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Link was polishing his sword by the light of dusk, running an oiled cloth up and down its gleaming obsidian length, when the first pearly white crystal pushed its way out of his chest to land, tinkling brightly, in his lap. Halting his motions, Link set both sword and cloth down slowly to examine the humming crystal, turning the strange thing curiously between his hands. He knew the starry shape of it, if not the silvery glow; cooler in tone than the blushing pink of gratitude, the heat of it still warmed his palms. Holding it, he thought of spiderwebs in starlight, with small beads of dew twinkling in imperfect reflection of the sky’s constellations above. He thought of a half moon hanging in the desert, and white fangs snapping shut. He thought—
The shift of a diamond-patterned leg beside Link distracted him, and he glanced up. Half-reclined at the base of a tree with his chin tucked against his chest, Ghirahim could almost have been sleeping, though Link knew him better than that. Even as he watched, the demon’s pale, spidery lashes parted just a fraction beneath his shimmering half moon of hair, and his lips pulled back in a hidden smile that showed the tips of his sharp, white teeth.
The source of his amusement became known soon enough as the most intrepid little Kikwi Link had ever seen shuffled up. Beak snuffling, beady eyes darting curiously between them, it decided at last on Ghirahim as the safer of the two. Skirting around their campfire, the tiny Kikwi approached Ghirahim’s side with a tremulous “koo weep?"… and the demon’s smile widened as his eyes again fell shut. He lifted his hand, gave a graceful sort of flick, and the creature understood the gentle invitation at once. With a happy little trill he shuffled forward, pushing his feathered head against Ghirahim’s outstretched palm, and while it could have been the worst case of misplaced trust the Kikwi would ever have the chance to make, somehow… it wasn’t.
Instead, Ghirahim’s thumb curled across its brow in a soft, repeated motion, and some nagging anxiety in the back of Link’s mind finally relaxed. He huffed out a quiet laugh as the little creature scooted in closer—
—And a second crystal rippled out of his chest to fall beside the first, jingling faintly. Their combined song caught Ghirahim’s attention, and he almost turned towards Link before catching himself.
“What is that?” he asked, a low, soothing whisper that did not disturb the Kikwi’s contented trilling in the slightest.
Link stared at the two gems for a moment, then shrugged, slipping them into his pouch. The light and sound cut off together, muffled beneath thick leather.
Ghirahim didn’t press him, nor did he express surprise when Link pulled himself to his feet. He'd known Link long enough now to know what he was about. A lost baby Kikwi meant two worried Kikwi parents, and Link would rather have them reunited before the woods got too much darker.
Wandering off to begin his search, he paused, looking back. The Kikwi had pulled itself onto Ghirahim now, dancing excitedly atop his stomach. Ghirahim met Link’s eyes and half shrugged, an incredulous laugh spilling from his own lips as his attention shifted back again.
A third bright crystal fell to Link’s feet. He scooped it up and walked on, tossing it in his pouch with the rest. Maybe he'd show them to Ghirahim later.
Or maybe not.
The gems grew harder to hide by the day, falling from his chest one by one now as if some switch had been pressed inside of him. Sometimes all it took was a word, or even a casual glance. A flip of white hair aimed Link's way with that thin, secretive smile that made him feel seen—and he would turn around quickly, his cupped hands raised to tuck the emerging crystal away while the gaze of the one who inspired it burned a curious hole through his back. There was no real need to keep them secret, he supposed. No real reason to hide them… except that once they were discovered, they would be examined, taken apart, and have the stark precision of language applied to their crystalline emotion. And then Ghirahim would know.
So, when Link half woke from shivering sleep one night to find a familiar red cloak draped over him, he only closed his eyes again with a sigh as crystal after crystal pushed its way from his chest, basking in their hidden glow. He had space in his pouches—and drawers—and chests, if need be. He could keep them hidden for a little bit longer, at least.
Except that he'd never been able to keep a secret from Zelda, really, so it shouldn't have surprised him when she was the first to find out.
"What's that?"
Link had taken a crystal out to examine in a snatched moment of solitude, passing the gem slowly back and forth between his hands. He liked giving them space to shine when he could, mindful of how he usually kept them trapped beneath dark leather—he was rarely without his sword, after all, and thus rarely without Ghirahim. Though the greater light of the sun overhead robbed them of their glow, the crystals still gleamed iridescent. That soothing sheen drew him in, its gentle song distracting him… and for once Zelda's approach caught him completely off guard. Before Link had even fully heard the question, she had already plucked the crystal playfully from his hands.
Link jumped to his feet, diving after it, and succeeded only in scattering the crystals from his pouch in a staggered circle around him. Fending him off one-handed, Zelda stared at her stolen prize in wide-eyed wonder.
"Is this yours?" she asked, with such significance that Link abandoned his fleeting hope that the goddess inside her wouldn't recognize it. Taking in the rest, she added, "All of them are. But who are they for?"
