Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Just keep going. One more time. That's all. Just once more.

Link stared at the ring of blue on the ground, the undulating patterns flickering as darkness started to descend upon the surface. He raised the sword, suspended above his head for a moment of hesitation, and plunged the blade into the soft earth once more.

He woke up on the ground, gasping, with a hand clutched to his chest.

"Master Link, I can unfortunately confirm that you have failed to pass the trial."

Link closed his eyes, Fi's voice distant as visions of looming figures cloaked in red fog plagued his mind. Her analysis of his performance meant nothing to him when it was repeated information, her advice unable to move his limbs faster or stop his heart from beating out of his chest.

He lost count hours ago. How many times had he entered the spirit realm, a torture chamber created from the depths of his own mind, only to find himself spit back out with nothing to show for it? These trials were of his own making. If he could just be faster, be smarter, be strong enough to reach each tear in time.

How many times had he died?

"Master, so long as you have the will and determination, you can retry a trial as many times as you like."

Link had not moved his hand from his chest, where moments ago a sword had impaled him. He felt everything. All the while, the face of Zelda's guide burned at the forefront of his memory, the constant reminder that he was not enough.

Finally struggling to his knees, Link reached for the holy blade once more, but his hand fell to his side before contact was made.

"What if I don't?"

The sword spirit did not miss a beat. "In order to move on with your Goddess-given quest, Master, you must complete the—"

"No, I know that." Link interrupted her with a sigh, clambering to his feet. "I mean, what if I don't have the 'will and determination'? Fi, what happens if I can't do this?"

He looked to her with hopeless round eyes, tears pricking the corners. The sun was nearly set now, the eerie glow of twilight enveloping the clearing they hid away in. Dark shadow of the temple above, Link looked to the sky, wondering just how far away from home he really was.

"Repeated attempts at this trial have scattered your concentration and made your performance erratic. I suggest you rest awhile before trying again."

"I can't rest! How can I rest? How, Fi, when everything is at stake?" Link snapped, grabbing the sword and raising it once more. "I have to do this! I have to. I have no. Other. Choice!"

With a deranged yell, Link plunged the blade into the ground.

Not one minute later was he back where he started, gasping as though he were still being hunted.

"Master, the chances of your not being the chosen hero are increasing..."

Link barely heard her. The pounding in his head was louder than the cries of creatures in the night, louder than the beat of his heart and the blood in his veins. A constant stream of "You have no choice. You were late. How can you be the hero. Laughable. Pitiful. Weak."

He couldn't do this. He had failed. He had failed them all.

In the ever darkening woods, Link sank into a ball, sword and shield discarded like toys. Never given the correct programming to understand, his sword spirit could not help him in his time of need, and vanished back to her blade without a word.

He was alone.

Link wasn't sure how many hours had passed, but it was pitch black now.

He was terrified.

Peeling himself from the ground, he snatched his sword, stuck in the little glowing circle like the prison it was.

Every motion of the wind was agony. A blade coming down on him, a Guardian lurking nearby. Shadows danced in the pale moonlight, various monsters howling in the wilds he had yet to explore. Everything looked different at night, veiled in inky darkness.

It was still better than the spirit realm.

Hours could have passed and he wouldn't have known. It could have only been minutes. All Link knew was his tired mind playing tricks on him, his paranoia the only thing keeping him safe. Monsters plagued Skyloft at night, so it was only fair to think the Surface was infested too.

"Oh my, aren't you a long way from home."

Link spun around, startled at the voice he dreaded most. Perched at the top of the temple ruins, the Demon Lord Ghirahim sat ringed in moonlight.

"I don't think I've seen you at night before, hero." Link held his sword out, though his arm shook with exertion, as the demon rose to his feet. "What brings you here at this unholy hour? Don't you know there are monsters in these woods?"

Teeth clenched, Link did his best not to flinch when Ghirahim disappeared. The glowing diamonds drifted softly down from the sky, shattering on contact with his blade.

"You're really very boring, you know."

The voice was right behind him, accompanied by hand on his shoulders and a tongue next to his cheek. Link gasped in horror, stumbling away and out of his protective circle for the first time since sundown.

The demon only chuckled. "No need to tell me why you're still here. It's obvious, isn't it? Hylia's chosen hero can't complete the tasks she sent him to do."

Link glared with all his might, but it had no effect on Ghirahim. He nudged the circle with his boot, lips curled in something no sane person would call a smile.

"Pity. She saw such good in you. Perhaps... it is not your fault."

Stalking forward, Ghirahim held a hand out, palm face up. Unlike in their first battle, it was an offering, a request. Curious, Link couldn't help but let his guard down for a moment, allowing the demon a slim chance to speak.

"You really are a formidable fighter, skychild. You've decimated my minions. No match for me, of course, but a little bird has no chance at defeating a snake." He twisted his wrist, now reaching out to Link for a handshake. Looking from his hand to his face, Link asked a silent question, unable to voice his curiosity.

"I came to make an offer. You seem... ready for a way out."

Link retracted back faster than Ghirahim could speak the words, but the demon was ready to calm him like a spooked loftwing. Shushing him though he made no noise, Ghirahim raised his hands in surrender.

"Now now, there's no need for that. I'm simply stating the truth." He smiled wide again, teeth flashing in the dark. "You've come quite far, and I felt it only fair to save you the trouble. You see, I've found the Spirit Maiden."

No. No, he couldn't have. Link stood frozen in place, mouth agape as he shook his head. Ghirahim's smile faded, a gleam to his eyes that held no lies. "Yes, that Sheikah dog thought she was clever, shattering the Gate of Time. She forgets who she is dealing with. The ritual to fix it was quite simple, though grisly. I'll spare you the details for now."

