t be an illusion. You’ve seen plenty in the corner of your eye as you traversed through the woods, attempting to lead you astray. None of them were solid, many of them weren’t quite as cold as this, whoever was holding you.

But it couldn't be real either, it shouldn't.

“Link...?”, came your tired rasp, you felt as if you’ve swallowed sand (briefly, you wondered if the taste of flowers on the back of your tongue mixing with the copper of the liquid of life in your veins was the reason. Then resolved yourself not to think about it), your traitorous body succumbing to exhaustion as the stranger gently held you up (friend, friend, but it couldn’t be, Wild tried to hold onto you, the memory of his desperation scorching under your eyelids like a brand and his howl of denial mixed with self loathing would haunt your for days to come, maybe months, he was far away and hopefully safe, it couldn’t be him).

The figure merely steadied you against themselves, silent as they swung you into their arms, you briefly struggled. It was instinct to put up a fight, to push against the liminal illusion cruelly meant to haunt your possible last moments as another soon to be lost souls chest, or heck for all you knew it could be the Shadow, dragging it out, playing with your torment as it gave you scraps of hope before taking it away. The figure paused, only to gently readjust you -painfully careful as the memory of the gentleness belonging to your Champion but oh so wrong made your heart ache-, the figure lowly speaking, their tone the emerald eternity of the kingdom’s fields and like setting stitches against your wounded self, like the soothing nature of early autumn rain. Almost a whisper, cracked like the wind through the leaves.

“... Rest. You’ll be alright.”

You wanted to protest, wanted to claw and fight and bite his throat off just in case even if you weren’t sure it would take, as with your head in the crook of his hood you couldn’t hear a heartbeat, but your exhaustion won out in the end. Held in the warmth of the sun over Faron Woods with the glimpse of fierce cerulean blue, the gaze of a reynard whom a part of you knew wouldn’t give you up without a fight and safer than you felt since getting pounced through that cursed portal.

When you next came to, it was to Wild’s frantic worry at the edges of camp, his hair like a frazzled shroud as he dropped everything in hand of his watch to check on your now wrapped wounds. Hugging you tight as you held him just as close back.

This time, you found a heartbeat, and you could almost weep with relief, and in the darkness of the woods a shrouded shade smiled.

Returning to the mist unseen and unheard. But content you were home.

[exielimon]

La esquizo pega fuerte

this one is not necessarily lu but take it as you wish

enjoy this lil somthing named

When the Fire Rages

(1413 words ahead)

This was important to Vio.

It was dangerous and desperate and irrational and maybe stupid. But it was important to Vio.

And after reuniting, everything important to Vio was important to the four of them.

So here they were, each of the colors split around a circle of ashes and rests of the dark mirror, made nothing but powder.

“You have no idea how grateful I am for this. Thank you guys for being with me” Vio whispered as he took his point in the diagram, voice wavering.

“We’re the same damn person, we want this too, thank only Zelda” Blue remarks, only slightly snarky.

Vio redirects his gaze towards Zelda, out of the circle but present for any type of help, who smiles gently. “You are my best friend, if you are so confident about this, then who am I to protest?” her smile makes her eyes wrinkle. “So, what’s the spell?”

Vio begins the chanting and the colors focus, channeling their own connection with magic, channeling their feelings and hopes, there is still hope he can come back.

Please, Hylia, let him come back.

The air in the place shifts, it reeks of old, dark magic, of death, of ashes, of wrong. And it’s exactly what they need.

Red opens his eyes instinctively, focus not even wavering, and he sees the smear of darkness in the center of the diagram on the floor, taking the shape of limbs, each of it’s ends flickering like flames, the powder of mirror melting into a smooth surface, a square about ten inches wide. It’s working!

Red smiles, just as warm as he would’ve liked to welcome Shadow into the family.

Unfortunately, it’s short-lived.

A pulse of dark magic as Vio ended the chanting alerted the others to open their eyes, the formation was still in process.

“Yes… Yes! Shadow!” Vio cries, desperate for the other to finally hear the name after millions of nights when it was screamed into the void.

But there’s something wrong, and yes wrong was normal in this case but… it was the wrong type of wrong. Red could swear that the glittery powder of the shattered mirror, still melting, in the center of the diagram was… darkening, if obsidian black could get darker.

However, it was the only warning they got before the thing hovering in the center, woke up.

“Shadow Link!” Vio shouted, but the creature in front of him did not acknowledge it, simply took in the people surrounding him and smirked.

Too much teeth.

“That’s not-!” Green was cut off.

It (he?) slashed out, a dark sword appearing in its (his?) hand, equally flickering like a flame. Red, from behind the (wretched thing) shadow, saw how the wave knocked Vio and green backwards, sending Green into a wall and Vio into Zelda’s arms.

Zelda, panicked, put up a shield of light, seeming to work against a sword made of darkness, but she was thrown off balance with another wave of force because of the high heels she was forced to wear every day, as a ‘lady’, dropping Vio to the ground before he can get his feet under himself, hitting his head.

Blue ran up to the thing, and it thrust the pommel of its sword blindly backwards, surprisingly catching Blue on the gut, Red was impressed, the thing noticed Blue with the soundless footsteps he had.

Now, Red was the one that would probably start crying in one of these situations, he’s the most sentimental one of them all, but he’s already made peace with the loss, he mourned and learned to honor his shade’s name. But this was not-

“Shadow…?” Vio whispered, uncharacteristically weak and pleading and broken and wrong.

Blue was on the floor, clutching his side, gasping for air, Green was unconscious off to the side and the monster was wrapping up Zelda in a dark, beautiful diamond of pure evil.