Abandoning his undignified attempt to steal it back, Link instead began stiffly retrieving crystals from where they'd fallen, willing the dull thud of his heart to settle. Maybe he could have picked somewhere more abandoned than Skyloft for this purpose, but so few people ever flew by this thin stretch of grass past the waterfall caves that he'd hoped to remain unnoticed. Link doubted that Ghirahim even knew about the place.
Still, he kept the corners of his eyes peeled for the telltale glitter of diamonds.
"Who are they for?" Zelda insisted again, her bright eyes gleaming. Oh, she knew exactly what they were—or half of it, at least. "I can't believe you wouldn't tell me! Is it Kina? You two would be so sweet together… ohhh, not Peatrice though? I never thought she was your type, but I've seen how she watches you when you’re at the bazaar…"
Feeling the tips of his ears heat up, Link pointedly ignored her, both relieved and slightly offended that her guesses were so far off.
"This isn't for me," she mused out loud, blunt enough to make Link flinch. The gem turned thoughtfully in her hands. "This feels to me like… a sword? Like the blade of a sword descending." Zelda’s voice turned doubtful. "Is it Pipit?"
Face more red than not now, Link snatched the crystal back. This time she let it go without a fight, watching him closely.
"You're my best friend, Link," she said, and now he really couldn't meet her eyes. "You know that, right? My best friend." She smiled. "I just want you to be happy."
Link half-smiled back despite himself, though a part of him still refused to relax. Zelda sounded earnest, but that didn't necessarily make her honest. Even if she meant it, how far would that wish carry her once she knew?
"Don't look so serious," Zelda laughed, swatting his shoulder lightly. "I mean it! I almost think it could be—"
Her words cut off. Her smile cut off. Zelda stared at him, and Link had the uneasy feeling that he was about to find out.
…He wasn't ready to find out. Biting his lip, Link took a step back—
"Where's Ghirahim, Link?"
—And felt his heart pulse in a response as unexpected as it was irrepressible. Before he could even think to hide it, a twinkling crystal had sprung from his chest to land, chiming brightly, in the grass between them.
Together, they looked at it.
"Oh," Zelda said. "So… it really is…"
A gust of wind whistled through the island's cliffs, sending the new crystal tumbling through the overgrown grass. Quickly, Link bent to retrieve it, cupping it safely between his hands. Staring at its clear, curving facets, he could only think of wave upon wave of glittering diamonds.
"Does he know?"
And with that, the last of Link’s tension drained away. Ruefully, he shook his head, giving the crystal a little toss before pocketing it.
"Oh," she said again, and then more softly, "Oh, Link… I don't think he'll like it."
Link shrugged, and laughed, and stared up at the sky. He didn’t need Zelda to tell him that.
When the secret finally broke, it shattered.
The two of them were trudging through Eldin, exploring some part of the mountain Link had never seen before that, according to Gorko, might lead them to where the other Gorons lived. Link, at least, was trudging. Ghirahim, unaffected by the boring physical mundanities of heat and steep inclines, had skipped to the front as usual. His arms swept in animated gestures as he spoke indignantly about… something, though Link was too worn out to notice more than the ebb and flow of speech. Still, he played the part of a rapt audience, nodding sympathetically each time the other glanced back and hiding any crystals that emerged in his bulging travel pouches. Link never contributed much to conversations anyway, and that had always suited Ghirahim just fine.
Though the demon lord would certainly have taken offense at how little attention Link gave his words, he might have felt some satisfaction over how much attention Link gave his hands. Dark and lightly clawed, they punctuated his words with a stream of deliberate flicks and flourishes that Link couldn't help but find… a bit breathtaking. He stared at those hands as he stumbled along, mesmerized by their fluid motion, and that was what did him in.
That, and the Lizalfos—or more specifically, its arrow. A nearby ravine also played its part in the whole mishap when the Lizalfos’ arrow flew unnoticed from the rocks above to lodge itself in Link's leg, the momentum thrusting him sideways into the narrow chasm below. Link yelped in pain and surprise, already reaching for a sailcloth that would never manage to catch enough air in so little space—and his back slammed hard against a hastily formed diamond platform.
Dazed and winded, he stared up again at Ghirahim's hand, now outstretched towards him.
"You," Ghirahim growled before cutting off, vanishing in a sharp storm of diamonds. Beneath Link, the platform moved to raise him back to solid ground, dissipating against the rock.
Twin cries from above said that two Lizalfos had met a grisly end, and when Ghirahim appeared again it was right beside Link.
"You."
Link tried to rise under that furious expression, but his injured thigh protested, and he sank back down with a wavering gasp. Ghirahim's fingers moved to hover over the trapped arrow.
"I ought to let this fester," he said, though of course he did not. Pinching the arrow delicately, the whole thing dissolved into shadowy diamond-shaped wisps until only the jagged hole remained.
Hastily, Link dug through his pouch for a potion, wincing when Ghirahim’s hand clamped around the bleeding wound to staunch the flow.