It couldn't be happening. It couldn't. Link's grip on the Goddess Sword loosened, the hilt falling from his hand. Ghirahim was right by him to catch it.

"There, there. You'll get over it. I wanted to make an offer, give you a fighting chance. You see, there may be room for you in the world my Master will create."

Link looked to Ghirahim with weary trepidation, his hatred leaking through his tears. Shushing him once more, wiping a single droplet from his cheek, the demon hummed.

"You were told this world would burn, yes?" Link did not grace him with an answer, but Ghirahim chuckled still. "A little extreme, but not improbable. I have grown fond of this world, however..."

Hand clutched in a tight fist, Ghirahim looked distant. He vanished once more, reappearing to grip Link's shoulder. "I would hate to see my domain lost. Perhaps, with your help, I can... convince my Master to retain certain spoils of Hylia."

Ghirahim's grip on his shoulder tightened, claws digging into his skin. Link cried out in pain, squirming away, but Ghirahim would not let him move an inch.

"Your Spirit Maiden may be gone, but my Master has not yet revealed himself. You must make your choice quick. You would have to swear loyalty to him and only him. Renounce Hylia, and you may keep your life."

Link violently shook his head. He'd rather die than betray Zelda, though he had failed. He would go down fighting, in her memory.

Ghirahim sighed, letting go of his foil with a soft tsk. As Link scampered off into the dark, he waited for the boy to reach the tree line, before calling back, "Skyloft will be spared."

That caught his attention. As he turned slowly, Link watched Ghirahim from afar, the demon tossing the Goddess Sword from hand to hand.

"If you cooperate. Skyloft will be spared." Beckoning him closer, Link obeyed. "And perhaps more, were you to play your cards right."

A second chance. A safe haven for his friends. A way to save what's left. Link watched as Ghirahim held his hand out once more, a browbone raised and a curled lip revealing his abnormal tongue. He shuddered, but lifted his own hand to meet the demon's.

"Deal."

"Ah, so he speaks!" Ghirahim mocked, but took Link's hand in his own. Pulling him close, Link blinked up at the uncanny eyes of his new ally.

"I promise you, before you know it, your unfortunate ties to the Goddess will seem like a bad dream. You made a wise choice."

Chapter Text

Time meant nothing to him anymore.

It could have been a week, it could have been a month. Link spent it in a haze, drawn in on himself and unable to voice any emotion he was feeling. Not that Ghirahim would listen.

The demon had been kind, in a way. From the minute he shook his hand in such a corrupted agreement, Link had not had to deal with the outside world. He knew, from vague monologues and half hearted attempts at conversation, that Ghirahim had run into difficulties with raising his Master. It seemed Link was the cause of this, the proximity to his fight with the Imprisoned keeping the monster sealed within.

He had taken his anger out accordingly.

Confined to a single room, Link had no idea where he was. Still on the Surface, in some hidden temple, or in a whole new realm entirely, it didn't matter. His new reality were six crimson and gold walls, a few pieces of elegant furniture made to match, and a perpetually closed window he wasn't allowed to touch, lest "he decided he had no more use for his hands". A room with a bath and other necessities was within reach, but having denied all sustenance Ghirahim offered, it went unused.

For days on end Link found himself wasting away, laying on the large bed without moving a muscle. He spent a few moments nursing a hurt arm caused by his intervention of the Imprisoned (courtesy of Ghirahim), but other than that, nothing.

He didn't see the demon much, either. Maybe three times. Once to offer food, once to angrily rescind the offer if Link refused again (he had at least accepted water), and the most recent when he punished him.

His arm throbbed. It made the hunger in his stomach hurt for the first time, the thirst on his tongue more apparent. Link's head ached, and when he closed his eyes, his whole body started to shake.

I can't keep doing this. I can't keep up.

"Oh, stop moping."

Barely able to crack open an eye, Link heard Ghirahim's strained tone, announcing the fourth arrival since he earned this sentence. It meant no good, but at least he wasn't alone anymore.

"Get up." The demon ordered, appearing by him with arms crossed. Link shook his head, the action feeling like his brain was knocking around in his skull. With his teeth bit into his lip, he wrenched his eyes open, pleading for anything to ease his agony.

"Damn it, boy, I knew this would happen." Ghirahim sighed, a potion already in his hand. "You won't be escaping me any time soon, so you'd best get used to taking what you're given when it's first offered."

Link was ready and wiling to accept the bitter medicine. Immediately sore muscles felt relief, his hunger and thirst satiated. As good as new, Link's only obstacle was his mind.

He had to pull himself to a sitting position like he was made of lead.

"How long has it been?"

"What?" Ghirahim snapped, tossing the bottle aside. It vanished before the glass shattered against the floor. Link swallowed, healed but his vocal chords still weak, and pulled his knees to his chest.

"Since the deal. How long."

The demon paused. After a moment of calculation, he simply stated, "Six days."

"Only six." Link murmured, chin dropping. "It feels like so much longer."

"If I had known you'd be so weak," Ghirahim hissed, snatching Link's arm and dragging him from the bed, "I would never have let you grieve. I can't wait any longer. Mourning ends today, and as much as I detest the notion, I need your help."

Link followed along with no resistance. Ghirahim flittered around the room, vanishing and appearing with unknown objects in his hands only to leave them in a chest, on a vanity, in the room with the bath. He stopped for only a moment to take a long look at Link, tilting his head to examine him better.

Finally, he seemed to gather what he needed.

"Here," Ghirahim shoved a bundle into his arms, Link nearly dropping it in his surprise. "Make yourself presentable."