If everything is wrong today, then an angel can bring hell upon its enemies.

Red is, after all, the element of fire.

His blood boils, this wretched attempt of a Shadow copy is hurting his family, his friends, him. Is fooling Vio and betraying all of them right after they brought it to life.

Flames flicker to life from his fingertips, his hair, from under his feet, and it may or may not be a metaphor to make this text more poetic, but there’s fire in his eyes too.

He draws his sword and points it towards the creature of darkness, he focuses like the day the real shadow was lost to the universe, all of Hyrule non the wiser of his good actions and no one knowing the real hero was dead.

A beam of light with an outline of flames came out of the sword, catching the dark creature. Red didn’t realize his eyes were glowing, he just screamed his wrath out as he burned the lame copy of his deceased friend.

The creature screams like a sick redead with arachnophobia in front of a skulltula under the light combined with flames, just as loud as Red.

Red cannot bring himself to care, not when he is seeing his namesake.

He walks up, dropping the beam as he approaches, the thing’s hair is burnt as its whole body is fuming but it’s still fucking standing.

Red sprints to thrust his sword in its gut while it regains force— damn the middle of the night and the dark dungeon they were using just so the light didn’t catch Shadow right after reincarnating again— and shoot again, now the light shining from underneath its skin.

“Shadow…! Red, no!” Vio shouts weakly, dazed and with probably a concussion.

“This is not Shadow!” Red answers and his magic pulses, the words making it more true and practically adding fuel to the fire. Flames lick at his clothes but he doesn’t care, this miserable dark insect must be crushed and burnt to ashes.

“Red! Stop!” Blue shouts through gritted teeth, being only one or two minutes after getting hit. Scrambling back to avoid the flames gliding through the room. “you’ll hurt yourself!” He shouts to deaf ears among the screams.

Blue fumbles for a solution, he can’t be the grumpy, impulsive one when there’s already someone out of control! damnit, why did Green get knocked out? Maybe… aha! the mirror!

Just as it should’ve ended before, the demons being defeated by Link’s hand by destroying the mirror, not one demon sacrificing himself to destroy the other demon by shattering the same mirror as a huge change of the game.

Except this time one is not a demon, just a literal raging fire.

Blue stumbles to his feet and runs to get the mirror, he picks it up, lifts it and slams it to the ground, returning it to shards.

Red doesn’t hear the shatter with all the screaming of the dark spawn but he notices the cracks suddenly apear on its body as if it, directly, was shattered. At the same time he saw how Zelda’s cage broke into a million pieces.

“NOO!” the thing nothing but screeches, as if it had any reason or even a right to live, shattering further until it too crumbled and disappeared.

Red lowered his sword, the flames shrinking after consuming everything of his hurt used as fuel. The flames faded just like a campfire with nothing else to burn.

Blue was there in an instant, catching Red when he collapsed, utterly tired, the edges of his clothes lined with embers turning to ash, fuming.

Blue’s cold— always cold— fingers were wonderful to Red’s skin that felt like it’d been dipped in lava.

Red opened his eyes to silently stand up and walk towards Vio. “Hey… can you hear me?”

“W-why did you…” Vio trailed off, his eyes were unfocused and distant, Red couldn’t stop himself from crumbling then and there, curling over his brother’s hurt and dazed form to cry silently, Vio wrapped his arms around him automatically like so many times before.

“Green’s alright, just hit his head, he’ll wake up” He heard, between his sobs, Blue speak presumably directed to Zelda.

Some fabric shuffling and a grunt from Blue told Red Green was carried over, Red felt Zelda’s hand on his hair and Blue’s on his back as he let out the same amount of grief he let out as anger.

Who would’ve thought the gentle warmth of a candle could become an unforgiving blaze.

-

thanks for your support!

[themask-maker]

Ikanan Symbology - The Blasphemer // Demon Tribes AU Supplemental Lore

The Blasphemer is an important symbol to the founding of The Kingdom of Ikana.

It is a design created after a tournament of legend, in which the Five Demon Tribes competed to determine which of them would be worthy of receiving a Blessing From The Golden Goddesses. The winner of that tournament was a fiery Gerra with glistening obsidian scales who adopted the name "Demise".

When Demise ascended the newly-built Stone Tower to meet with the Goddesses and receive his reward, he was appalled to find that Hylia's tribes of humans, the Hylians and Sheikah, had already been chosen. Her lowly humans graciously accepted the Golden Blessing in reverence.

The Blasphemer was created to symbolize the act of taking such a deep insult and throwing it right back. It marks the first time in history which the Five Tribes were united under one shared cause: indignant fury. They collectively turned their backs on The Golden Goddesses and did not look back. The Five Tribes then crowned Demise as their First King and joined together as a country under his rule.

To this day, The Blasphemer can be found in all matter of texts and gestures. For example, a formal Ikanan greeting is to hold one index finger skyward and bare one's fangs or tongue in a taunting snarl, which may be accompanied by a deep bow depending on situation. The general meaning translates to "the heavens reject us, yet we stand defiant". It is a gesture of solidarity and often used to indicate respect.

[Note: The Blasphemer comes from environmental icons found within Majora's Mask, as seen below. These statues do not have a canon name or meaning. Screenshots courtesy of ZeldaDungeon]

[dumpster-lizard]

i was thinking

if hylia was created by the golden godesses

shouldn't demise also have been created by a bigger evil as old as the golden godesses, an "obsidian titan" if you will, considering demise was a titan of darkness equal to hylia

and this obsidian titan knows only one reason for existence: destruction

Eh prefer Demise to be a creation of the Golden goddesses as well. They're more of a neutral force in my eyes- they're the laws of the world, Hylia and Demise were meant to be the rulers.