"Oh, does that hurt?" Ghirahim snapped. Finally getting a bottle free, Link yanked out the stopper with his teeth, drinking shakily. "And here I thought you must enjoy the pain, with how cheerfully you throw yourself into it. Am I wrong? Because I could easily make you feel more!"
Link sank back wearily as the potion took effect, closing his eyes and letting the wave of words wash over him. Ghirahim didn't mean any of it—or at least, he meant something else by it. The immortal spirit of his sword loathed any reminder of Link's mortality.
"Or perhaps you are too far removed from the consequences of your own ineptitude," Ghirahim continued, fully immersed in his own rant now. "Maybe if I smashed those pretty potions of yours to bits you would finally show a shred of care with your own—" He cut off, and Link had a good guess as to why. "What… is that?"
Squinting his eyes open, Link found the familiar, pearly glow of a small crystal jingling against his chest. No hiding it now.
Surrendering at last, Link picked the gem up carefully, holding it out in his palm for Ghirahim to see. Ghirahim stared at the thing as if it might swallow him whole.
"So that's what you've been hiding." His fingers inched forward, almost grazing the crystal… and jerked away again without touching it. "Put it back."
And he vanished so quickly, Link could think of no other word for it but retreat.
There was no putting it back, but Link did put it away. The warm, ashy air felt suffocating in more ways than one as he continued along the rocky path, the journey unnaturally quiet now without the usual flow of speech. Only when the sun sank low and red on the horizon did chimes again split the silence, interrupting Link's search for a campsite.
Looking up, he found Ghirahim watching him shrewdly.
"Do give your surroundings more careful regard in the future," was all he said, tossing his hair regally. "Her Grace would be rightly suspicious if I had to inform her that the hero who defeated Demise was slain by a lizard."
Gratefully, Link nodded, offering a hesitant thumbs up. Another shining crystal popped out of his chest, singing between the rocks.
"And stop doing that!"
Link didn't stop, though. He couldn't.
Not even with Ghirahim's attempts to stop it, which consisted at first of scoffs and glares whenever a crystal emerged. His words grew sharper, more acidic, and then less altogether as he elected more often to hide in his sword. Not even with Link's attempts to stop it—and he did try. Link stopped watching Ghirahim's hands, bore the bile of his words, and smothered the crystals' light in darkness even when alone. With Ghirahim's distaste for that beaming emotion, how could he do anything less?
With each miserable effort made, the crystals only came faster. They were never formed of his happiness, after all—though his newly subdued longing gave them a desperate edge. These days when he held them, he felt the starlit dew on a spider's web on the point of shaking off. That desert half moon hung a night away from waning, and if white fangs still snapped shut, they were snapping around his neck.
Link tried not to hold them now when he could help it.
With time on his hands and too much on his mind, Link's old hobby of woodcarving emerged again like a lifeline. The weight of silence lessened with both hands and mind occupied, and the silence on Ghirahim's end hung as heavy as a shroud these days.
In the middle of the day, in the middle of that silence, Link sat at his desk carving. He'd decided to sculpt his own Crimson Loftwing, watching it fly past the open window as he worked, its red feathers vivid against the cloudless blue sky. Every few minutes a new crystal emerged, and Link caught them with a practiced motion, tossing them together in a pile on the ground. That pile had grown as the morning passed, though he tried not to think about that, either.
For once, Ghirahim had chosen to pass the time outside of his sword, arranged with artful carelessness across Link's bed in silent contemplation. In a time before the crystals, Link could imagine Ghirahim half-draped across Link himself, making himself a nuisance as Link resolutely tried to ignore him… but not now. Ghirahim rarely touched Link at all anymore, even casually. He never touched the crystals.
Another one joined the pile as Link tried not to think about that, and at last Ghirahim glanced up scornfully.
"Disgusting," he declared. A silvery crystal popped from Link's chest to land, tinkling, on the desktop. "Abhorrent. Can't you control it at all?"
Link shook his head, another crystal falling as if to punctuate his point. Both were swept into the pile, and he rubbed his chest wearily.
Ghirahim rubbed at his own chest, appearing not to notice.
"Who can blame you, though?" he asked abruptly, and Link raised an eyebrow. "It is the weakness of possessing a heart, is it not? Your kind is prone to such trivial feelings, and I… well." Ghirahim moved a gestural hand along his long legs and torso to rest delicately against his cheek. "Need I elaborate?"
Link focused hard on the wood in front of him. That wasn't helping.
"Faced with such perfection, it's only natural that you might start to feel… attached." The pile became one crystal larger, and Ghirahim's jaw tightened. "All that aside, this cannot go on. You have made me soft enough as it is. Get up!" He clapped his hands, rising nimbly to his feet. "Drop those useless tools and arm yourself. The surface is short of worthy foes these days, but I'm sure we can find something."
Blinking in confusion—he'd made Ghirahim soft? Link was the one dripping gems like a leaky faucet—Link obediently dropped both chisel and hammer against the desk with a wooden clatter.