He hesitated, letting it all tumble from his hands into a nearby chair. "For what?"

"Either you follow my orders without question, or we're going to have a very difficult time getting along." Ghirahim growled, grabbing Link by the back of his hair. He gasped at the sudden pain, whimpering as the demon drug him to the bathroom. "If you're so incompetent, I'll do it myself."

"I wasn't—resisting," Link complained, ducking from Ghirahim's grasp as he snapped his fingers and began to draw a bath. "I just—ow—I just want to know why."

"Did no one ever tell you that curiosity killed the cat?" When Ghirahim looked back to Link's confused face, he rolled his eyes. "No, obviously not. Word of advice: don't ask questions. Just do as you're told, and you won't get hurt."

Link sat down in a huff, his frustration growing. In the bright side, it was an emotion other than emptiness.

Ghirahim hummed to himself as he rearranged the mess Link had made, occasionally stopping to inspect some unseen flaw on Link's body. Still refusing to move from his place on the floor, Link sat in silence as the demon buzzed around, finally coming to a stop in front of him. Link did not look up from the diamond cut-outs on his boots.

"Alright. Get in."

Though the bath did look inviting, Link had worked himself into a mood.

"Tell me why and I'll think about it."

Ghirahim did not like that answer. Dropping down to a squat at Link's eye level, a dagger was summoned and placed carefully against his chest. Looking away to feign nonchalance, Link's heart sped up a couple beats.

"Let me say this once, for I will not hesitate again," Ghirahim murmured, ever so slightly pressing the tip into Link's skin. "You will do exactly as you are told, when you are told, or you will not survive long under the service of the Demon King. I have been far too forgiving with your antics, and that stops now."

Then he made a mistake. It came out of his mouth before he had really thought it through, a small little word that he didn't say often enough. Maybe he was curious. Maybe he had a death wish. Maybe he didn't think Ghirahim would actually go through with his threats.

"No."

For the first time in the monotonous days, Link was no longer in the six-walled room he had been confined in. The sudden change of scenery sent his head reeling, nearly retching on the ground next to Ghirahim's feet. The demon grabbed the back of his shirt to keep him upright, and with no amount of kindness began to pull him down a dark hallway. Link could barely take in his surroundings, but he could see hints of barred rooms, rotting wood, and crumbling stone.

A dungeon.

At the end of a long corridor, the demon reached a hand out to utter some magic and open the sealed room. Link's breath sped up, fear settling in, as the door glowed red and swung open.

No explanation was offered. Link was shoved inside, Ghirahim following after, and the darkness was broken by torches lighting at their arrival. The room was empty. A windowless prison, nothing but the cold stone and flickering firelight to keep them company.

"I warned you. Several times." Ghirahim snarled, waving a hand to preform unseen magic. "And now, you will pay the price."

Link's consciousness slowly came back to him, his whole body aching. Ghirahim's lips were moving, but no words came from his mouth.

"Understood?"

When Link didn't answer, a harsh kick met his ribs. Reeling back, he cried out, unable to lift himself up onto his knees from the pain.

"When I ask a question, I expect an answer." Ghirahim muttered darkly, towering over him. Link shuddered, but did his best to nod. Evidently it was not enough.

"So, one more time. Is my message clear?"

Link desperately tried to pull himself to his hands, nod in agreement, and voice his answer, but his body wouldn't move.

"Oh, so now we're silent?" Ghirahim snarled, dropping to his knees on Link's level. Ghirahim tsked at the sight of him, delivering a harsh slap across Link's face. He gasped in pain, and though he tried to answer, tried to beg him to stop, his throat felt like lead and his tongue glued shut.

"Pity." Ghirahim sighed, "I was ready to forgive and forget, but if you're so keen to continue, how can I refuse?"

Letting him fall limp to the floor, Ghirahim stood to his full height, shadowing over him as he groaned in disgust. A snap of his fingers, and Link braced himself for more pain.

He was met with freezing water, doused in ice. Unmoving on the floor, Link shivered and groaned, watching the water run through the cracks in the stone.

"Just tell me to stop." Ghirahim hummed, arms crossed as he watched Link squirm. "Tell me you're sorry, and we'll let this all be in the past."

"P—puh—" He managed to spit out, cold rivers dripping from his skin. He squeezed his eyes, forcing the words to leave his mouth. "Can—t. Can't."

"What was that?" Ghirahim sung sarcastically, a hand to his ear. Link whimpered through the pain, the inability to voice his request as torturous as the icy water he was laying in.

"Can't. No more. S—sorry." He whined, hoping it was enough for Ghirahim to end his suffering. Rolling onto his back, Link looked up with pleading eyes, begging silently with all he had for the demon to cease this.

"Close..." Ghirahim teased, crouching down next to him. Link gritted his teeth, swallowing hard to force his throat open (though that never worked, did it?), and took a deep breath.

"Won't again. Stop. Please—please, stop."

Ghirahim sighed.

"Well, I suppose that's as good as it gets with you, isn't it?"

Link didn't respond. Ghirahim grabbed his arm, and then they were back in the six-walled room he had grown to know so well.

"This place used to be full of life." The demon sighed, shutting the door behind him. "With luck, it will return to its former glory in a few short hours."

Link barely heard him. He felt his mind drifting in and out of consciousness, the teleportation making him dizzy. His whole body was sore. Even as Ghirahim laid him down on the soft bed, and felt nauseated and weak, head pounding and stomach churning.

"Drink up. No complaints." Ghirahim held a bottle to his lips, tipping his head back slightly. Link had to swallow or choke, but eagerly took the liquid past his lips. His throat stopped burning. Though still weak, his headache went away, and his mind became a tad more clear.

