Chapter Text
The cold of the Gerudo Highlands should have claimed Link hours ago, but under his hardened skin, he felt nothing. The frigid wind was nothing more than a playful kiss on his cheek, yet it wasn’t enough to bring a smile to his lips. It had been silent all morning, not even the snow under his trained feet crunching with his step. To the world around him, he was a phantom, shifting through and leaving not a footprint behind. Some may call it peaceful, but as he sent a puff of cold breath out with a sigh, he couldn’t feel more disappointed.
He had been out hunting all day, but he hadn’t encountered so much as a quail. Earlier, he had thought it wise to skip out on breakfast to get a headstart, but the beasts were nowhere to be found, and his stomach was beginning to twist. He gave a small frown and stroked his abdomen, unable to come up with consoling words for himself. He may have to consider the edibility of tree bark.
A tickle at his leg made him stop in his tracks. He looked down hopefully, his frown turning into a grin when he saw what he had trudged right into. Red, plump wild berries beckoned to him from their place within the bush. He squatted immediately, thrusting his hand inside without any regard for the thorns within. They scraped harmlessly against his gloves, leaving the berries ripe for the picking. He gathered them as quickly as he could, glancing over his shoulder every so often in the chance of an attack, but nothing ever came. Not yet. His knees pinched as straightened himself up again, palms full of the berries. It would stave off the hunger, but not forever. Just enough time to complete his mission.
He resumed his walk up the Highlands, taking a route with high frozen walls while popping a berry into his mouth, chewing gratefully. It exploded in a burst of slush and sugar under his tongue, nearly making his teeth chatter. Nearly. Link had eaten enough of them to last a century and was well on his way to becoming immune to their cold flavor. It took a strong clench of his jaw to stop the cold ache in his head, though. For a moment in time, all that existed was his berries and the silent song of the mountains. He could only wish that it were just as empty.
The silence was disturbed.
Link froze. His whole body tensed his ears on their highest guard. For a millisecond, he thought it was just the wind. A distant flurry whipping up some snow. Utterly harmless. It was getting closer though, and rapidly. There was a red flash in his peripheral, and he had all but a second to drop to the ground as a sickle came for his head.
The berries fell discarded as he landed hard on his back, breath leaving him in a swift punch. The sickle spiraled through the air, lodging itself in the rocky mountain wall before falling still. Link had no time for shock. He rolled over in a heartbeat, his face stinging at the touch of snow, but just in time to avoid the Yiga soldier that launched himself off the opposing snow shelf.
The Yiga landed hard, inches away from where Link had been laying moments before. Had he remained, the sharp spikes on the soldier’s cleats would’ve surely pierced his skull. For the briefest interval, the two disregarded each other. The Yiga gripped his lodged sickle and pulled hard, chunks of rock flying as he pulled it free.
Link shuffled a few steps away, kicking up snow and dirt. The hunt had commenced, and his eyes never left his kin as he pulled out a sickle of his own.
He didn’t have time for the first move. The maskless Yiga took a swipe at his face, missing his nose by inches. Link crouched and backed up the slope, his fingers grazing the ground in an attempt to keep balance. His sickle was bared at his side, a warning to any who sought to approach. The Yiga didn’t take it.
The combatant’s sickle jumped from hand to hand as he evaluated Link’s position, red eyes flicking about to every possible opening. Now Link had a chance to see who his opponent was. His stark white hair was stringy from the tight traditional buns, bleeding cuts on his face glistened in the dim light. Teeth bared like a starving wolf; not for food, but for glory.
Finally, this wolf made a move. A simple swipe downward, the point of the scythe aiming for Link once more. It was easily countered, as Link caught and twisted it out of his hand. However, the Yiga seemed to be ready for that, he rolled his body with Link’s tug, unhooking his blade, it remaining in his clutch.
Link caught the opponent’s rage as his eyes grew evermore wild. He was truly a wolf as he spat into the snow, meeting a flat expression with white fangs. Again, he flitted, searching for any advantage he could pull to eliminate just another contender, ever close to wearing true sight’s mask. Maybe then, he’ll no longer be a predator.