"A bit of bloodshed always rids me of my own weaker emotions," Ghirahim added brightly, the red tips of his cloak fluttering as he turned to lead the way, and—well, at best this wouldn't work and at worst it might backfire, but exposed to the demon's better mood for the first time in days, Link lost the strength to care. He stuffed his pile of crystals into a drawer, shoving it shut with difficulty before grabbing their black sword and following after.
Ghirahim had something of a knack for finding monsters on the surface—fortunate, considering that they were increasingly hard to come by and his standards remained unalterably high. "Battles" with Bokoblins barely deserved the name in his opinion, and while Moblins and Lizalfos required “some meager portion of skill” to defeat, they still counted as only adequate entertainment. On good days, Ghirahim managed to track down a Wolfos den or Molderach nest for Link to clean out, which usually satisfied his violent cravings—but today was different.
"Is this really the only challenge left to us now?" Ghirahim sighed, turning from the shriveling Molderach in disgust while its death cry still echoed. “Grubbing around for the final dregs of Demise’s pathetic pests?”
Panting from heat and exertion, Link watched him start to pace incredulously. Before the Thousand-Year Arachnid they’d found a Wolfos pack, and before that a band of Lizalfos. Ghirahim should have been near dancing at such uncommon luck, yet he glared at the Molderach’s withered corpse with the same disdain he might give a red Bokoblin.
“How am I meant to keep my edge in such a world?” he asked aloud, sounding almost petulant.
Shaking his head, Link set about chasing the last few Arachas from their sandy cave, sending them skittering with the flat of his sword so he could have a moment’s rest. Sweat ran down his neck to dampen the already damp shirt beneath his chain mail, and he wondered dryly whether he might persuade Ghirahim to seek out a challenge in the cool forest springs next. After hours spent scouring Lanayru, his throat felt permanently lined with dry, gritty sand.
Though he tried not to watch how Ghirahim's clawed hands clenched and unclenched, a crystal still fell from his chest.
"How laughable," Ghirahim growled, his temper rising now. "How outrageous, that we are reduced to this! You, rendered powerless to stop your own nauseating proof of affection—and me…"
His fury faded to mutters that Link couldn't make out. Ghirahim rubbed at his chest. Sand scratched beneath his feet as he whirled around.
"Raise up your weapon," he snapped in a tone that straightened Link’s back at once. "If you must make me soft, you will at least keep me sharp."
Two swords materialized in his own hands—one curved, one straight, both razor sharp—and Link hastened to obey, heaving Ghirahim's heavy sword up over his shoulder just in time to block the first attack. Ghirahim grinned over his weapons, wild and wide. His pale hair hung across one eye—a half moon glowing in the fading desert light.
The battle began. Ghirahim darted about in a blur of motion, long tongue slipping between his teeth, daggers arching in a dark halo overhead to bite at Link when he least expected it. By now, though, Link knew his tricks like an old story. Layered muscle and practice whipped his sword up despite its size, deflecting each swift attack.
Deeper into the cave they moved, attacking and defending in turns, and if no flash of diamonds sparked up along Ghirahim’s skin then at least no blood spilled on Link’s end, either. They hadn't sparred like this in ages, and… well, Link had known this would backfire. Crystals skittered around their feet, settling to form glowing constellations in the deepening dark.
"Don't let your adoration for me trip you up," Ghirahim crooned, though his voice had a biting edge. Link noticed that he picked his own steps carefully, tracing around each point of light. "I would hate to see you impale yourself on your own sword."
Breathing in a laugh, Link barely shook his head. More likely than that, sheer exhaustion would trip him up. He'd not fought so much in a while, and the longer this went on, the more his muscles felt like water… but they hadn't failed him yet. Dodging a forceful attack from above that left the demon overextended, Link put the full force of his strength in his return, going this time for Ghirahim's grip on his swords.
Though he'd struggled with it once, at times like these the weight of his weapon paid off. First the curved sword, then the straight sword left Ghirahim’s hands, vanishing as they fell. Gritting his teeth triumphantly, Link thrust the serrated blade towards his chest for the deciding blow.
Ghirahim caught it between his fingers.
The setting sun cast their shadows deep violet across the cavern floor. The hot air whined with the high-pitched hum of every gem singing as one.
Together they struggled, the whole of Link's strength against Ghirahim’s hand. Grunts of effort slipped past Link's lips as the demon's fang-like teeth snapped shut in a wordless grin, gleaming in the pearly glow. Daggers appeared to float threateningly above Ghirahim's shoulders, their jeweled hilts glinting in that same light—but predictably, Link's eyes settled on the black fingers against his black blade, grasping it just as they'd done once with another sword.
What had disconcerted him before felt so different now. Crystals dropped from his chest in clusters, rippling outward as they fell.
"Really now," Ghirahim said. "Are you so utterly helpless to my charms?" His taunting voice lowered to a whispered hiss. "Or is some misplaced mercy all it takes to make you fall in love?"
Link froze. His hands unclenched, releasing his hold on the hilt as if burned—though no sooner than Ghirahim did the same. Neither of them looked down as the heavy sword struck the floor with a piercing ring that echoed through the cave. That single word given utterance felt somehow so much louder.