"This could have all been avoided, you know." Ghirahim murmured, gently stroking his hair. "Really, it's your fault. I told you I wasn't in the mood. I wouldn't have hurt you unless it was necessary."

He helped him to sit up, rubbing his sore muscles. Link sank into his touch, leaning against the demon's chest. The touch of another felt comforting after so long without. Ghirahim sat down on the bed, offering a false friend, and whispered, "Now that you know what happens to those who disobey, I'll try once more time. Are going to cooperate?"

Though he hated being talked to like a child in such a condescending manner, Link nodded. The demon smiled, and watched as he walked of his own accord to the bath.

It was still steaming, as if no time at all had passed. Shaky legs relived of their weight, Link lowered himself into the water.

"Can I trust you not to drown yourself?" Ghirahim called out from behind the closed door. Link huffed, but called out a yes, and Ghirahim left to tidy up who-knows-what.

Admittedly, the warm water was relaxing to his abused muscles. He wouldn't have fought so hard were it not for the principle of the situation, the fact that Ghirahim was hiding information from him for seemingly no other reason that he simply could. Angered, and sore, Link waded into the middle of the pool, seething but too tired to truly do anything about it.

Too tired, and now too smart. He wasn't going to go through that again.

The pool was grander than anything he had ever been in, surely larger than the whole bathroom at the academy and sunk into the ground like a pond. A domed ceiling, large windows that opened out to a clear blue sky, the whole place made of marble and gold. Dainty waterfalls kept the water ever full, steaming at slightly too hot of a temperature. Link dunked his head under the water, swimming over to a shelf filled with bottles and potions.

He wasn't sure what he was allowed to use. Taking his chances, he swam over to the shelf, accessible from the bath.

There were so many. Most out of reach. Link picked the first one in front of him, popping open a glass cork to a strong, fruity, bubbly soap.

Link sighed, pouring some out into his hand. He slapped the thick liquid onto his shoulder, rubbing it into his skin until it was sudsy. With soft circles, he lathered the soap into his hair, humming gently. Link felt himself relax, the gentle scratch against his scalp lulling him into a false sense of security. Dunking under, Link rinsed off all the suds and dirt from his body. When all the soap was gone, Ghirahim lifted him back up, pulling him in a tad closer.

Wrapping himself in a towel, Link walked over to the vanity, admiring the brushes and cosmetics laid out for him.

A knock came to the door.

"Are you decent?"

Link wrapped the towel tighter around his body. "Yes."

"Cherry and hibiscus?" Ghirahim sniffed the air, curling his lip. "What, did you use this on your hair and body?"

Frowning, Link didn't reply. The demon dropped a pile of clothes on the countertop, and turned to him.

"Do something about your hair. Make your face pretty, and put these on. Don't complain."

He looked out at the bedroom, brows knitting together. "I'll be back for you in an hour."

Link sighed, sinking into the chair and staring at his reflection in the mirror. He didn't look different, he thought, though tired. As he tugged at tangled strands with a sharp comb, Link kept his mouth shut, no matter how he wanted to complain.

He thought his hair was fine. No one really commented on it, other than Groose, but he wasn't one to talk about hair styles with his atrocious pompadour he cared about more than his own mother. Occasionally Zelda would tease him when he ruffled the back in embarrassment, messing it up more than he had, but she had assured him it was endearing and there was nothing wrong with the way he looked.

Link swallowed hard. It hurt, thinking about them. He had done his best to avoid the memories and subsequent guilt, but he knew they were inevitable.

Link stood in front of a full length mirror, tugging at his tight clothing.

"It's... different."

Ghirahim scoffed from the chair by the bed, rolling his eyes at Link's complaint.

"I thought I was supposed to help you convince Demise not to fuck over the Surface, not become your little doll."

"Show the Demon King some respect." Ghirahim snapped, claws gripping the back of the chair. "I don't know what the customs are up in the backwater island you live on, but down here, names have power. You are never to speak the true names of the Demon King, the Spirit Maiden, or the Golden Goddesses again. You may not see such weak servants as yourselves calling your Goddess 'Hylia' as the grievous insult it is, but I will not allow you to disgrace yourself and me in front of our Master."

Link nodded slowly, waiting for the outburst to end. He didn't get the anger in his words, but he would obey the demand rather than face his wrath again.

"No matter his plans, he will not 'fuck over the Surface', as you so crudely put it." Ghirahim sighed, a hand going to his shaking head. "If he deems the pitiful lives down here worthless? So be it. They deserve whatever judgement he passes. You gave up your right to make any 'moral' decision when you shook my hand, sky child. Do as you're told, and don't have an opinion on the orders. That's not your place."

Link nodded his head quicker, hoping the demon would stop soon. He focused back on his outfit, trying not to hate everything about it.

It wasn't quite as revealing as Ghirahim's, with long sleeves and pants of the same material, but the cut-out on his chest made him self-conscious and the high neck felt like it was choking him. The fabric flowed around his ankles, brushing against the sensitive skin and annoying him to the point of near pain. Though the pants didn't hug his calves like Ghirahim's, the waistband was still tight on his hips and gave him curves he didn't know he had. The shirt cut off just under the diamond, leaving his stomach exposed, and all Link could think about was how vulnerable that made him.

No mail. No shield. No weapon in sight. Ghirahim had tossed some strange straps and belts on the bed, but said they wouldn't be necessary. There couldn't be anything threatening about the hero.

