Chapter Text
It’s a routine hit-and-run raid. Go in, cause enough chaos to remind the Gerudo that the Yiga are not sitting idly by, and get out. Sooga has been on dozens of these raids, and has lead them for years. Early in the morning, before the sun has risen to beat the miserable mid-day heat, Sooga collects his raiding party in the central cave of the clan hideout and they set out.
Today, their target is a small walled-in courtyard about halfway between Kara Kara Bazaar and the Gerudo town proper, minimally guarded but constantly trafficked by merchants and their wares. As they approach, the Yiga slow to catch their breath after running across the desert and to keep their arrival unseen. A little less than 200 meters from their goal, Sooga and his squad of six footsoldiers take cover behind a tall sand dune, lying flat on their bellies with only their eyes poking out.
There is a contingent of ten Gerudo guards stationed at the corners and exits of the courtyard, with a captain slowly patrolling the perimeter. Even from his limited vantage point, Sooga can see that the walls are filled with crates and boxes stacked on top of each other. The Yiga are outnumbered, but the element of surprise should make things easier.
Sooga waits, feeling his footsoldiers tense with anticipation beside him, until the captain disappears around the back of the building. Then he lifts his hand and gestures forward with two fingers.
He has barely finished the motion before the two smallest and fastest footsoldiers are up and sprinting, flitting between the shadows of dunes and cacti, hidden in the orange-gray gloom of early morning. The guard on the corner closest to their hiding spot yawns and stamps her feet in the chilly air, completely unaware. Sooga tracks the two Yiga as they run, sees them disappear, and sees them reappear on top of the columns supporting the walls. He sees them jump, drawn sickles flashing in the growing sunlight, and plunge into the courtyard.
Sooga grins beneath his mask and barks, “Go!”
The remaining five of them scramble up the dune and take off running, teleporting into the courtyard in a staggered pattern to keep their true number hidden. From within the walls comes the sound of crates being smashed and the meaty sound of fists meeting flesh. Sooga grins bigger, draws his swords as he runs, and teleports to the center of the courtyard.
Within moments, the Gerudo recover from their surprise and rally around their captain, who had reappeared when the Yiga scouts destroyed the wares inside. Moments after that, they are embroiled in a skirmish, both sides fighting fast and hard. Sooga begins trading blows with the commanding Gerudo captain, his two katanas against her scimitar and large, emblazoned shield. The sun rises steadily to the east as they fight, and Sooga’s blood roars adrenaline and, dare he say it, excitement. It has been far too long since he’d fought like this, with an opponent he was perfectly, evenly matched with.
For nearly ten minutes, they fight, neither giving an inch, every swing met with a parry and every feint met with a counter. Sparks spit and hiss in the air as his katanas catch and slide across the captain’s shield, both of them straining to break the other’s guard. After a few seconds of struggling, they break apart again. Sooga is not ashamed to admit he is impressed with this captain’s ferocity and skill. She is lightning fast, with strength to match his own.
Later, Sooga thinks through the fight, trying to pinpoint when he’d made a mistake; had he overextended himself in a strike, gotten sloppy and opened up his guard? But he eventually concludes that there was no mistake. She had simply moved faster than he did, and struck the decisive blow first.
Deflecting a shield bash aimed at his face, Sooga pivots and swipes at the Gerudo captain, only to find her... not there anymore. Ah. She’d anticipated he was going to swing low, and had dodged back and jumped high to counter him. Pulling back on his strike, Sooga tries to change direction and get his katanas up in a block, but it’s already too late. The flicker of movement just above his left shoulder is the only warning he gets before three feet of Gerudo scimitar smashes into his temple.
Stars crack across Sooga’s vision. His head is whipped to the side with the force of the blow; stunned, he staggers and drops heavily to one knee. His left eye is instantly flooded with blood, his right eye filled with involuntary tears of pain. Dazed and gasping but fearing a finishing blow while he’s down, Sooga wrenches his katanas up in a crossed guard to protect his head and rolls blindly to his feet.
Swaying, his swords still up, he manages to blink his stinging right eye mostly clear, though his left remains dark. His vision is wobbly and wavering, made worse by the swooping dizziness of a blow to the head, but it’s enough to get the Gerudo captain back into his line of sight. Curiously, she hadn’t pressed her advantage while he had been stunned, staying in a defensive position in front of her soldiers.
Master Kohga was very clear on one point for raids: no casualties. They were to pull back and retreat the second things got more dangerous than a simple skirmish. Sooga normally disagreed with this rule, privately of course, thinking the Yiga needed to show that they would not be cowed even when facing injury or death, but thinks he understands the logic now. As a Blademaster of the Yiga Clan with many years of service to Calamity Gabon ahead of him, needling the Gerudo isn’t worth dying for. That, and getting his face nearly cut in half definitely counts as a casualty.