Ghirahim opened his mouth to speak, and left it to hang open, rubbing furious circles against his chest. Link's heart leapt against his ribs.
"It is unreturned," Ghirahim said at last. Clipped. Cold. "You know this."
Link nodded. His heart hammered.
"This doesn't make a difference to you."
The single crystal that fell from Link’s chest said everything for him.
"I should put a stop to this myself," Ghirahim snapped, though with no real heat to his words. In a whisper under his breath, he added, "Pathetic."
His claws pressed against his chest, twisted… and relaxed. With a despairing sigh, Ghirahim peeled his hand away, frowning at the rust colored mark it left behind.
"You have bled all over me, sky child."
…He hadn't, though. Link frowned too, taking slow stock of his own injuries and feeling himself tense. He was bruised—exhausted—verging on dehydration. He was not bleeding.
Ghirahim realized it in the same moment, his expression abruptly guarded.
"Don't—"
Link stepped in closer, one hand hovering over the reddish stain, and he cut off. A terrible thought had occurred to him, and he watched the diamond cutout of Ghirahim's outfit, hoping he was wrong.
Watched as five impossible beads of blood welled up against Ghirahim’s pale chest—one for each of the claws that had pierced his unbreakable skin. Link's hand drifted to rest there, smearing the blood beneath him while the demon watched with blank, black eyes. Under skin and ribs and muscle, so faint he could almost deny it, Link still felt the proof of it thump against his hand: one single, weak-willed beat of a heart. And then another.
And another.
Down the stairs and around the plaza. Past the light tower and the whirling sails.
Link followed the winding path to Skyloft's graveyard, struggling beneath the weight of every crystal he could carry. More fell from his chest as he walked, dropping one right after the other, and he left them to hum their forlorn song in a glowing trail behind him. Link didn’t care to keep them now. He didn’t want to look at them.
A few people waved to Link as he walked, though he fended most off with a nod.
"Hey there, Link!" Pipit called from his doorway and, seeing Link struggling, hurried up to help. "Do you need help carrying your… empty box?"
He stopped, peering inside the box, and then back at Link dubiously. Of course. Pipit had never noticed the warm gems of gratitude bursting from his own chest, so why should these be any different? For all Link knew, the crystals dragging him down wouldn't weigh anything to Pipit, either. Whatever love he had for Karane must have felt feather light in comparison.
Another crystal fell from Link’s chest, bitter and tinged with jealousy. Shaking his head tightly, he moved on.
Over the bridge to the graveyard and past neatly lined headstones, then through the hidden entrance leading to the scaffolding below. The wooden planks jammed into the rock shook with each gust of wind as Link picked his way across them, approaching the tiny house tucked discreetly away beneath Skyloft. He had never thought to ask why its owner still kept himself so isolated from the other humans—a bit of demonic hangover, maybe, along with his sense of decor.
Looking up at thick cobwebs draped over an ominously horned mantel, Link knocked against the door, balancing his box on one knee.
"Oh dear!" A muffled voice called out over the sound of shuffling footsteps. "Oh excuse me, I'll be but a moment…"
True to his word, the door creaked open seconds later, and a large man peered out, his tufts of red hair sticking horn-like above his head.
"Why, if it isn’t my dear friend Link!" he exclaimed, opening the door up wider. "To what do I owe the pleasure…?"
Catching sight of the box and its contents, his voice trailed off. Batreaux’s tiny eyes widened as far as they could go—round, close set circles staring in wonder from beneath bushy red eyebrows.
Batreaux, the second demon Link had ever met. Batreaux, who had pleaded with him to gather up all the gratitude he could find and gasped with delight at each offered crystal. Batreaux, who had wanted to become human.
“Oh my,” he whispered. “Oh goodness… why don’t you come in?”
Link followed him into a circular chamber that looked almost the same as it had before Batreaux’s transformation, with a few things added here and there to account for human needs. A small cook stove sat on one side of the room, with a long bed that looked suspiciously like a repurposed coffin pushed to the other. The skulls hanging from the ceiling were the same, though, and the scythes, and the candelabras. Some things had changed along with Batreaux, but not all.
Closing the door behind them, Batreaux led the way to a pair of musty, upholstered chairs, sinking into one while Link sat perched on the edge of the other.
“Let me have a better look at those,” he said, holding eager hands towards Link—pale, pink hands, with trimmed fingernails. Not gray. Not clawed. “If you don’t mind, of course.”
Link passed him a silvery crystal, and his eyes shone silver in its light as he examined it.
“Marvelous.” For all of Batreaux's insistence on the monstrosity of his kind, Link had never met a demon who lacked for eloquence of speech, and he put it to good use now. "Utterly exquisite! And just look at how many you've gathered! To imagine that such a purely felt love exists… why, I'm a little giddy just thinking about it! Whoever has received such love must feel fortunate indeed."
Link's heart gave a pang, manifesting as another warm crystal that he caught one-handed. If possible, Batreaux's round eyes grew rounder.