Though he protested, Ghirahim had wrestled Link to the bed and forced his wrists into golden cuffs, linked together with delicate chains he could break if he tried hard enough. They gave him enough room to cross his arms, and he silently voiced his frustration as Ghirahim shoved his feet into tall boots, the pants tucked in loosely just under his knees. Gold cuffs circled his ankles around the boots as well, but these were kept separated.

"Now." Ghirahim snapped his fingers, holding up a mirror. Link felt something change on his face, his own attempt with the cosmetics apparently not good enough.

"Wow..." He murmured, twisting his head to watch glittery gold sparkle in the light. He looked so much softer, the dark circles under his eyes gone and any scar on his face covered up. Even his freckles were invisible, face as smooth as porcelain and dusted with light pink blush. Just like a doll. His heart beat faster for a moment, unable to recognize himself, reality setting in once again of what he had become.

Ghirahim didn't stop to admire his work. He was already draping Link in more golden jewelry, forcing him into earrings and armbands and chains across his chest.

"Look, I know I'm not supposed to ask questions..." Link began to complain, and Ghirahim paused as he was clipping a smooth golden collar around his neck.

"No, you aren't."

"...but I can't help but wonder..." Link pressed on, not thinking much as Ghirahim pulled back the hair from his ears. "Why are you doing all this?"

The demon's shoulders visibly fell. Link kept pushing on.

"I mean, it's not like Dem—uh, I mean, the Demon King is going to care whether I'm wearing black or gold or silver or white, or whatever."

"I'm making you look like a trophy, not a warrior." Ghirahim snapped, and Link felt a sharp pinch in his upper ear.

"Ow! What did you just do?"

"Keep still." Ghirahim ordered again, walking around to the other side. "No, our Master would barely notice the difference if I offered you up in the rags of your old uniform, but he would see a defeated enemy. In other words, still a potential threat."

Link hissed as Ghirahim pierced his other ear.

"This way, the threat has already been dealt with. You're not an enemy prisoner anymore. You're an ally. You may be the perfect reminder of his defeat over Hylia, but you're also cooperating."

The demon stopped in front of him, smiling down with his hand cupping Link's cheek. "Also, I'm celebrating. I did win, after all. Why can't I have some fun customizing my victory prize?"

"Ha, ha." Link sneered, but felt sick to his stomach. That was all he was. A trophy. A failure.

"So," Ghirahim began, apparently finished toying with Link, "By that question, I assume you know what we're about to do?"

Link nodded. He had figured it out when Ghirahim forced him into the chains, had a hunch back before he had even put on the new clothes when he was given another red potion.

"You're going to perform the ritual to release the Imprisoned."

"No." Offering Link his hand Ghirahim led him from the six-walled room and into the dark hallway. "That part is already over."

"Really?" Link felt a hint of relief, knowing now that he wouldn't have to be there for what he was dreading the most. "So, does that mean we're..."

"Going to officially welcome the Demon King back to his realm."

Link walked along Ghirahim in silence, surprised to find he was calm. Truthfully, he felt empty, more than anything. His silence was not out of fear, nor shame, but rather... apathy. He had lost. Ghirahim won. His only option for a future was to forget, and obey.

Lingering on the past helped no one. He had nothing of that life. Not Zelda, not the academy uniform, not even Fi to guide him. All that was left was to move forward one step at a time, and accept what Ghirahim and Demise wanted of him. Until he knew more, there was no good in fighting.

That's what he told himself, and the longer he kept it up, maybe the guilt would go away.

"Are there others? Demons, like you?" Link spoke up, trying to distract himself from the thoughts plaguing his head. Taking down bokoblins had been easy enough, but if he was up against an army of Ghirahims—no. He wasn't against them anymore. He had to cooperate to keep peace.

"Once, there were thousands of us." Ghirahim sighed, turning down another long corridor. Whatever fortress they were in was eerily empty, abandoned but not in ruins. "Now, maybe a hundred have been recovered from the various entrapments Hylians left them in. I don't expect this place to become the thriving dominion the realm was any time soon, but we have an army again. Only the strongest survived."

"I thought this land belonged to Hylia's people." Link eyed him warily, wondering what he meant by it. Their legends never spoke of a kingdom of demons in control, only the small settlements of people that were slowly broken down until all that were left were the ones who fit in the sky. Then again, the Surface was supposed to be a desolate wasteland that may or may not have existed in the first place, so Skyloft's education needed to be taken with a grain of salt.

"Now is not the time for a history lesson."

Link sighed, dropping the subject for now. The demon was already tense—as was he—and he was not looking to be strung up and sliced open again. Link fell back into place, but couldn't keep his curiosity under control for long.

"Is that why you've been gone? I haven't seen you much since I got here."

Ghirahim's eyes narrowed, but he didn't reprimand him. Ushering him down a steep set of stairs, he explained, "The past few days I've been following his orders, returning to the temples and dungeons that would have been made to cage the elite. Most of the common people fled this land when the King fell, and any that stayed seemed to fight with the Sheikah until the races exterminated each other."

"And now you want to rebuild that empire."

"If I can convince him. Who knows, maybe there will be a place for you Hylians in the world he wishes to create."

That gave Link another glimmer of hope in the dark reality he had been forced into. He was able to hold his tongue the rest of the journey, trying to remember the twists and turns they took, but it was one too many staircases and corridors to make his head spin. Finally, they came to a set of intricately carved wooden doors, as black as night, the designs glowing with fiery liquid. Link could feel the heat from where they stood.

"We could have just teleported." Link muttered under his breath, winching when Ghirahim's claws sunk into his shoulder.

"If I hear one of your snide remarks while we are in the presence of the King," He hissed, releasing Link's shoulder. The fabric of his shirt didn't rip, but Link was sure the sting meant skin had been broken. "I will not hesitate to punish you then and there. Our Master will not take pity on you. He's already not keen on this partnership, and any toe out of line will strengthen his doubts. You will not jeopardize this agreement."