Demise, however, was not satisfied with the lot he was given, and sought Hylia's as well.

[miniscrew-anon]

HSH Febuwhump Day 23 - “You’ll Have to go Through Me”

Continuation of Days 8 & 9 & 21

----

The figure is imposing. Draped in simple black waist garb, the man’s fiery red hair and eyes stand out, nearly glow in the dark of the cavern. He’s tall and broad, made of pure muscle. His arms and chest are covered in black ink made to look like dragon scales, and his nails are sharpened into wicked points. An ‘x’ shaped scar covers his forehead and his face is twisted into blatantly cruelty and hatred. He holds a massive great sword in one hand, displaying his pure power.

Sky doesn’t feel an ounce of fear. 

The knight raises his own blade, his personal sword that he helped craft and forge, and meets the man’s heated stare with an equally icy glare. 

Behind the man, the bodies of his men are strewn along the floor, having been killed in their sleep. 

Between them, Ghirahims fresh corpse lay cooling. 

Behind Sky, Sun cradles her broken hand to her chest, watching the two stand off. 

“So… you would stand before obliteration to defend your Goddess?” The man’s voice was timeless, neither young nor old. But it was strong and deep and echoed off the walls of the stone chamber. 

“How interesting.” The man mused, lips curling up at the edges. He’s amused at the guardsman’s unwavering stare. Not many can meet his eyes without flinching. “The last chosen heroes I faced were nothing more than sniveling, cowardly worms who tucked tail and ran at the mere sight of me. They were hardly worth even chasing down.”

The man examined his blade, seemingly captivated with the obsidian-black metal. “I had thought back then that the Goddess had chosen her protectors poorly.”

His eyes raise to the princesses, gaze burning. “But it was I who had chosen poorly. The woman I killed was not the one who holds the Goddesses soul. She was nothing more than the bearer of the true Goddess.”

Sky hears Sun inhale sharply behind him. Not in fear. Anger. 

The man points his sword at her, eyes glittering. “It’s you. Finally, Hylia Incarnate, we meet! How I’ve waited for this day! I thought it would be another rotation before we clashed, but what is a single day when I can feel my destiny before me? Quake in fear, little Goddess, as you stand before Demise!”

He laughed, all delight and anticipation. He bore his teeth savagely, a deep hunger clear on his face. Animalistic in his blatant desire. “I shall take your soul for sustenance and ascend tonight! Your power will be mine!“

“The hell you will!” Sky snarled, blade raised. “You’ll have to go through me!”

Demise grinned. “Of course, hero. There would be no victory if I don’t first tear the meat off your bones. As is foretold, the path to eradication of this pathetic world is through the broken bodies of the Goddess and her chosen one. Only after they lay dead at my feet will I finally gain the power to reshape the world into my vision.”

The man flourished his blade, showing off the clear skill he possessed. With one vicious slice, Demise severed the body of his underling in half. He kicked Ghirahim's pieces to the side, clearing the main floor of the circular room. Sun gasped when the top half of Ghirahim's body flew to the side of her, splattering both her and Sky in his blood. His bottom half went the other way, rolling down a small stone slope with legs twisted limply. 

Sky didn’t blink or flinch. He just held his sword at the ready. He was not feeling the exhaustion of the days of searching, nor the pain of injuries from his fight with the Demon Lord just minutes prior. He only felt Sun’s eyes on his back, her anxious gaze tracing the tears in his armor and the blood staining through his uniform.

He felt her fear for him.

But also her trust.

He tightened his grip on his blade. He would not fail her again.

“Make this interesting for me, Hero.” Demise rumbled, taking his stance. “And know that when you fall, everyone and everything you love falls with you.”

---

Skyward Sword, my beloved

Clearly Sky did something to be worthy of his title as “Godslayer” and this is my version of it. Sun in HSH is the leader of the church and some people think she’s the actual incarnate of Hylia. So I took Demise and made him into some insane religious figure who believes that he’s the incarnate of the Demon God, who needs to absorb Sun’s soul to properly ascend. Thus, when Sky kills him he’d be known as Godslayer.

Also i threw in that “Demise killed the last queen” to give a lil weight to his threat level.

[riwrite-a]

LINK ( WILD ). / @hyruin.

darkness. it's all he's known for a very long time. wretched radiance thrums far, far above him — but it's weakened in the last few months. something has happened to the stone likeness of hylia up in her temple on the surface. she's not gone, he can sense that much, but she no longer stands proud.

and with that, his restraints have weakened. now, he sits amidst the gloom, gathering strength in his humanoid form. that other blade, the one with the gaudy violet hilt and infuriatingly calm voice, she's not the only one who strengthens when exposed to power. traces of his master's magic swim within the dark substance, he's been down here with it a long time.

untold time has passed when footsteps echo through the endless caverns of the depths. he looks up with the bright white eyes of his unglamoured form, and the movement causes some gloom still on him to slide off his polished obsidian skin and vanish into the pool below. he expects to see one of the idiots running around down here who wear the sheikah eye inverted on their masks, or maybe another bumbling monster wandering too far from its companions. instead, he's met with messy blond hair and sharp blue eyes — almost reminiscent of a face he loathed lifetimes ago.

beside the sword spirit is the very sword he usually resides in, stuck jagged blade - down in the dirt and heavily chained in place there. he stands, and the chains rattle.

" you have excellent timing, don't you ? " millennia have passed since he last used his voice, but it doesn't sound at all like it. " it's been many, many years since anyone had the treat of seeing me like this. "

[senkou-lights]

Hylia: "Hello there! It's lovely to meet a fellow writer such as yourself."

