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Chapter Text

Her body quivers with the chilled air and anticipation as she stares at the pedestal. The gleam of polished steel protruding from the stone holds her attention while the fog clinging to the trees creeps closer.

The world holds its breath with her as she wraps her hand, haphazardly bound in leather to offer the tiniest form of protection, around the violet grip of the weapon.

Fire rockets through her hand and into her arm the instant she touches it, as the blade protests. How dare anyone but its Master touch it? How dare this false Hero attempt to wield it? It blasts her mind with accusations of disrespect, blasphemy, and treason, but she begrudgingly maintains her grip.

She makes a first with her free hand, quickly shaping it into a point with her thumb high, and brings it down sharply, hoping to make her message heard.

Sister.

The sword bristles in anger at the insinuation that anyone could replace its Master, and damn their noble intentions. Whoever she is, she is not its Master, and it will not yield to her. The sword sends a wave of power through the interloper, a warning to let go, to give up. But she grits her teeth, staggers from the impact... and refuses to let go.

She pulls herself together and shifts her grip, tugging on the blade.

Four fingers curl in a repetitive motion, before her hand turns around and drops slightly. Fourteen. Child. She makes a V with her fingers and brings them to the hand gripping the sword, tapping twice, before pushing a flat palm away from her body. Save her.

The fog licks at her ankles, threatening to envelop her and force her to leave. To give up. But she widens her stance and continues to pull on the blade, hoping to wrest it free.

The Goddess watches this human, desecrating a sacred place and attempting to force her will onto such a space. She could, she should slay her where she stands for such a crime, but there is something curious about such a stubborn human that has the Divine curious. After all, she had only informed the chosen Hero a few hours ago, and this is not such a person. She checks in with her Hero, and sees the teenager still sleeping soundly in her bed, bag packed and ready to depart at dawn. Next to her, an empty bed and a piece of paper tucked beneath a snuffed candle. A note.

Interesting.

Sister. Fourteen. Child. Save her.

The Goddess cannot deny that such determination to save another is admirable, and to do it in the face of such blatant adversity-- with her life threatened, no less-- with unwavering certainty... it's impressive, for one without a piece of the Triforce. She sees the human bring her other hand to the grip, silencing herself to maintain her hold on the blade and pull harder. Creeping up her wrists, the Goddess can see licks of inflamed, red flesh as the sacred blade retaliates, but the human refuses to back down.

At this rate, the sword will kill her to protect itself.

Realizing that, with the note left by this unbelievably stubborn human, her Hero is not likely to answer the call. She has kept careful watch on the sisters over the years-- well, she's kept watch over her Chosen Hero, but it would be impossible to have seen the Hero's sister-- this brazen human further defying the will of the Goddess with each passing second-- due to the sisters being inseparable. This one always stuck the Divine as the more selfish of the two, hence the Goddess choosing the younger to take up arms.

But... she has a problem, and she needs it solved fast. Perhaps this one, willing to die to save family, will suffice. It's not like the Goddess has the time to wait for the Hero to grow up, and this one is just offering herself in service of the forces of good.

Her decision made, she send a single command to the sword: Yield.

The briefest flicker of surprise is returned to her before, finally, the blade relents and releases from its pedestal. The human stumbles and nearly falls over, but manages to maintain her footing, still clutching the sword. It still sears her hand as she holds it, but she refuses to drop it, understanding the weight of what she is holding.

The Goddess reaches out and, with more difficulty than anticipated, pushes herself into the human's mind, asking her name. The human begins to shape her hand into letters: Zelda.

"Well, Zelda, should my faith in you prove to be misplaced, there will be hell to pay. Understood?" A nod. "Good. Now, let me show you how to use that sword."

She has saved her sister. Now, she must save all of Hyrule.

Chapter Text

She ducks the dagger flying at her head, spinning around and parrying a sword aimed at her back. She shuffles back a few steps to find her footing again before pushing off the blade and raising a shield just in time to block another strike.

She ducks one blade, sidesteps another, allowing the weapons to crash into each other as she rolls out of the way, going to spring to her feet before she slides in the mud and lands square on her back. She curses herself and catches her breath as the blade hovers over her, pointed at her throat before flying away and clattering to the ground.

She stands, seeing the last of the floating weapons fall to the ground as a voice she's grown to loathe rings in her head again.

"Your footwork is still sloppy, and your reaction time too slow. At this rate, the Demon King will already own Hyrule by the time you learn where to put your feet."

She lowers her sword and goes to lean it against a tree to free her hand, but her feet are swept out from under her and she hits the ground again. She grips her temple as the voice berates her.

"Never let your guard down! Do you think Demise's minions will give you the chance to pick up that sword again once you set it down? They don't care what you have to say-- they'll just kill you instead."

She huffs in annoyance, ignoring the buzzing in her hands and wrists like she always does as she forces her body to cooperate and stand up. She shakes from exertion, but makes sure to keep the blade raised... just in case.