Sooga’s bell has been so thoroughly rung that he doesn’t trust his normal agility to disengage- he feels unsteady enough as it is without backflipping away from his enemies. Instead, he slams his fists together and teleports to the other side of the courtyard, about twenty feet away. It takes all his discipline not to stumble when he reappears, vision blurring even worse, but he manages. His footsoldiers, noticing he’s starting to withdraw, also disengage and join him.
The fighting dies down as the two groups separate, though all involved keep their weapons drawn and ready. The Gerudo and the Yiga eye one another with open loathing across the courtyard as the dust begins to settle. Still fighting not to sway on his feet, fire pulses in waves along the gash in Sooga’s face. It’s absolutely gushing blood, he can feel it running in sheets down his cheek and pooling around his chin; from up near his temple, it runs in rivulets out of the new crack in his mask, making the inverted eye appear to be weeping.
Yes, definitely time to go.
“We’ve done enough damage for now,” Sooga barks to his footsoldiers, and its true- they’d destroyed the merchants’ goods, and multiple Gerudo warriors had been wounded by their blades today. Also, ow talking hurts. “Time to retreat.”
One by one, his soldiers disappear in bursts of light and runes. Before he teleports away, Sooga makes a point to find the Gerudo captain who’d wounded him. She’s crouched warily behind her shield, his blood still dripping from her sword. He gives her a curt nod, and sees her blink, eyes widening a fraction.
Well struck, the nod says. You will not get the chance to do so again.
She schools her expression and nods back, but Sooga has already turned away. Sheathing his swords, he conjures his teleportation runes and retreats with the rest of his men.
Much to his frustration, Sooga starts to lag behind as he and his footsoldiers sprint across the wastes between Gerudo town and the Yiga Clan hideout. He loses his footing in the sand more and more as they run, nearly stumbling. Almost without his noticing, the rest of his raiding party slows down, keeping pace with him so they don’t leave him behind. The sun’s ever watchful eye stares down Sooga’s neck as he runs, the growing heat making the headache throbbing in his temples even worse.
They’re just over halfway back to the hideout when the winds suddenly pick up. Despite the sun’s high position in the clear, desert sky, the temperature starts to drop.
There’s a sandstorm rolling in.
Setting his jaw, Sooga calls for a halt, and they all slide to a stop at the base of a large dune. He takes a second to catch his breath, then has to take another second, still panting hard. Trying to get his heart rate back under control, he glances warily back at the dark, dusty clouds gathering on the horizon. His face hurts, quite badly, mask all but glued to his face with dried blood. Sooga’s left eye aches in a very odd, almost empty way, but he can’t take his mask off to tend to it in the middle of a growing sandstorm, so he shoves the pain to the side as best he can and turns back to his raiding party.
“I am slowing you down too much,” he says, still slightly breathless. “You need to continue on to the hideout without me, or the storm will overtake us all.”
His footsoldiers... hesitate. They shuffle their feet in the sand, making very small head movements that Sooga knows mean they’re exchanging glances with one another behind their masks. He frowns and narrows his eyes- uh, eye- behind his own mask, and knows they can sense it when they all stiffen.
“What’s the problem?” he snaps. The wind moans quietly for now, but he knows they don’t have long before it’s howling.
The smallest of the group, a teenaged recruit named Ico, coughs and elbows their neighbor into stepping forward. The unwilling spokesperson, a big fellow named Juro who’s well on his way to becoming a blademaster, clears his throat.
“We, uh. We’re worried. About leaving you behind?” he says, trying to look small despite almost being Sooga’s height.
A journeyman footsoldier, Kyashi, picks up when it becomes clear Juro isn’t saying anything more, adding, “Your injuries are severe, and we’re afraid the sandstorm will kill you if we leave you, Blademaster Sooga.”
The rest of his raiding party nods quickly in agreement.
Sooga balks, perplexed. He’s half annoyed they’re being insubordinate and half kind of touched. It takes him a moment to find his voice.
“...your loyalty is noted. And appreciated,” he finally says. “But I have given my orders. If I cannot survive one sandstorm, I clearly am not fit to be part of the Yiga Clan.”
He nods at Juro, the second highest ranked in the group as a senior footsoldier. “You are now leader of this group. Give Master Kohga the mission report in my stead.” Sooga hesitates, then tries to reassure them, begrudgingly adding, “I will find shelter until the storm passes, then I will follow.”
He nods again, to all of his footsoldiers. “Run swiftly.”
Clearly unhappy, his party all give him a bow and reluctantly take off sprinting again, fast as desert geckos across the sand. Sooga watches them until they disappear behind the dunes.