Senkou’s face honestly turns red underneath his fur. He smiles, and laughs a little giddily, “A-Awwhh… You called me a writer… Honestly, I’m not even a real writer, I’m just… I just uh… I just- yeah!” He catches himself before he continued to rave like a dumb little colt, “Thank you! I-It’s nice to meet you, too. I uh, wouldn’t call myself a real writer, but its… Yeah. It’s very nice to meet you, too.”

[tenebriism]

"What if I decided to crush you here and now, Demon Lord? Because I will do so if you do not scurry back to your master. Now." pushes hylia servant obsidian towards ghirahim--

“What if-” questions! - [ ACCEPTING ] ;; @box-of-characters

          A  low,  serpent-like  laugh  starts  off  a  rumble,  a  deep  CHUCKLE,  until  his  head  is  thrown  back  and  the  brunt  of  it  emerges  in  a  full,  venomous  bark.  “  AHAHAHAHA !  “  Enough  to  where  his  shoulders  shook,  fingers  curling  inwards  and  outwards  with  every  intake  of  breath.  He  simply  couldn’t  STOP  himself,  the  HILARITY  of  it  all !

                    “  That  is  a  very  big  ‘  IF,  ‘  dear~  “  He  finally  answers  playfully,  straightening  himself  to  eye  her  with  a  notable  spark  of  curiosity  to  his  beady  gaze.  “  Were  I  not  on  official  orders  of  this  ‘  MASTER  ‘  you  seem  to  believe  I  scurry  back  and  forth  from,  I  would  happily  take  you  up  on  the  offer  of  seeing  just  HOW  long  you  would  survive.  Alas . . .  “

          Snap  of  fingers  and  a  burst  of  diamonds  later,  and  he’s  teleported  himself  to  a  branch  well  out  of  reach  behind  her.  “  There  is  a  Sky  Child  I  must  pursue,  in  the  meantime.  You  see,  I  take  my  work  VERY  seriously.  I  promise,  however,  that  when  I  take  him  down . . .  I  will  be  all  yours~  “

[casiavium]

Ghirahim & other generic sword headcanons about how sword spirits are created that are kind of dark.

sword spirits created from the sword:

If Ghirahim is created from scratch his blade is obsidian. Blades are made first from any material and then the spirit is added by a god. It has to be one of the main three—Farore, Nayru, or Din, so Hylia did not give them humanity herself. Din blessed Ghirahim, Farore blessed Fi, and Nayru was wise enough to think that was a stupid idea. The flames can then make the blade stronger, while the springs grant blessings. Even though Ghirahim is Demise's he could use the goddess flames.

I think there's something about the golden goddesses not interfering but I don't care

sword spirits created from a human sacrifice volunteer:

Two things: Blood has iron and bones have carbon. Vikings used to infuse their swords with the bones of animals to imbue the spirit and powers of the animal.

Ghirahim is forged from the blood of the people he's killed and the bones of his human/Hylian/demon (personally I hc Sheikah) body.

Fi technically would be as well, but I think Hylia made OG Link kill demons instead of making her do it herself.

On top of that the process of turning from human to sword is incredibly painful. Ghirahim remembers and it's part of what drove him to be a sadistic psychopath, Fi's emotions and memories were totally wiped so she didn't have to deal with it

[strangeduckpaper]

Zelda Magic

The Triforce

The ‘mortal’ side of magic, embodying the mind, body, & heart, as given by the Golden Goddesses.

Wisdom-The Mind-The ability to comprehend the theorems & language of magic, including the Old Glyphs(Magic’s programming language). Mages specialized in the mind give them the ability to create magical artifacts & program artificial magical intelligence. Patronized by Nayru, the Lawmother

Power-The Body-The ability to physically express magic and project it into the wider world, including the elemental powers & shapeshifting. People specialized in the magic of power experienced increased physical stamina, abilities, & can shake off blows. Patronized by Din, the Earthmother

Courage-The Heart-The ability to connect with the world of spirits, and by extension other life forms. Much rarer than the other two, but true disciples of Courage possess Empathy, the ability to see & communicate with spirits, and even the ability to project their mind into other beings. Patronized by Farore, the Lifemother

The Elements

The ‘earthly’ side of magic, embodying the forces of the created World, & utilized by mortal beings. Each have an associated Goddess, Gemstone,  Concept, & Species they embody.

Fire-Din-Ruby-Change-N/A

- Held in equal standing with Thunder by the Gerudo, and considered a part of them as well.

- Doesn’t have an embodying species, but fire itself is considered a living thing itself in Hyrule, and extinguishing it without a prayer of apology is considered taboo.

Earth-Din-Amber-Stability-Gorons

Water-Nayru-Sapphire-Renewal-Zora

Forest-Nayru-Emerald-Growth-Kikori

Wind-Farore-Opal-Communication-Rito

Thunder-Farore-Topaz-Motion-Gerudo

Light-All three Goddesses-Diamond-Purification-Hylians(Trien & Sheikah)

Notes: The Combination of all the other previous magical elements.

Darkness-Chaos-Obsidian-Reflections

Notes: The Element of Chaos, usually embodied by the demons created as distorted images of the Mortal & Spirit worlds (Bokoblins, Demise, Dark Link). Also embodied by the more benign Mirror World & Realm of the Twili.

Spirits

Denizens of the World beyond the World, spirits are magic personified, embodying yet completely separated from the magic they spring from. Mostly found within Fairies, Ghosts & Dragons

- The four Great Fairies were made as Spirit World reflections of the Golden Goddesses & Hylia.

- The Great Dragons are the embodiments of Elemental Magic

- Termina is the World where the Mirror Realm bleeds into the Spirit World.