Link nodded, and for the first time, he felt his stomach start to tighten with fear. He clenched his hands into fists, trying to regulate his breathing, but he could feel a cold sweat overtake his skin. Ghirahim gave him a disgusted look, but ultimately ignored him. Raising an arm with confidence, the doors swung open slowly, announcing their arrival.

Link wasn't sure what he was expecting. His imagination couldn't comprehend the massive beast that terrorized the Sealed Grounds fitting in this building, even with it's vaulted ceilings and open halls. He couldn't imagine that thing giving Ghirahim any orders, not capable of speech or thought anymore than an overgrown chuchu. A dangerous, hulking chuchu with rows upon rows of razor sharp teeth and the ability to crush him with a single step, but the point stood. The Imprisoned was no king.

Instead, Link was greeted with another long stretch of carpeted flooring, leading up to a man. Not at all like his friends and family on Skyloft, but human(oid), still. Sat atop a throne of the same deep black wood as the doors, coursing with the lava and decorated in blood-red gems, the Demon King finally looked the part.

Ghirahim sauntered into the throne room, each step exuding confidence and nobility, at home in front of the crowd surrounding them. It wasn't as if the room was full like the armies in the children's picture books back home, but the court was packed with more demons than the entire population of Skyloft. Link's heart pounded faster in his chest, and he followed Ghirahim as best he could.

He couldn't tell if those trapping them, closing them in were like Ghirahim or not. There were no familiar monsters among their ranks, no moblins or bokoblins, the lower beings not permitted in the presence of the king. All the demon soldiers wore nearly identical decorated armor, helmets Link had never seen before and chest plates of solid metal. Their designs differed slightly, colors denouncing factions or ranks or clans, but to the untrained eye he couldn't tell the difference between any one member. They could have been an army of clay soldiers for all he knew, but he could hear whispering, the rumors on the wind of the Hylians on the Surface confirmed.

Ghirahim stopped his procession at the first step in front of the throne, kneeling as soon as he reached the king. As if on cue, all the soldiers knelt in unison, spears and swords and bows clanking against the ground.

Startled, Link stopped in place, but he could see Ghirahim glaring at him from the corner of the demon's eye. He was motioned forward silently, but the snarl on his face and the glint in his eye made it clear Link would be punished later.

Not far behind, but far enough he was now walking on his own, Link kept his stare ahead, trying to keep calm. His footsteps made no noise in the large room, muffled by the thick crimson carpet, and all he could hear was the slight clink of his chains and the crackle of fire as he approached.

As he got closer, Demise looked less and less human. Covered in inky scales, a mane of raging fire and eyes to match, he was twice as tall as Ghirahim if not more. He stopped where Ghirahim was respectfully kneeling, meeting the eye of the king for the first time.

They held each other's gaze for a tense moment. The scar on the demon's forehead twisted as his brow raised, watching Link's small act of defiance with mild disinterest. He could kill him now without lifting a finger if he acted out.

It was as if the eyes of the whole Surface were on them. Waiting to know if Hylia's Chosen renounced his vow and placed the final piece in the betrayal of his people. His hands shook. From rage, or from fear, he didn't know, but all he could think as he held the stare was You. You killed her. I was made to destroy you.

And I failed.

Link dropped his gaze first.

The king let out a rumbling chuckle as Link sank to his knees, head down and hands in his lap. He refused to bow and cower as the other demons, but the message was clear. Surrender.

He was sure Ghirahim breathed a sigh of relief.

"Rise, my sword, commander of my armies." The deep voice commanded, and Link tensed as Ghirahim quickly stood. "This is the Hylian you spoke of?"

"The once Chosen Hero, Master."

"He doesn't look like much."

"He never was." Ghirahim smirked, nudging Link with his foot. "But he was able to best the beasts I sent to stop him, and in the end, proved to be capable of overcoming the most basic trials any demonic soldier can face. He has great potential, and I thought the right arm of Hylia may be a valuable ally. Or example."

Lowering his voice, though it did no good to keep Link from hearing, Ghirahim murmured, "I mostly kept him for the... proposal I mentioned to you."

"Come," Demise motioned Ghirahim forward, and he nearly bounded up the stairs. Link snuck a peek at the two of them, his stomach feeling sick as he saw Ghirahim nearly hanging off the king's arm. "Has he been informed of your plan?"

"No, not yet."

Link grit his teeth, forcing himself to keep quiet. Of course, Ghirahim had some ulterior motive for keeping him alive, one he would be forced to agree to or now face the wrath of the demon. Or worse, have the Surface he swore to protect threatened.

"You're sure there is no other? Hylia's sword?"

"Never completed." Ghirahim simply said, not giving Link any information as to where the Goddess Blade had been taken. "She was broken down after the death of her first master, meant to be reforged in fire but never given the chance. Hylia's spirit blade has been... disposed of."

Link sucked in a shaky breath. Fi has never been the warmest to him, but she had been all he had at times on his quest. She was his friend. He had known, deep in his heart, what her fate was likely to be, but confirmation of his fears was devastating.

"Ghirahim." Demise snapped Link from his thoughts, "I have taken your advice into account, but I am still not convinced. Show me he is as strong as you claim, and I'll reconsider."

"Gladly." Ghirahim bowed, vanishing into shimmering diamonds. When he reappeared beside Link, he was haled to his feet, the chains keeping his arms bound together vanishing.