So began a flurry of attacks, pushing Link into the defensive as he blocked every blow at the last second. It went on for an eternity as the wind shrieked and cheered, excited as the fight intensified, bringing Link closer to defeat. The Yiga’s strikes were clear to maim, strong and swift, as he aimed for the neck, the arms, the legs. To lacerate, to cripple, to humiliate.
The eyes always tell the truth.
Mother’s voice ranged often, her words ranged true. Link’s challenger suddenly broke his continuous assault, backflipping to space the two out. His feet sunk into the snow, attempting to circle him. The pair’s eyes were locked, red and blue, but both equally desperate for the prize. The wind died down, its boredom evident as the battle went to a standstill.
Then finally, his fatal mistake.
He threw his weapon to his right hand, his manic eyes flitted right.
Oldest trick in the book.
A sudden dive left, weapon angled to slice up Link’s entire side. Such an obvious tactic, the first one as Yiga learns.
Link threw his sickle into his other hand, his left grabbing the combatant’s wrist. His eyes flew wide for a moment as the grasp tightened, but not long enough to truly realize. Link snapped his hand forward, twisting it harshly. A howl of pain escaped him and the sickle fell softly into the pillowy snow. But that wasn’t enough. Link needed one less contender.
He drove his elbow into the Yiga’s abdomen, and as he doubled over, brought a swift kick to his head. Finally, his ruby eyes dulled as the pain overwhelmed his mind. Link held still for a moment as his former rival laid motionless in the snow, bile building up as seconds ticked by. Fortunately, he rolled over, eyelids fluttering as he groaned, clutching his stomach and head. He had been knocked out, and yet the true prize was still up above.
Yet no matter how hard one must push themself, Link could feel his body’s cries. He had to tend to them even for just a moment. The frozen air-filled and emptied his lungs in short succession, in out and in out. He could feel his vision blur a bit, the sudden rush of adrenaline disappearing as soon as it came, wrapping his mind in a thick wool.
Though his stomach craved every Yiga’s weakness, he only had the berries to satiate his growling stomach. Their sharp, almost sour juice jolted his eyes, the drooping eyelids standing to attention, and his chest opened up further. His fingers were numbed by the snow and his cheeks red as blood, but he had to move forward. Just a little bit more.
Digging his nails into the cliffside, Link began to scale Zirco Mesa. Now, it was all but silent. Even the wind kept quiet, anxious to see where this would go. Both a gratifying and terrifying proposition. It had been hours since the rite had begun, and that meant he could only have one more kin to face. That kin would be the most skilled of them all.
Such thoughts brought his hands and feet to climb faster, further up the orange stone. Snow drifted. The cold air stung. Silence rang. A cry of agony sounded, echoing through the highlands.
It was on the other side of the mesa.
Eyebrows knitted together, almost fusing as Link brought his aching arms faster up the cliffside. If he could grab the mask and defeat who this was, then surely, it would be over, and he would win, the mask would his to bear. He would be just like Mother, and he would finally be able to accomplish what Master Cadraz desired.
Whoever was left, they must be the last of the competition. No matter who it was, they had to lose.
The top of Zirco had finally appeared, and relief flooded through Link. His arms were numb, but alas rest was as far as the unseen sun. He turned heel towards the very peak of the mesa, where it faced the east opening of the hideout. There, on a pole, as an opening in the clouds passed by the sun. Gleaming white, streaks of red. The mask of true sight. The mask of victory.
Willing his body just a little further, Link climbed the last level of the formation. He nearly took one step forward, when a red glove clawed as it reached for the peak.
Pulling itself up, an impeccable white bun appeared, followed by a familiar face.
She had settled herself onto the clifftop, dusting off the snow and brandishing a duplex bow. She gave off a huff, then spotted Link. At first, it was merely a friendly grin, then a snort.
“Keeping up this silent charade, aren’t we?” Riklah chided.
He didn’t respond, face as blank and frozen as the terrain around them. His old rival waited a few moments with her arms crossed, tapping a finger on her armor before filling the silence with another laugh.