[callyanncreates]

undefined

Linktober Day 1: Deity

Everyone remembers the night of the Forsaking.

As the sun set, a dark storm brewed over a starless sky. Rifts tore across the surface of Hyrule, spewing a deadly miasma and driving beasts into bloodthirsty rages. Many cities were razed as these frenzied monsters swarmed. Every child born in the empire that night entered the world in silence, their flesh stained silver. In panic, people turned for solace to the benevolent goddess Hylia, and that was when they discovered the final omen: the very countenance of their deity had changed. Every statue in the image of the goddess opened its eyes and bore a cruel grin as dark ichor flowed from its mouth.

Since that time one year ago, the signs of a restless evil have been ever present. Vile beasts roam the land in great numbers and with terrible ferocity. All the water in Hyrule, black as obsidian, casts distorted and ghoulish reflections, as if every pool or cup is acting as a window into a frightening alternate world. Of necessity, the people continue to drink it with trembling lips and avert their eyes from their horrific reflections.

And still, Hylia’s faces twists with that terrible leer.

[spiritmaiden23]

Obsidian glanced down Zelda as they trudged through the snow, having finished gathering wood for later that night. The dragoness wasn't fond of cold thanks to the magma coursing through her, but she could tell her companion wasn't fairing any better. "Wait." After shifting the wood she had been carrying under an arm, Obsidian was able to use the other to loop beneath Zelda's legs and carefully lift her up. "...Is this comfortable?"

She loathed the cold.

No, no. Loathed was such a strong word for the maiden who loved the world and all those who inhabit it. And though her affection for the realm woven by the gods of the old, it could never compare to the blinding love Hylia had. She was but mortal in the end. But rather than loath, she was not very fond of the bitter frost blanketing the lands. While the pure white snow was pretty to look at, and she did adore spending time with her hero gleefully playing in the snow (oft joining in on the fun while trying her hardest to endure the cold) was it really worth the terrible? Yes, for Link, yes it was. Yet, for anything else? Perhaps not. And though this season was symbolic of the goddess Nayru (plenty of festivities dedicated to her) she could not bring herself to attend any of the festivals and holidays celebrated in honor of Nayru. The glacial temperatures preventing her from coming out into the glacial unless she absolutely had to. And this moment with Obsidian, where she’d help her friend collect wood in order to heat up her fireplace (as she would find that Obsidian was also not fond of the cold). Her shivering was the unmistakable sign that they’d been out too long. Not at all used to the cool temperatures as Skyloft was a place with eternal mild weather. It was paradise... winter having no domain over the islands in the skies. 

“H-huh?” Crossing her arms together as a way to preserve what little warmth she had, the spirit maiden watches in silence as Obsidian moved the wood beneath her arm. She’d tilt her head, confused as to why she’d switch position until... she was lifted into the air. “Kyaa!” She squeaks out, not at all expecting for this to happen. But... there was no denying that she’d much prefer this. The intense warmth radiating from Obsidian melts through the freezing air. She’d had to prevent herself from leaning further into her arms. 

Smiling up at her, she’d give her a nod. “Thank you... but we should get to your house, quick! This weather... I’m sure it’s not good for you too.”

[seekingseven]

The Most Sincere Kind of Lie (Ch3)

Chapter 3 of my Linked Universe fanfic! Also available to read here on AO3 :D 

┍━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━┑

The pink pads of Legend’s fingertips reverently brushed the mirror’s handle, running themselves over the tiny engravings and elegant handiwork. Under the sparse moonlight he could barely make out the ridges and bumps of carefully-etched Sheikah symbols on the mirror's rim. The Sheikah magic in the Lens of Truth must have been very strong, then, for it to persist even during fusion. Even now, he could feel the lens' dark magic intermingling with the cascade of light magic the Magic Mirror had always contained. But the enchanted aura of this artifact was much less stable than either of its constituents: intense, dark, and almost uncouthly passionate. While the Lens of Truth had a certain, smug mysteriousness about it, and the Magic Mirror had a quiet, enigmatic confidence, this artifact...

This was something entirely different.

His hands hovered over the mirror's surface and his own pale, angular face stared back at him. With a start, he noticed the delicate web of capillaries that pulsed against his sclera and the split, dirty ends of his bangs -- he needed a good nap and a good shower more than anything else right now.

Of course, that wasn't going to happen. Not when Hylia had decided to pity his ravaging, insatiable curiosity by giving it something to feast off of. Legend turned the mirror over in his hand, wondering what exactly this...thing...could do. It didn't have a name, not that he could tell, and when the realization dawned on him that he got to name it himself, he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. Well, it would be easier to name the artifact once he knew what it did. He was no fan of obscure, enigmatic names as the other heros were, so it shouldn’t be difficult. Time could keep his "Golden Gauntlets" and "Lens of Truth." To Legend, simple names like "Magic Mirror" and "Magic Cape" were far superior. The veteran flipped the artifact back over. The mirror’s glass was an odd, shimmering shade of gold, almost like it had been coated by liquid yellow diamonds before placement into the rim. The longer Legend stared at it, the brighter it got.

Perhaps it was a portal? What was it that the Wise Man had said earlier, about what the hypothetical-turned-real artifact could do? Something about a dimension between dimensions. He nodded to himself. It would make sense, this artifact seemed hungry enough to bend space and time itself.

For a second, Legend wondered if it was actually a good idea to be fiddling around with this thing. He instantly brushed the thought away.

He'd been messing with reality, space, time, and the fate of a kingdom his entire life. This would be nothing for the Hero of Legend.  

Really, what's the worst that could happen?