The Goddess continues to critique her, scold her, chide her as she begins to tune it all out. She keeps the sword in her hand to avoid another sneak attack as she pulls the scratchy green tunic over her shoulders so she can address the sluggishly bleeding gash in her shoulder. She looks over the fabric first, relieved it's not torn or bloodied, before moving to tend to the wound.

As she leans down to pick up her bag, a footstep behind her catches her attention over the Goddess' "feedback" and she swings to parry a strike, unflinching at the spectral figure that tried to attack her. It dissipates into smoke and the Goddess sounds loud in her head again.

"What would you have done if you hadn't had that blade? Or you were sleeping?"

She makes a fist. Rolled out of the way, of course. She doesn't try to sign her thoughts though. She knows her opinions do not matter to the entity attempting to train her. 

"You would've been executed without a thought and your sister would be stepping in to fix the mess you've made."

She makes an X with her hand and the blade, quickly breaking it. Silence.

The feels the buzzing in her hand increase as the sword tries to retaliate against her, but she feels none of it anymore. She tenses, awaiting the barrage of names and insults she is accustomed to being thrown her way whenever she steps out of line.

Instead, she feels a blow at her back that sends her back into the dirt as pain flares across her back and she winces, spinning around and rolling to the side to dodge another swing. The motion pulls at old and still-healing wounds, and she feels the fire in her overworked and exhausted body flare again, preempting her attempts to stand and fight again.

She gives the floating blade pointed at her a glare. Daring it to swing again.

The Goddess needs a Hero still. And she knows that it's more convenient to try and shape her into something resembling a Hero as opposed to dragging in her sister and having to start over. She's still useful, so the Goddess won't kill her, which in this moment, she is grateful for.

The blade hovering over her is shot into the ground in inch from her head, and a hiss invades her mind again. "Do not fool yourself into thinking he will spare you, or that his minions will spare you, just because you're so incompetent."

She sighs, pulling herself back to her feet again and grabbing her bag to find some water to clean her wounds. Recalling a stream about ten minutes away, she forces her aching body to keep going, despite its protests after a year without a true opportunity to rest and recover. And as she drops her bag, sets the blade on the bank, but near enough she can grab it if the Goddess decides to sneak-attack her again, she hears that damn voice again.

"For the record, your sister hasn't stopped thinking about you. She still writes in her journal every night hoping that you'll come home."

Zelda hesitates a moment while trying to clean the slash across her back, but continues, figuring it's more of the Goddess trying to motivate her and it's more lies. It's been over a year, Lilly is bound to have moved on with her life by now.

"Demise's forces are close enough, her parents are going to evacuate in the morning. Rather than risk their 'surviving' daughter."

She freezes completely. After a moment of hesitation, she hauls herself out of the water, pulls the green tunic over her head, and grabs her belongings. The sun is setting, and she makes her way towards Faron Woods in search of the Sealed Temple.

Confused radiates from the Goddess, but it is quickly replaced. "Where are you going? You're not ready - he will kill you!"

Shield in one hand and the sword in the other, Zelda grits her teeth and keeps walking.

I will save my sister, or I will die trying.

Chapter Text

She presses herself against the wall as approaching footsteps catch her ear. Keeping her breathing even and quiet, she watches the demon stroll by without an inkling of her presence. Silently, she slips around the corner and dashes down the hall in the opposite direction, keeping her steps light. The Goddess whispers in her ear unusual words of encouragement, and the blade mentally pings her when there is unseen danger.

The last thing she wants to do is alert the entire guard and the Demon King of her presence.

Diving between gaps dictating side halls and careful her bag is secured to her chest so it doesn't rattle, she peers around a corner and sees the large doors to the throne room, flanked by guards. She takes a couple of steps back, hoping to find a side hall that may give her a better chance at reaching the Demon King undetected.

Turning around, she winds through the castle, eventually finding a spiral stair leading upward, and, step by cautious step, makes her way up. She allows a guard to pass before checking towards the throne room, and she finds a small side door in that direction. Sure the coast is clear, she darts towards the door, relieved to discover it unlocked, and slips inside.

She step out onto a balcony, roughly twenty feet up from the main floor, and peering between beautifully carved slats of the handrail, she can see the Demon King below. His bright, flaming hair casting a warm, flickering light across the space. She sheathes the blade in her hand, snuffing its cool, blue-white glow for the moment as she creeps along the balcony encircling the space. The sword's presence in her mind is muffled as she sheathes it, but she hopes the added stealth will be worth the short-term risk.

She keeps a watchful eye on the monster below, pausing when she realizes that he is simply standing there... alone. His massive sword, equal and opposite to her own, is balanced on the point against the floor, with the demon patiently leaning on it.

What is he doing?

Moving to get a better view without revealing herself, she sees a Triforce is etched into the marble floor, with her objective standing on the top piece. She sees the throne some fifty feet behind him, marred by a strange, black substance clinging to it, almost moving as if alive. She moves to get a better look at the goo-like substance coating it, realizing it's actually a dark shade of red-violet, with licks of flaming red dancing across the surface.