"Of course! I should have known that one who could see the gratitude crystals might produce such an emotion." He gave a dreamy sort of sigh—a strange sound coming from such a large man. "My need is long since past, of course, but I do believe the sight of even a tenth of these might have easily turned me human ten times over!"
The humming from Link's hand turned high-pitched and urgent, and he looked down at the crystal he held to see his fist clenched around it. He’d never thought to wonder if these crystals could break.
Looking back up, he found Batreaux's bushy brows furrowed, his rapture abruptly diminished.
"But… perhaps that isn't for everyone," he admitted, giving Link a long, searching look while turning the glowing crystal in his hand. "You are, as they say, an open book. Simply holding this gives me the feeling of a glorious array of diamonds, glittering through the air in every size and color imaginable—and if I’ve interpreted that correctly…" His eyes glanced meaningfully at the air over Link's shoulder where the hilt of his sword would usually stick out… empty air, now. He had not brought his sword.
Link shifted in place, bit his lip, nodded. He needed to know. Ignorance was only bliss until it came back to bite him. Still, Batreaux took his time before speaking again.
“Human emotion can be quite transformative, of course," he said at last, gesturing to himself with a half-hearted chuckle. “Particularly for demons. Gratitude, joy, hope, love… a demon may feel these their entire lives and remain unchanged, and yet the sight of them is another thing entirely." His voice took on a sense of wonder. "To know that so much good exists in the world—physically, and not in the abstract—once you've seen it…"
This time when Link’s fist clenched, it clenched on purpose, and the crystal in his hand sang out shrilly. Maybe he could break them, even if he couldn't stop them. Maybe—
"Do not do that," Batreaux admonished, pulling the crystal so quickly from Link’s hand that he blinked. "I cannot tell you how to stop the human heart, Link. It is a fearsome force to reckon with—though you may certainly try. You would not be the first to try."
A wide, reassuring smile split Batreaux's face.
"However, I think you'll find it heartening to know that none of this is inevitable—or, in your case, even likely! After all, you could hardly turn the whole demon population just by showing them this box." He gestured to Link’s crystals, chuckling at the thought. "There must be an openness, of sorts… a crack for the light to shine through. A love like this must be felt and, more importantly, returned to have any great effect." His small eyes crinkled kindly. "You will forgive me for saying so, I hope—the heart wants what it wants, and who can say why?—but Lord Ghirahim does not strike me as the type to open up his heart."
Link opened his mouth. He closed it again without speaking. Then he looked up. In the chamber’s dim light, Link could just make out the beams and rafters overhead. A bit of displaced dust swirled through the air around them as he watched… empty air, now. Still, for the barest breath of a second, he could have sworn he'd seen the telltale remnants of diamonds, glittering through the air in every size and color imaginable before vanishing as one.
"No, the two of you should have nothing to worry about," Batreaux concluded, settling back in his chair. "A heart would not start beating without a purpose."
Link carried the box of crystals away again, over the wooden scaffolding and back up out of the graveyard. Time passed in strange fits and starts: he was crossing the old, broken pavement of the plaza; he was trudging up the stairs to the Knight Academy; he was staring over the edge of the broken hang off that had led to the goddess statue before it plummeted from the sky. Then he took the heavy box and tipped it over, watching every glittering crystal tumble like falling stars until they'd vanished out of sight.
Next came the gems from his pouches, dropped in handfuls at first, and then tossed down one by one. Throwing them out, he felt lighter than air. He felt heavier than the fallen statue.
It wasn't every crystal he'd collected, though. Not even close. Hefting his empty box, Link turned towards the Academy.
Link had always tried to keep his room in some semblance of order, even if he never quite reached the knightly standards of cleanliness the professors had urged him towards. Now, he swept through it like a tornado, upending chests, scraping the bottom of drawers, and brushing through piles of curled wooden shavings in search of stray, forgotten crystals. Their hum filled the air, incessant, overwhelming. Link needed them all. He needed them gone.
Yet even as he hunted them out, reaching behind his desk and pushing aside his bed, the crystals kept on coming. Link caught them as he noticed them, throwing them in with the rest as they fell from his chest—but one escaped his notice, making its way to the ground and, as Link strode around in a hurry, beneath his feet. He fell with a startled yelp and his arms full of crystals, the evidence of his love scattering all around him.
For Link, it was the breaking point. Grabbing the offending crystal as if to throw it at the wall, he instead crushed it against his chest, willing it to go back in. It had rippled out of him easily enough in the first place. Why couldn’t it— why couldn’t he—
“It's a little late for that, don’t you think?”
Link looked up.
Ghirahim picked his way across the floor with an eyebrow half-raised for the mess. The tips of his red cloak floated out behind him in some ethereal, non-existent wind, taking up almost half the room. Ghirahim had never fit exactly right in Skyloft. He was too big for it… too much.
“From the state of you, one might think that you’d been consigned to live out the rest of your days as some lesser being,” he observed, leaning up against Link’s desk to look down at him. “Then again, I suppose you have… not that you've ever known anything better.”