Legend stared at the mirror's golden glass with redoubled intensity. This always worked with the Magic Mirror; just looking into it long enough would be enough to suck him into the Dark World. That didn't seem to be the case with whatever-this-was. And it couldn't have the same functionality as the Lens of Truth, if only for the simple reason that it wasn't a lens. Legend settled backwards on the cushions. He flinched as Hyrule muttered softly in his sleep and shifted closer towards him, reaching out a callused hand for the frayed corner of Legend’s tunic.

The veteran hero subconsciously flicked the hand away and got to his feet. Perhaps if the Wise Man was still awake they could figure this out together. Eyes still trained on the mystery mirror, Legend began to pick his way across the room. The moonlight was bright enough to ensure he wasn’t stumbling around blindly, but too dim to give him any confidence that he wouldn’t trip over a stray bag or bedpost.

He gave the mirror a half-hearted, throwaway glance.

His eyelids opened so wide that the muscles underneath them strained.

The mirror's glass was no longer golden, instead, it was a dull, obsidian black. The metal around it boiled with magic and shook temperamentally under his grasp: insistent, demanding, impatient.

Blue eyes flitted around the silent room, trying to find the source of the disturbance. Something had provoked the mirror's tantrum. There was no competing magical aura in the room, aside from the petulant shivering and hissing of the artifact in his hands, so it couldn’t be that. And there weren’t any monsters nearby -- Hyrule had assured them that Ganon’s lackeys never traveled this close to civilization. His eyebrows cinched as his chin fell to his chest. What could it be? He let the artifact drop to his side.

He nearly screamed when the metal flared and burned his skin.

It wanted something.

Whatever this thing was, it wanted something, and it wanted it NOW.

The smell of charred flesh filled Legend's nostrils. He pointedly ignored the melted strings of his skin clinging to the metal, thankful for his incredibly high pain tolerance, and looked around for an object he'd never seen. What did this thing want? What did it--

His eyes alighted on Wind's sleeping form. The artifact in his hand cooled in recognition of his epiphany, almost as if to apologize for its earlier outburst, and all but pulled Legend towards the sleeping boy. Legend crouched down to get a closer look. A halo of bright hair swept across the flat bridge of Wind's nose and cheeks, fluttering in the rouge breeze. The undersides of his fingernails were still crusted with the retributionary cream he'd smeared on Hyrule earlier that night, and a sweet, content smile tickled the pale skin of his lips.

Legend's soul revolted within himself.

He would rather have his entire arm burned off than sacrifice a child to...whatever this was.

A rusty voice spoke up in the back of his mind and cut off his thoughts.

"Do you wish to see this Hero through his own eyes?”

The artifact. It had almost the same reverberating voice as the Master Sword, albeit cracked and somber from millenia of disuse.  

He said nothing. He thought nothing. The artifact repeated its question.

“Do you wish to see this Hero through his own eyes?”

Oh.

The mirror didn’t want to hurt Wind. The mirror didn’t want to hurt anyone. It just wanted to show Legend a vision of each hero ‘ through their own eyes.’ Legend's eyes widened greedily. A thousand questions effervesced to the tip of his tongue. He bit them back. Magical artifacts weren't known for their straightforwardness or conversationality, and besides, he was growing impatient.

The artifact asked its question for the third time.

Legend nodded.

The world turned white. The ground beneath his feet tore itself away, and the terrifying lightnessness that came with nighttime terrors of falling shook his entire body. Reality spun and spilled around him, sloughing away in brilliant, iridescent shards as his consciousness was ripped away and ejected into another dimension.

He woke up in a room with no sound and no light and no air. The only thing he knew was that he was choking, he was drowning, that the darkness had forced its way up his nostrils and into the back of his mouth. Tastebuds he didn't know he had revolted at the bitter taste of ash, and he coughed pathetically. Slowly, he got to his feet, almost smiling at the sight of his bare feet and the brown, itchy cloth of his pajama pants beneath him. The mirror had been kind enough to let him keep not only his consciousness, but body as well.

In most situations, that was a good thing.

He decided he would interpret it as such.  

Legend's legs started moving, towards what and for what neither him nor his appendages could fathom. The black eventually melted into blue; the crisp, clean smell of sea and salt and sand carried on a breeze of unknown and unknowable origin. With nothing else to do, the hero kept walking, marveling as the world took form around him. The ground beneath him became water -- water he walked on as if he was a son of a goddess -- and a distant, sandy hill came into view. A tall silhouette stood on the hill's highest crest, face and form indecipherable from the distance between them.

High, shrill notes of a pan flute floated by Legend's pointed ears. They were cheerful and lilting, accompanied by the rapid bristle of a guitar, and melted in the airless atmosphere as soon as they were born. The figure in distance finally came into view as the music and lapping waves reached a crescendo.

Wind.

It was Wind, but taller, stronger, prouder. An emerald tunic strained against the tight muscles of his chest and pinched the bones of his slender hips, skirting around sinewy thighs. A long, droopy cap fluttered genialy in the breeze behind him and waved mischievously at the dumbfounded Legend. There was a cool confidence in his shoulders; despite the fact that they were bundled with sheets of strong, stringy muscles, they were relaxed and easy. Two hands, broad and smooth, rested on the purple hilt of the Master Sword. His hair was an almost neon yellow, bleached from the sun and glossy with health. Wind's lips were set into a blashempously calm smile. His dark, cunning eyes stared straight through Legend, as if the veteran hero was nothing more than a ghost.

The mirror's harsh, rusted words came to mind.

“Do you wish to see this Hero through his own eyes?”