“Don’t look at me like that.” She reached out to flick him, but only met open air as Link took a great step back. “Really? I’m just messing around, you know.”
“Not the time.” He finally said, brows furrowed in no more than annoyance. Riklah sighed and kicked a mound of snow off the cliffside, watching it plume out as it fell below.
“Is it ever the time with you?” She moseyed around the elephant of the room, stepping to the edge and looking to the white sun in the noon sky. He allowed his eyes to drift downward for a moment, catching the red gleam on her sheathed weapon. Riklah was an accomplished marksman, but her hand to hand was nothing to underestimate either. It appeared someone else hadn’t heeded this, as her sickle was soaked to the hilt in another’s blood. When he looked back up, she was watching him from over her shoulder with a smirk. “Before you ask, I have been quite busy today. They just wouldn’t stop coming. It’s almost like I’m a target or something. You?”
Link wished he had his sickle in hand, but it was tucked away in his belt. Utterly harmless. In the time he could reach it, Riklah would already be upon him. And she was not one to spare a life.
“Only one.” He decided to speak. “By the shrine.”
“Well? You kill him?” Her face had lightened up at the mention of combat. Link frowned at her excitement, remembering just exactly why he had been actively avoiding her.
“No. Why would I?”
“Doesn’t hurt to make sure.” She shrugged and slid her own weapon out to admire it in the sun. “Of course, I couldn’t bring myself to do so either against my own kin. It goes without saying that I didn’t leave them completely unscathed, just roughed up enough that I knew I wouldn’t be followed.”
She tilted her blade so that Link’s reflection was trapped inside and she narrowed her eyes at his mostly blank expression. “I just assumed killing a fellow Yiga would be easy for you.”
His fingers twitched, eager to wrap around the grip of a sickle, but his arm didn’t allow it. He needed to remain defensive. She was prodding him, trying to get a reaction so she could play defensively, spitting on the name of his father.
“I’m just as much a Yiga as you are, Riklah.” He said, struggling to remain cordial.
“Mmm… your very blood says different.” Her sickle lowered for a moment as she looked out to the horizon, gazing past the stretches of Hyrule Field. His teeth gritted as he realized what she was looking to. Hyrule Castle, the fortress that sat in the heart of their land. The very emblem of blasphemy.
“You may have been born here, but that rock is your real home.” She said almost blissfully as if she weren’t trodding on his identity. “I don’t kill Yiga. That’s why I won’t be letting you leave alive.
Her sickle whipped down and she turned on her heels. Link tensed, bracing for an attack, but no such thing came. She only smiled, half bound hair blowing behind her as the Highland wind tried to sweep her off the cliff.
“So, you or me first?”
The mask. Right. She almost had him forget their whole objective in the first place. He broke eye contact with her to look at the mask on its pedestal, the inverted eye of the Sheikah staring them both down where they stood. In the few seconds he had, he considered his options. He could always let her go first, striking from behind when she wasn’t looking, or he could bolt without another word, only praying that he was able to get his sickle out before she caught up. There was no opportunity to make a decision.
In an instant, Riklah sliced the back of his knees, the point of her sickle ripping through his leather armor. He choked out a cry as the sting ran up his body and his legs gave out. The bite of the snow as his face slammed into the ground was almost as shocking as the attack; all of his preparation, his monitoring, his defense, all eradicated by a mere distraction. He fully expected her to drive the end of her sickle between his shoulder blades at that point, and he moved to avoid another attack, but Riklah had already darted past.
Her light steps kicked up no snow as she advanced upon the pedestal, the mask in her grasp within seconds of her attack. As she pressed the mask to her face, Link fought to his feet again, suppressing the urge to fall again. The warmth of his blood running down his calves was like fire amongst the icy mesa, just the spark he needed to avoid the oncoming rush of Riklah’s arrows.
In seconds she had her duplex bow stretched out, reloading with memorized speed. Link just barely managed to miss each one, the tip of a particularly jagged arrow catching the side of his ear and sending another warm flood down his neck. In the brief heartbeat that Riklah notched another pair of arrows, Link pulled his arm back and threw, his sickle closing the distance between them.