A crystal had settled by the desk near Ghirahim’s feet, and he traced its starry shape idly with a toe. Ducking his head, Link stubbornly went back to gathering crystals on hands and knees, throwing them one by one into the box. He couldn’t bear to meet Ghirahim’s eyes.
“Humanity… what a distasteful sort of species,” Ghirahim said, still with that odd air of detachment. “So soft. Always eating, and sleeping—not to mention how terribly you age. Wrinkles on this perfect skin, can you imagine?” His lip curled at the thought, his foot still tracing stars. "I must admit, when I said you would make me soft, I still never pictured it… quite so literally." Another pause. Another crystal went in the box. Another crystal fell from Link's chest. "Though I do bear my share of the blame in all this."
Link stopped. He watched as, stooping down low, Ghirahim plucked the crystal off the ground, holding it delicately between two clawed fingers. With narrowed eyes he examined it, his gaze following each softened point.
"Humans die," he murmured, letting it fall to hum gently against his palm. "You cease to breathe, and your hearts stop in your chests. You will die. I..."
The crystal in his hand shimmered, trembled, and melted away, sinking as easily into Ghirahim's skin as it had once left Link's heart. A tremor ran through Ghirahim, and his hand clenched.
"Humans die," he repeated flatly. "You are killing me."
He attacked without warning, as swift as he was sudden. Link barely managed to roll out of the way before Ghirahim's summoned saber pierced the space where he'd been.
"You're killing me, and you don't even have the decency to do it properly," Ghirahim hissed, striking out again wildly—another near miss. "Take up your sword! At least grant me the dignity of death by battle instead of this slow, ignoble decay."
Link would not, though he did make a dive for his shield. His desk chair splintered behind him as he stumbled to his feet.
Snarling with rage, his expression unhinged, Ghirahim summoned a wave of daggers that sought out Link's heart with more furious devotion than they ever had in the past. Link grunted from the impact each made against his shield, his heels digging against the floorboards to keep from falling back.
A second sword appeared in Ghirahim's hands, and he lunged forward.
"If a heart would not start beating without a purpose, then I must simply relieve mine of that purpose," he rasped. "Maybe then its pestersome rhythm will cease!"
Link dodged and deflected attacks that came from in front of him—behind him—above, those two swords meeting his shield again and again with deep, metallic clangs. Wooden carvings were knocked to the ground with a clatter, a potted plant smashing to bits when its shelf broke from beneath it. Ghirahim’s frustrated scowl deepened.
“Fight me!” he snapped, taking the hilt of Link’s sword himself and throwing it in his direction. Link only dodged it with all the rest, shaking his head.
The rage in Ghirahim’s eyes burned brighter.
“Fine." Calling another line of daggers into existence in an arc around Link's head, he sent them shooting towards Link one right after the other. "If you won't fight back, then I'll end this myself! I can think of one foolproof way to stop the human heart."
Where Ghirahim's swords had missed their mark, his words struck home with a force that left Link gasping for air. He was right.
The final dagger spun towards Link, and he lowered his shield. His eyes flinched shut at the pain in his chest.
One heartbeat passed, and then another. It occurred to Link that he was still alive.
He opened his eyes.
Ghirahim stood, arm outstretched, his own chest heaving with each harsh breath. His dagger floated midair perpendicular to Link’s ribs, the tip of it cutting through his tunic to barely pierce the skin above his heart. A small red stain bled up through the fabric around it, spreading slowly.
"You're right," Link said simply. This was Ghirahim's right. Link was killing him, and he didn't know how to stop.
Air rasped from Ghirahim's lungs, and still he said nothing. Link reached for the dagger himself, though whether to pull it out or push it in, even he didn't know—and felt the hilt of it dissolve into diamond-shaped wisps before he could decide. Ghirahim’s arm fell limp at his side.
A small, pearly crystal pushed its way out of Ghirahim's chest to land, tinkling brightly, on the floor in front of him. They stared at it in mirrored silence, breath suspended. Link licked his lips and, when Ghirahim showed no signs of moving, bent down to retrieve it himself, turning the crystal tentatively in his hands. Holding it, he thought of golden sunlight filtered through trees, quiet and warm on a lazy afternoon. He thought of oiled cloth sliding evenly across a sword, and red feathers cast against a cloudless sky. He thought—
The crystal shook and shimmered, melting against Link's hands and filling him with a warmth that somehow made him shiver… and then Ghirahim was on him, pushing him against a wall, melting up against him. Noses bumped and teeth clacked together in a fevered attempt to make lips meet, and Link didn't care, meeting Ghirahim's desperation with the same urgent intensity. His arms wrapped around Ghirahim's waist, meeting at the small of his back, pulling him in closer.
Glowing crystals poured from Link's heart to merge seamlessly with Ghirahim, returning to him again in the same manner, warm gems passing back and forth between them and filling Link with trembling heat. Ghirahim moaned into his mouth, a soft, mournful sound. His lips burned. His fingers seared Link's face.