A muffled voice gives her the briefest of warnings before she feels talons wrap around her arm and pull over the balcony railing, dangling her in the air as she scrambles for her sword. Unsheathing it, she plunges it into the winged demon that grabbed her, and it shrieks in pain, dropping her to the floor below. She lands square in the center of the Triforce on the floor.

Right at the feet of the King of Demons.

Ignoring her sluggishly bleeding arm, she hauls herself to her feet in a panic like she has so many times before, blade in hand as she makes eye contact with the monster in front of her. He doesn't wear armor, but she knows he doesn't need it as he towers over her, a solid three or four feet taller. She swings low, aiming to take him off his feet before he can counterattack, and is dismayed when his blade barely shifts to block hers. His sword is nearly as large as she is, and she feels her wrist spark in pain as steel connects with steel.

She looks up, and sees that he hasn't shifted his relaxed stance, merely holding his sword in the way to shield himself. He looks down at her, and she hastily takes a few steps back to gather herself. She becomes acutely aware of the buzzing in her hands and wrists, of the still-fresh wound pulling at her back, of the myriad of patch jobs and hastily finished sets of stitches lining her body. She becomes acutely aware of just how much it hurts right now.

She stands at the base of the Triforce, roughly fifteen feet between her and her mission. The past year of her life has been leading up to this moment, and she finds her hand shaking as this creature simply stares at her, seemingly with mild interest. Her white-knuckled grip on the sword doesn't stop the tip from resting on the ground as her throbbing arm fails to keep it aloft.

Soft encouragement from the sword and the Goddess whispers through her mind, but the buzzing and the pain drown them.

The Demon King takes a step forward, coming to the edge of the triforce piece he stands on, and reaches behind him, producing a small, white lily. She cautiously steps forward, sword clutched in a death-grip as she raises it in case she needs to defend herself. The encouragement in her head quiets. The green cap clinging to her blonde braid slides to the floor as she stares up at this creature.

All she has to do is run him through.

Suddenly, the year of never-ending training feels empty. The sword in her hand feels powerless. The lucky green tunic doesn't feel so lucky.

All she has to do is run him through.

He turns the lily in a clawed hand, inspecting where a petal was damaged, before wordlessly presenting it to her.

All she has to do is run him through.

Something freezes her in place as he reaches forward and tucks the flower into her hair, swiping a strand out of her eyes to see her face. The muffled encouragement turns to concern.

Holding her breath, she expects to be cut down where she stands, for daring to waste this... God's time with her delusions of being a hero. Of being able to save her sister. She looks up at him, expecting to see some perversion of amusement at her ineptitude.

Instead, she sees... pity? No. Yes? No. Concern. This creature cannot possibly feel a shred of compassion for her pathetic presence. Despite her tall stature for a human, she is tiny next to it.

And... it speaks.

"You didn't truly think that you stood a chance against me, did you?" it rumbles, its voice surprisingly warm, "You're a smart girl. You knew a magical sword and a good luck wish wouldn't be enough."

It takes a step back, lightly thrusting the tip of its blade into the marble floor and sending small pebbles clattering to the side as it leans on the cross-guard. She drops her gaze to the floor as the three triangles etched into the floor taunt her as she stands between them all. The whispers of the blade and goddess grow louder. They turn fearful.

She feels a clawed hand cup her chin and gently tilt her head to look up at it. "You never should have been caught in the crossfire," it murmurs, sounding forlorn. It's voice still carries through the chamber as she meets its gaze, cursing herself for the moisture pricking at her eyes. "You should be home, Flower."

She can't hide the surprise on her face at the nickname, and the Demon King smiles. The sword's voice turns to scorn as her legs finally fail her. She falls into the arms of the Demon King, sobs tearing through her body of their own volition, and she feels it-- him-- she feels him guide her so they're both kneeling on the floor as she finally cries. The sword's screams are drowned out by his gentle voice in her ear.

"It's not your fault, Flower," he soothes, "You never stood a chance in this battle. You were just a pawn sent by this corrupted kingdom's corrupted Goddess."

She feels rough, worn hands brush the tears from her eyes and tucks the lily into her hair, swiping her bangs from her face to look at her clearly. Her grip on the blade loosens, the light flickering. She loses track of how long she spends in the embrace of the man she was sent to ki-- murder. She feels the tension melt from her shoulders as she stays curled in the Demon's embrace. She feels... safe, somehow, in the embrace of such a monster.

The warm voice hisses in her ear, and she feels the last of her shudders subside. "All you wanted was to protect your sister, Link?" he murmurs, turning her face to look at him again, "I can help you. I can give you the power to keep your sister safe."

The mention of her sister causes her to cry again, leaning into the warm embrace as she sword slips from her scarred hand, clattering to the floor as the light dies as it settles next to her fallen green cap. She doesn't flinch at the piercing protest tearing through her mind.

She nods.