She dropped to her side, the arrows whizzing harmlessly into the open air. The sickle missed its mark as well, landing forgotten clear across Zirco Mesa. Still, it granted him an opportunity. One that passed in a breath.
She sat up to shoot another arrow in a hurry, but Link was already upon her, kicking the bow out of her reach and off the edge of the plateau. With nothing but his hands now, Link reached to swipe the mask from her face. She batted his hand away with a quick chop and shot to her feet again, her sickle twisting into view as she unsheathed it once more. He reached to pull out his own, body breaking out into a hot flash when he remembered where it lay several feet away.
Riklah had crouched into a typical Yiga stance, shifting from left to right as she scouted out where to strike first. Link slowly lowered into a crouch of his own to shield his front, face cold as he stared into the lifeless eye of the mask. He wished he could see her expression. Was she frightened? Focused? Or was this simply another sparring match to her, nothing to even bat an eye over?
She jumped left, her sickle spinning as she went. Link tried to discreetly inch towards his own, but she caught onto his intentions in an instant. The arch of her blade struck down, lodging itself in the snow as he just barely pulled his hand away. Falling onto his back, he kicked her sternum, sending her reeling with a muffled grunt of shock. He twisted around and reached for his key to victory, but it was still just barely out of reach.
He meant to yell out in frustration, but all that filled his mouth was snow as Riklah kicked him down again from behind. Pressure shifted on his lower back as she hurriedly mounted, pinning him to the ground. There was no time. Link flipped over, using his adrenaline as pure fuel, wheezing slightly as she landed on his stomach. He blinked rapidly, attempting to regain focus, but there was nothing to see but the silhouette of the much taller Yiga above him, holding him down and raising her sickle in a death blow.
Dear Ganon.
His hands threw up, stopping the blade inches before it dug into his jugular. The cold eye of the Yiga mask bore into him, Riklah’s muffled panting sounding off behind it. Surely she wasn’t serious about killing him? He tapped the side of her hand in a panic, signaling his surrender. But this wasn’t a jest. It was her life's mission to kill the masquerader, the half breed. And now was her moment.
The two of them struggled for all of a few moments, Link pushing upwards with all his strength to keep the blade away while Riklah leaned all her weight against it. His body was hot against the snow, so much so that he didn’t even feel it anymore. He was aflame, and he would melt the sickle with his bare hands if he must.
She wouldn’t give him a chance to. Her fist came up, only to beat down on the pommel, the tip just barely digging into his throat before he pushed it up again with a shocked cry. The beating didn’t stop, the sickle going lower and lower with each hit. It was only a matter of time.
Her fist came up a final time, the tip of the sickle now straining against his neck. Link’s eyes shot closed. He took in a breath. The fist fell down.
He ripped the weapon away from her, his two hands stronger than her one. With a startled cry, her fist buried itself into the snow, her body falling forward as it carried the motion. The sickle in hand, Link squirmed out from under her, spinning it into a strike of his own.
Riklah got to her knees, her white hair whipping around as she whirled to face him. All she was in time for, however, was the bashing of the end of her own sickle across the face, the mask flying off and spinning to a halt on the ground. She followed the momentum of the blow, crumbling in a heap with her hands locked defensively behind her head. The seconds passed slowly, Link’s own winded breaths filling the air as he watched her tremble. Then, almost undetectably, she raised her left hand slightly, quivering. A signal of surrender.
He let out a heavy breath, wiping the sweat that had surprisingly accumulated on his forehead. He trudged past his rival, digging the mask out from it’s buried place in the snow. Though it had sat on another’s face, as Link settled it over his eyes, he couldn’t help but feel it was made for him. It's mold, its smooth surface, its smell. The Eye of the Yiga truly saw all. His other sickle was quickly swept up by him, both hands now armed and deadly. Though based on the silence all around, he wouldn’t be facing another opponent this rite. He limped slightly over to the pedestal, the cuts on his legs slowly returning as his adrenaline drained.
He stood on the large, flat stone, and mask now in his possession, he raised a sickle to the sky. A testament to his victory.