The crystals scattered throughout the room radiated light, shining brighter by the second like blazing stars in truth. Their song chimed out in ringing chorus. Overwhelmed, Link pulled free of their scalding kiss to press his forehead up against Ghirahim’s. A tear sizzled along his cheek, swiped aside by the pad of Ghirahim's thumb.
"I love you," he whispered helplessly. "I'm sorry."
And the rising song hit its final crescendo. Every crystal ignited as one with the same burning brilliance, and Link's world dissolved into light.
When he woke again sometime later, blinking back bright stars, Ghirahim was gone.
Undisturbed, Link sat up slowly from his place hunched against the wall, a pillow falling from behind his head. Late afternoon sunlight peered in along the borders of closed wooden shutters, lending the disheveled bedroom dim illumination. His desk chair sat in splinters by his desk, books and papers tumbled to the ground around it, and dirt and wooden shavings laid scattered across the floor, bits of them ground carelessly against the rug.
The crystals strewn atop it all had vanished. The box Link had used to collect them, half filled before, sat empty on its side.
Standing up carefully, Link swayed a bit on his feet. He felt… strange. Drained somehow, then refilled with some foreign light that still felt out of place beneath his skin. Warm. He kind of liked the feeling. Giving his surroundings another absent glance, he noticed a red gem glinting up at him from the debris and bent down, holding a hand to the hilt it was attached to.
…Empty. Link left the sword where it lay, wandering out the door and leaving the room as it was. He thought he had an inkling of where Ghirahim might have gone.
Sure enough, descending the stairs outside the Academy and skipping around the back of the bazaar, Link saw a familiar silhouette hunched beside Skyloft's main spring, seated on the bank by the stepping stones and peering into the water. Only as he drew closer did his steps start to drag, his nerve leaving him bit by bit. A few paces behind Ghirahim, he came to a hesitant stop, waiting. The dappled sunlight streaming through the rustling treetops over them shifted with the leaves in the breeze, though the sound of rushing water drowned out the ever present wind.
"It is utterly barbaric that you still don't own a mirror," Ghirahim announced to the pool in front of him, and Link straightened uncertainly. "You will remedy this lack in the near future."
At last, he looked over his shoulder, his gaze fixing on Link with warm, brown eyes.
"Well?" he asked, the hint of a smirk twisting his white lips, though beneath his veil of confidence hid the less familiar note of uncertainty. "Don't tell me that my beauty has rendered you speechless."
Warm reassurance unfurled through Link, pushing him those final steps forward. Legs folding, he fell to the ground beside Ghirahim, peeking sideways at him as he stared over the edge at their muddled reflection.
Small differences jumped out at Link. Pale eyebrows framed round eyes that took up slightly less of Ghirahim's face now, though it might have just been that the circles beneath them were less pronounced. Once pallid skin had turned the same cool shade as tree bark, and though his white lips seemed at first unchanged, a bit of smudging at their corners revealed the unnatural shade as mere paint. With his mouth pressed tightly together, Link couldn't see his teeth.
Ghirahim's hands raised up in front of him, and Link's eyes inevitably followed. Holding them out for examination, Ghirahim turned them around with deliberate slowness, moving his fingers in an experimental flourish—slim, tapered fingers, with long nails trimmed slightly to points. Link couldn't help but find the sight… a bit breathtaking. Some things might have changed along with Ghirahim, but not all.
"Pathetic," Ghirahim said dismissively, starting to lower them. Link's hands reached out, grabbing them before he could. With a start, Ghirahim stared down at his deeper brown skin against Link’s lighter tan, and then up at Link’s face consideringly. “Although you have made do with such softness.”
Link leaned in towards him hesitantly, giving Ghirahim the chance to turn aside—an opportunity he did not take. Brushing his silvery hair away, Link met his lips softly this time. Lightly. A tentative relearning.
“Must this accursed thing beat with such force?” Ghirahim burst out, pulling back so suddenly that Link almost lost his balance and rubbing his chest irritably. "The moment you lean in, it— it—"
Link tried and failed to swallow a grin, pressing a hand to his mouth as his shoulders shook with helpless laughter. Balefully, Ghirahim stuck out his tongue, and frowned in dismay to find it so short.
"I should have killed you when we first met, I think," he muttered, though his eyes said something else. "I… should regret that first meeting more than I do."
Pulling Link's head to his chest, Ghirahim rested his cheek on Link's hair in private contemplation. Pressed up against it, Link could hear for himself the quick, rhythmic pulse of his heart. He thought he should regret it too, but… maybe he was a little selfish after all.
"This heart beats for you now, quite literally," Ghirahim said, and Link solemnly acknowledged the weight of it. "At least promise to keep things interesting… for however long it lasts?"
Link nodded, and cupped a hidden hand to his chest.
"I promise."
A small, star-shaped crystal warmed the palm of Link's hand. He smiled to himself secretively, holding it close. Maybe he'd show it to Ghirahim eventually.
Then again… maybe not.