"I hope your little tantrum these past few days hasn't had an adverse effect on your strength," The demon sighed, forcing a blade into Link's hand. Confused, he stumbled back slightly, but Ghirahim was there to catch him with a stamina potion in hand. "So drink up, and try not to get yourself killed?"

Link didn't understand what was going on, but Ghirahim was gone before he could ask. He whirled around back to the throne, watching as the Demon King stood to his full height.

The sudden understanding came over him like a cold breeze.

Downing the potion as fast as he could, Link quickly fell back into the familiar fighting stance. Ghirahim sneered at him from the middle of the steps, waving away his empty bottle, and awaiting orders from his master.

Link cocked his head as Demise paused his descent behind Ghirahim, a hand placed at the demon's waist and encircling it with wicked claws. Ghirahim leaned back, going limp with a dazed smile, and something began to rise out of his chest.

As Demise grasped a blackened hilt, glowing red light filling the dark room, it started to make sense.

Oh.

His sword. Not just a metaphor.

No time to ponder the revelation, Link stumbled back as Demise kept stalking forward, leaving Ghirahim's crumpled body on the steps. He faded away like Fi would, but with as much flair as was known to the demon, and in Demise's hands was a terrifying blade.

Not much time to worry about that, Link thought, as he watched Demise with determined eyes. The weak blade Ghirahim gave him would never take down the demon, but it would keep him alive.

"I've been told you are a great warrior, Hylian," Demise addressed him, sword pointing his direction, "and as of far, I can see it. Most of your kind would run."

Link had no smart quip to return, his throat feeling closed up again and his voice lost. He didn't need it to fight. He narrowed his eyes, challenging the demon before him.

"Well then," Demise smirked, the sword lowered, "Rise, my army, and watch as the hero takes his place in your ranks, or meets his doom."

Chapter Text

Link had tunnel vision.

He knew he was surrounded by an army, but the blood roaring in his ears blocked out the sound. Logically, there should have been whispers, the clinking of armor as unrest grew, cheering for their king and taunting the fallen hero. Demise's mouth opened to make another order, but he couldn't hear. All he knew was the cold metal in his hand, bringing back memories he wanted to leave in the past, and the monster facing him down.

This was like second nature to him. A silent reminder to himself, Link replayed every fight he had been through and every class he had barely paid attention in. He had been training to fight bad guys all his life. He was raised with a sword in his hand and a shield on his back.

He was created for this exact moment.

And that therein lied the problem. Link was facing his destiny, but it was all wrong. He did not hold near strong enough a blade to take down the demon, and he had already lost the girl he was meant to protect. He was dressed up like a doll, not a knight, made to be pretty and silent and submissive. This fight was a mockery of his fate, one he was set up to lose in order to gain the enemies' trust.

Link had been told he was supposed to have an unbreakable spirit, but without completing the trials set for him, he wasn't sure if it still counted. Still, his courage bordered on recklessness, and he lunged at the demon before he could change his mind. Though taken off guard, Demise parried his blow, sending Link sprawling back across the carpet.

It burned as he slid away, rolling back to a crouch and wiping a drop of blood from his mouth. His lip had split in his tumble, but other than that, he was intact.

The Demon King quirked a brow, amused by his weak assault. Before Link could gather himself for another blow, the dark blade was coming down near his head, and without a shield he had to frantically lunge away. There was no way his weak blade would stand up against what Ghirahim had become.

Suddenly, Link found himself at a greater disadvantage. Besides his obvious lack of armor, the pathetic piece of metal Ghirahim gave him, and the six days he had gone practically comatose, he had very little room to work with. The front row of soldiers crossed their weapons when he accidentally backed near them, trapping him in the aisle with nowhere to run if things got bad. No shield, his only option to dodge, and a blade that could barely harm a sparrow.

Okay, he could work with this. The goal was to stay alive, not win.

Link ducked under another swing from Demise, sliding against the crimson carpet. He slashed out but only caught air, missing by a laughable distance. Cursing under his breath, Link ducked another swipe, barely making it out with his head.

He was lucky enough to get one hit in, but it bounced off Demise's scales with a weak clatter. Sent flailing away after being struck with the flat side of the blade, Link could hear echoes of laughter travel through the room like a disease, mocking jeers and vicious taunts falling on deaf ears.

Link dragged himself back to his feet, watching closely for the next move. He was smaller, faster, and much more nimble without the chain mail he usually wore. His only chance at survival was to play it safe until the king grew bored, and maybe get a few hits in if he wanted to put on a show. He would fight until his dying breath if he had to.

But why should he? He wasn't some plaything for these demons. The weapon in his hands was only holding him back, a hindrance to his survival. With one look at the flimsy sword, Link tossed it aside.

"A bold choice." Demise sneered, and without a moment's notice the monstrous blade was slammed down next to Link's right side. He flinched, avoiding its path, and sidestepped until he was at the demon's back again.

"You're not going to kill me, are you." Link panted, watching Demise turn around with an enraged look. "You need me alive for something."

"You play with fire, boy," The king growled, but did not deny Link's audacious statement. "Are you prepared to be burned?"

Standing his ground with his head high, Link didn't move this time as the demon charged him. His teeth and fists clenched, eyes squeezed shut as his certain death came closer... Link found himself on his back with a gasp, pinned to the ground by the edge of the blade. He could feel the fire of Demise's mane coursing over him in waves, and admitted to himself he had miscalculated. He hoped Zelda could forgive him. As his head turned to the side, teeth still gritted and his only sight the dancing colors behind his eyes, Link wondered if he was still allowed to pray. Demise's sharpened teeth bared, he raised the blade again with Link still trapped by a massive foot...

The blade was driven into the floor next to him.