Legend's eyes pricked upwards and a subdued thoughtfulness settled onto his shoulders. Of course. Of course. This made so much more sense than it was supposed to. This was who Wind saw himself as, the hero Wind knew himself to be: confident, proud, and strong. This was the Wind he tried so hard to communicate to the others, only to have his hair ruffled and be dubbed the group's collective "little brother."  Legend took a tentative step forward, relaxing imperceptibly when the movement went seemingly unregistered by pseudo-Wind, and reached out towards the smiling ghost.

The vision started to crack, first browning around the corners and then shattering from the center. Legend swallowed a scream and stared hard at the ghost as his consciousness roiled within him. He bit back the urge to resist the pull of reality when a flash of recognition skirted across the ghost's dark eyes.

Light.

Dark.

Sea.

Wood.

Legend's body crashed onto the room's wooden floor. The overpowering stench of smouldering skin and stomach acid smacked him upside the head, and every muscle in his body contracted at once. He breathed in deeply, greedily swallowing the air, and turned over on his back. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Wind's sleeping form -- just as small and precious as ever. He instinctively checked his magic reserves. They hadn’t even been touched. As his vision began to clear and the fear subsided, a familiar fire burned at the back of his head.

This mirror.

This portal.

The tiny muscles lacing his knuckles moved on their own accord, grabbing the mirror that laid next to him and drawing it close to his face. His breathing slowed. His mind raced. This mirror. This portal. This...

To just say it was amazing would have been the epitome of an anticlimax, but the veteran's mind could think of no other word. This thing was a portal to a dimension between dimensions, a harbinger of visions both true and false, a witness to the most sincere kind of lies...and it laid in the palm of his hands. The mirror had answers to questions he didn’t know he had.

A curious, hungry lust burned in his chest. Answers. Answers. That's what he wanted. That's all he wanted. That's what the mirror wanted to give. He pushed himself to his feet. The mirror sat coldly in his hands. Its glass was golden again. He made his way across the room, legs heading towards the bed but mind racing for a reason to stay awake. Maybe the mirror still had something to give? It had to, it hadn’t unfused into its components yet. He had to stay awake. He had to see. Legend stared at the golden glass, silently hoping for it to turn ashy once more and invite him back inside.

The mirror was silent. It didn't burn, shiver, or shake, instead dangled from the tips of his burned fingers with resistance and resolution comparable to that of a dead man. Was it tired? Perhaps it had drawn on its own magic reserve. The Wise Man had said that these fusion artifacts were unstable and temporary, so maybe the magical aura was settling down before splitting back up. The warped, melted flesh of his palms nuzzled against the mirror's cool handle. He would have to heal that before anyone noticed, but all his healing potions were downstairs. His brows furrowed as Legend made his way back to the bed where Sky and Hyrule were sleeping. The two had shifted around so much in their sleep that there wasn’t any room for him now, but that wasn’t really an issue. His mind mulled over the issue that was, quite literally, at hand. He needed to either heal the burn or have a story for it -- and if he wasn't in the mood for interrogation now, he wouldn't be in the morning.

Time let out a massive, wet snore that nearly ripped Legend out of his skin. The veteran hero, surprised and unstable on his feet, toppled backwards onto the bed Hyrule and Sky were sleeping on. His bones banged against theirs, but, miraculously, neither of them woke up. Legend shifted uncomfortably between the two sleeping heros and pulled the mirror out from under him. Some of the cream smeared on Hyrule's face and hands had rubbed off on the side of the bed where Legend was supposed to be sleeping (not a big deal, in all honesty, he knew he wasn't sleeping tonight) and a vial of red potion dangled from his belt. Most likely, the traveler had forgotten to leave it downstairs. How beautifully convenient! Legend unclipped it softly and took a swing of the drink, smiling as the blistered, burgundy skin on his hand cooled and healed. Hyrule wouldn't be mad, he thought as he clipped the potion back to the traveler's belt, and he would make sure to pay back the traveler the next day. Legend's fingers curled idly around the mirror's handle and he brought it to his face to check that the red potion hadn't left a crimson scrim on his upper lip.  

Legend was confused for only a split second, then he gasped.

The glass was pitch black.

It was still awake, and it had something to show him.

Legend grinned, previous preoccupations completely forgotten, and inched closer towards Hyrule. The mirror began to clear, almost turning golden once again, and Legend scooted backwards. Okay, it was clear the mirror had no interest in Hyrule. Vertebrae in his back popped as he twisted around, and Legend panned the mirror over Sky's sleeping face. The last vestiges of gold on the mirror's glass were instantly replaced by crashing, boiling waves of black.

"Do you wish to see this Hero through his own eyes?”

"Yes," he heard himself whisper. There was no hesitance in his voice this time.

The world seized once again, shattering around the edges and sending thin, spidery cracks across his vision. Darkness pooled between the fragments, oozing between small shards of reality and swallowing them whole. The floor was gone, the air was gone, his mind and emotions and pale, sleep-deprived body were sent hurling through a bridge between worlds.

He didn't need to catch himself this time. With a soft thump, his feet hit the floor, and his mouth was assaulted by the taste of metal and snow. The slippery taste clung to his tongue, and Legend ran the back of his hand over it in an attempt to wipe the tang away. It only grew stronger. Oh well, so be it. It didn’t matter. Anyway, there was no need to stand here. He knew how this thing worked. Nothing was going to get done if he stood here and lamented the odd taste in his mouth or the very, very bad feeling in his chest.

Legend didn't walk this time, he ran, he sprinted down the airless, soundless, lightless corridor. The world created itself as he moved, replacing black with white, the vacuum with whispers of music, the emptiness with the crisp, clean scent of air never breathed in before.