The wind from the storm behind him builds into gusts that threaten to knock him off balance, kicking up sand and small pebbles. Sooga, stumbling and half-blind, manages to find a boulder large enough to shelter his massive frame, and hunkers down on the leeward side. He presses his body as close as it will go to the boulder and hugs his knees against his chest. His balaclava and body suit will protect him from the worst of the sand as long as he stays put.
The wind rises to a howl and the temperature dips down into uncomfortably cold; he pops up his high collar and uses the hand not wrapped around his knees to cover up the new crack in his mask. Without his hand in place, Sooga knows from experience the unforgiving Gerudo Desert sand will shred his unprotected eyes and throat to ribbons. His hand trembles slightly where it’s cupped around his vulnerable face, much as he tries to force it not to.
The rock is cold against his back as the sun dims unnaturally, blocked out by the storm. With the violence of a breaking wave, the sandstorm crashes over him, and he is engulfed in brown, stinging darkness. Sooga presses himself closer to the boulder, hunching his shoulders and tucking his face against his knees. With nothing to look at but the inside of his mask, he closes his good eye.
The sandstorm drags on for one hour, then another. He thinks he’s shivering under the onslaught of cold sand, but he can’t be sure. Eventually, through a combination of blood loss, exhaustion, and the basic, instinctual comfort that comes from being curled into a very tight ball, Sooga falls asleep.
~~~
Some unknown amount of time later, his mask is removed. It sticks, pulling at his skin and reopening the thin scabs on his face. He coughs out a sound, disoriented and pained, throat feeling like it’s coated in sand. A lap holds his head while hands pull off his balaclava. Something dark blocks out the reddish-pink light visible through his eyelid, like someone is leaning over him. Before he can register any more, sleep claims him again.
~~~
Very slowly, Sooga awakes on his back. There’s a thick blanket, one of the heavy Rito-down ones, spread over him. His throat and head ache with dehydration and his face is heavily bandaged. Sooga breathes slowly, hovering just below full wakefulness. There is the faint scent of incense in the air, like someone had lit a stick hours ago and neglected to replace it when it burned low. Feeling very much like he’d rather go back to sleep, he forces his right eye open.
It’s dark. Not sandstorm-dark, or even night-dark, but cave-dark, torchlight dim and far away. He’s back in the hideout then. His footsoldiers made it back in time and told people where he was, and his fellow Yiga members had rescued him. Exhaling, Sooga closes his eye again.
But now that’s he’s awake, he’s aware that his mouth is unbearably dry, and there’s a disgusting layer of grit between his teeth. Sooga opens his eye again. He gingerly turns his head, trying to locate a pitcher of water in the gloom. He spies one, but it’s far enough away that he’ll have to get up to reach it. Sighing, Sooga starts pushing himself up.
“Oh, you’re awake!”
He’s too groggy to flinch, but he’s definitely startled. Turning his head the other way he sees, of all people, Master Kohga kneeling on the mat beside his bedroll. Master Kohga, who he has spoken to all of three times in his life, one of which was apologizing for running into him in the hallway. Sooga blinks hard and wonders if the sun had stripped him of his senses, but no, the Yiga leader is actually there. Okay.
Probably sensing how incredibly disoriented the blademaster is, without missing a beat, Kohga says, “Oh, here, let me...” and gets up, moving over to the pitcher.
Sooga sits up stiffly, rasping a thank you when Kohga hands him a cup of water. He takes a sip just small enough to not be considered a gulp, feeling relief wash over his tongue and down his throat. He’s not sure if it’s minerals from the rocks dissolved into the groundwater springs or what, but no water tastes as good to him as Yiga cave hideout water. Still feeling very off-kilter, Sooga is grateful that Kohga waits for him to finish his first cup and pours him a second before sitting back down and speaking.
“Sooga, isn’t it? I remember you- two years as a Blademaster, and the only one to dual-wield katanas.” The Yiga leader mimes an opening stance, both fists held low and out to the sides.
Genuinely surprised that Master Kohga knows his name, Sooga nods mutely.
“Your second, Juro, told me about your mission, and about how it went all, ya know,” Kohga makes an undulating gesture with his hands. “Pear-shaped. At first I was gonna have your squad punished for abandoning their captain, but then! They told me you’d ordered it yourself!” He lowers his hands and leans forward, chin resting on one palm, head tilted curiously. “Now what’s that all about?”
Overwhelmed by the amount of words that just got thrown at him, Sooga opens and closes his mouth, scrambling to force his brain into working. He has to talk slowly to avoid pulling the wound on his face, voice quiet and gravelly.
“The...,” he clears his throat. “The sandstorm was going to cut off our route to the hideout. My injuries were slowing our progress. I was afraid that if I did not stay behind, the storm would put the lives of my whole squad at risk.”