Cool, gentle, white fingers combed through his hair, and Legend noticed with a start that he was quite literally walking through clouds. He sent a tentative glance to the endless expanse of blue underneath his feet and praised the mirror for forgetting to introduce gravity to this fever dream. There was no ground beneath him, and he walked on the surface of the sky with ease.

The quavering soprano of a harp threaded its way through the silence, careful and slow. No other instruments accompanied it except the hushed singing of a child, the heavy smell of heartache thick in each note. It sounded almost familiar, like a hymn reversed or a favorite childhood lullaby played backwards, and Legend's thrumming heart slowed. He started walking faster, refusing to let himself melt into the music. He was here to meet someone, not to listen to pretty harp music. Clouds stared curiously at the hero as he ran through their wet bosoms, and Legend blinked away the dewey residue they left on his eyelashes. Up ahead, he could make out a figure standing sleepily on a small, grassy hill.

He didn't need to be told that this was the pseudo-Sky he'd come here to meet. The Sky saw himself as. Frankly, Legend wasn’t expecting much. Sky had always struck him as a pretty well-put together guy, and the veteran’s mind was already thinking of which of his other incarnations might offer a more interesting vision.Legend’s legs carried him towards the distant figure regardless, and his burning curiosity propelled him forward each step. As he approached, the clouds around ghost Sky started to shift. They clustered in Sky, almost queuing up behind each other, and gradually took on an uncomfortably familiar form. The wind first whipped the clouds into something vaguely humanoid, then pulled back the sides of their heads into pointed ears. A biting breeze whizzed around the clouds and sculpted chests and legs and something resembling tunics and swords.

Cloud Links. An army. They covered the entire blue expanse ahead, standing shyly and awkwardly in front of the figure on the hill. Legend drew closer, drawing himself up onto the grassy hill where Sky’s ghost stood. Completely ignored by the spectral figures around him, Legend stared at the scene with comfortable amazement.

Sky, eyes half-closed in his ever present amiable grin, unsheathed the Master Sword from its scabbard and held it out to the first Cloud Link in front of him. The white, puffy arms reached out for the sword. They turned black the instant it held the hilt. The Cloud Link screamed as he was torn from the inside out, blistering boils of red and black and blue bubbled and popped across his chest, and his existence was wiped away by a vicious breeze. Each Link that stepped up met the same fate. A scream, then they were nothing. The air grew thick with black smog, bitter and angry and ashy. Each Link stepped up in front of Sky, blank eyes hopeful and ignorant, only to watch as their bodies were shredded where they stood.

Ghost Sky was still smiling: unseeing, unfeeling, unknowing.

He kept holding out the sword.

He kept murdering the Cloud Links.

The harp music continued happily on.

Bile crept into Legend’s mouth.

The music began to quaver, and Legend noticed that something black and scaly was creeping up Sky's arms. The skin split and sloughed off, revealing hard, obsidian sheafs underneath, and Legend's eyes widened as a white X drew itself on the ghost's forehead. Puffs of charcoal leaked from Sky's eyes, which had grown small and hard and orange, and trailed down his face in the imitation of tears. The music exploded into an orchestral wail; the drums shook, the choir screamed, the violins shrieked. Sky's hair slowly turned from blond to black to bright and flaming. His chest, now covered in scales, bulged and tore through the green cloth of his tunic.

The demon was still smiling; smiling a horrible, grieving, heart-broken smile.

There were no more Cloud Links left.

The Master Sword clattered to the floor. Legend moved instinctually to pick it up, only to be knocked back by the demon on the hill.

Sky, Sky's ghost, Sky's demon, whatever it was, stared at him blankly before letting out the most terrified, devastated howl Legend had ever heard.

It opened its mouth to speak, to scream, to apologize and beg for forgiveness, but Legend was already falling. The sky, black, red, and green, throbbed and bled as the veteran hero plummeted into an uncreated abyss.

Red.

Green.

Hero.

Demon.

Legend's face, wet with sweat and tears he didn't know he shed, stuck to the bed's fabric. He didn't need to breathe, he didn't want to breathe, he didn't want to do anything. He didn't want to think about what he'd just seen, or what he'd just learned, or the implications of what he should do now.

His fingers reached for the mirror if only to console himself, the same way one might reach for a mother’s hand after being spanked or cling to a toy being torn away. But his hands wrapped around two individual artifacts. The Lens of Truth and Magic Mirror. They’d unfused.

Well, he’d had enough excitement. Perhaps the same was true for them.

He laughed. There was no hint of mirth in the hollow, choking noise.

Since when had he become so quick to lie to himself?

┕━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━┙

[eventide-imp]

What's this? Original content? Yes!

Hylian Shield Protection Charm

- Hylian shield necklace

- white or yellow candle

- salt

- sage

- rosemary

- black pepper

- small tree branch, with leaves

- hematite or obsidian

- a bowl or cup

- sigil for protection (optional)

🛡 Begin by lighting your candle. Next, mix your herbs together in the bowl using your branch. Let your energy and the branch's mix together with the herbs.

🛡 Bury the necklace in the bowl, carefully laying the obsidian on top of the necklace. Place the branch on top of the bowl as well.

🛡 Hold your hand over the bowl and say "by the light of the Triforce and the three Goddesses, by the blood of the Goddess Hylia and the Spirit of the Hero, may the Hylian Shield protect me in all its capacity"

🛡 Blow out the candle and let it charge in the bowl for one full day and night, preferably when it's the full moon. Alternatively, you can wrap the necklace in a paper with a sigil on it and place in the bowl to charge. Repeat when you feel it's energy wane.

Below is a sigil that you could use! Or use any other protective sigil you like, it's up to you!