Kohga nods and tilts his head from side to side as he listens, elbow propped on a knee. “So you decided the risks to yourself were worth the rest of your squad making it to safety?”
Sooga waffles again, hearing an edge to Kohga’s voice. Was this a trick question? “...yes? I have weathered many sandstorms, but I knew many in my squad had not. Their lack of experience and the lack of shelter made it unlikely all of us would have survived if we had all stayed together.”
Master Kohga’s posture straightens immediately, the note of warning in his voice disappearing entirely. “Great!” Head still pounding, Sooga winces at the sudden increase in volume. Thankfully, Kohga notices, and lowers his voice again. “Those were all very good explanations, showing a keen tactical mind and genuine concern for one’s subordinates. Fantastic leadership qualities!” He hops to his feet, making Sooga crane his head to look at him. “When can you start?”
Cup forgotten in his hands, Sooga stares in blank helplessness at the inverted eye on Kohga’s mask, feeling like he’s missed an important development. The Yiga leader leans down and mimes nudging him with his elbow.
“Sooga,” he says, voice muffled like he’s talking out of the corner of his mouth. “I’m offering you a job.” He straightens again, voice back to normal. “How would you like to be my Right Hand?”
For the second time in five minutes, Sooga wordlessly opens and closes his mouth like a fish in a net. Him? Thoughts swirl- his relative youth, his lack of command experience beyond raiding parties, the great number of Yiga members older and more experienced than him- but there’s really only one answer.
“Yes. Yes, it would be my honor to serve as-“
Kohga waves his hand. “Yeah, yeah, enough of that. I didn’t ask because of your honor, I asked because if your skill and capability. But hey!” He opens his arms and spreads his hands in a ta-da gesture. “Congratulations! You are now the Right Hand of the Inverted Eye, loyal servant to Calamity Ganon and loyal advisor to the leader of the Yiga clan, Master Kohga!”
Over the course of the conversation, Sooga is slowly learning how to not get overwhelmed by Kohga’s sheer amount of energy. He smiles, almost giddy, wanting to grin but afraid of pulling the stitches on his face. Carefully holding the cup of water so it doesn’t spill, he bows at the waist to Kohga.
“Then I shall continue to be skilled and capable to the best of my abilities.”
They chat about minor topics for another few minutes, but Sooga can feel himself getting drained. Talking still tugs at the wound on his face, but somehow he doesn’t want Kohga to leave just yet, so he lies back down and lapses into silence, watching the Yiga leader gesture with his hands while he talks.
Sooga tries to stay awake, he does. But Kohga’s voice, quieter than normal out of respect for the healing caves, is low and lilting, and the pain from his injuries fades farther and farther away the closer he sinks towards sleep. He watches Kohga’s silhouette, just barely visible in the dimming torch light, until his eyelid becomes too heavy to hold open any longer.
Kohga can feel himself rambling, but Sooga, the unmatched, dual-wielding Blademaster who is broader than Kohga is tall, is dashingly, devastatingly handsome beneath his mask. Strong jaw, high cheekbones, intense eyes- er, eye, but the one is intense enough to make up for it, even as it blinks sleepily in the torchlight. Each emotion that visibly flits across Sooga’s face is a delight, and he’s surprisingly expressive for someone who’s spent most of his life with a mask on. Kohga thinks he’d be willing to do almost anything to see that small, almost shy smile again.
Seeing another Yiga member maskless certainly isn’t forbidden; they have undercover operatives all throughout Hyrule, and, of course, they gotta eat sometimes. But it’s definitely a little risqué in such an intimate setting as the healing caves. So Kohga fills the silence, the sight of his new Right Hand’s startled little smile playing on loop in the back of his head. It takes him a while to notice the conversation has become markedly one-sided.
Head tilted towards Kohga, his expression open and unguarded, Sooga is already deeply asleep.
~~~
When Sooga awakes, Kohga is gone, but the pitcher of water has been moved within arm’s reach.
~~~
Four days later, when he’s healed enough to return to his own quarters, Sooga gets ahold of a mirror and unwraps the bandages on his face.
The wound starts just above his left temple, cuts his left eyebrow clean in two, and ends in a notch on the bridge of his nose. Sooga tilts his face in the mirror, wincing when the motion pulls at half-healed flesh. The scimitar, the healers had told him, had sliced right through the soft tissue of his left eye, and only the protection his mask provided had stopped it from taking his nose, too. The eye had been irreparable the second it had happened, let alone nearly five hours later when he’d finally been brought back to the hideout.
In a very odd, almost funny twist of irony, the new Right Hand of the Inverted Eye is permanently half-blind.