A low but deafening roar filled the room, and as Link peeked open one eye, he was surprised to find Demise laughing.

"Very brave, Hylian." He eyed Link with a dangerous glare, like a predator watching its prey escape with begrudging respect, "Or perhaps, just very, very foolish. Ghirahim, to my side."

Link pulled himself up to his elbows, still struggling for breath, to watch as Ghirahim's black blade disintegrated into a human shape. It was different from the Ghirahim he knew, more like Fi when she appeared to him. Metal, inhuman. Smooth planes of muscle etched with pristine lines. A covered gem centered in his chest, protecting an artificial lifeforce from those that sought to destroy it. Obsidian and marble and iron dotted with a shifting diamond pattern, all culminating in solid white eyes.

Solid white eyes and a browless face, that still seemed to convey an eternity of torment would be brought down upon those that met his gaze.

He hadn't thought about how Ghirahim would react.

He would deal with that later.

Demise spoke as if Link wasn't there. He turned to Ghirahim was hands propped behind his back, tendrils of flame igniting despite the even, rounded tone of his voice.

"An interesting decision on your part, but I'll accept your proposal. He will make a fine sword."

Link picked himself up to his knees, his ears pricking at the king's words. Sword?

Ghirahim seemed tense as he bowed, words dripping with contempt when he spoke. "Of course, Master. I live only to serve you, it is my purpose to calculate what will benefit you best."

Link scrambled to his feet at Ghirahim's snarl (behind Demise's back), and as the sword spirit approached, he could practically feel his anger burn around him. Ghirahim's metallic exterior faded back to normal, and he turned back to Demise with a curt bow.

"I speak for all our kind when I say it is the greatest pleasure to welcome you back, Master. I greatly anticipate what you have planned for this world, and will follow your every command to achieve your goals. If there is anything I can—"

"Yes, yes, Ghirahim. I don't have time for your theatrics now. Dismiss my army, and meet me to further discuss this 'hero'."

Ghirahim's smile was short and strained, but Demise didn't notice. He waved a hand, grasping the air as dark smoke enveloped him, and he was gone.

Link stood absolutely still as Ghirahim followed the necessary steps to dismiss the army. He wasn't really paying attention. The words from the demon's mouth were just sounds, orders going in one ear and out the other. Link couldn't control his breath, lungs moving faster and faster and too fast to actually take in any air. He was given no warning when Ghirahim grabbed his arm, teleporting them away and back to the prison of a bedroom he had been trapped in.

Link stumbled forward, but Ghirahim's grip on his arm kept him standing. He tried to tug himself free, but the effort was fruitless. Eyes wide as he scrambled to escape, Link thoroughly regretted his actions. A minute of resistance for the price of his pride was not worth the hours of torture he would endure.

"What did I tell you?" The demon nearly screamed, throwing Link to the ground. He had no time to get away before Ghirahim was straddling him, hips pressed to his stomach and squeezing the breath from his lungs. He squirmed to get away, but Ghirahim felt like a ton of scrap metal on top of him.

"How dare you disgrace me in front of my master?" He snarled, claws furling around Link's neck. He didn't look human. Link was never frightened by the stories of demons back home, but sharp teeth and empty eyes on the pages of a book were nothing compared to two inches from his face. He scraped at his invulnerable skin, hoping to get him off, but the hold tightened. Gasping, he fought back with all he had, but it wasn't enough.

"I am the only thing keeping you alive right now!" Ghirahim screamed, and in a flash of diamonds he was holding Link up by the neck. Dangling at his mercy, Link coughed and sputtered but to no avail.

"Do you have any idea what I risked to keep you here? To give you that one measly chance to prove yourself?"

Link kicked his legs, trying desperately to get Ghirahim to release him. His vision was swimming the longer Ghirahim held on, impressive strength able to hold him in the air with just one hand. It grew ever tighter around his neck, nails digging in. Link frantically slapped at any part of Ghirahim he could reach, his arms, his chest, his face, but it only enraged the demon further.

With a low growl Ghirahim slapped him across the cheek, letting go of his neck as he did so. Link crumpled to the floor, sucking in great breaths of air, as Ghirahim watched with disgust.

"Unfortunately I don't have time to deal with you right now." He stalked over, yanking Link up by the back of his shirt. Link cried out, twisting to get away, but Ghirahim wouldn't let go. "I have urgent matters regarding you. Don't expect my kindness anymore."

Link kicked and screamed as Ghirahim threw him to the bed, making a dash for the door before Ghirahim caught his ankle and left him flailing off the side. He clawed at the air, but it did no good.

"I'll leave you to think about your transgressions." Ghirahim hissed, snapping his fingers and the lights went out. Link felt chains wrap around his wrists, drawing him up to bed post and securing him to the wood. He pulled and pulled and pulled, but it wasn't enough.

"Ghirahim!" He screamed hopelessly into the darkness, but it was in vain. "Ghirahim!"

He was alone.

Again, he wasn't sure how long it had been. Ghirahim wouldn't leave him alone for days on end again, would he? He hadn't been too happy last time Link refused to eat for more than a few nights. The room he was trapped in had no way of keeping time, and now that he was tied to the bed, he couldn't even escape to the bathroom window to keep track.

From the bedpost he had two positions he could wait in, on his stomach on the bed with his hands unnaturally high (or on his back with the chains crossed and digging into his skin, very uncomfortable) or standing. Neither were ideal, and after a few hours his arms were terribly sore. Link tugged at the bindings weakly every once in a while, but they never went loose.

He fell asleep eventually. It was really all he could do to pass the time. Sleep, or dwell. Dwelling only made things worse.

When all this is over, will you come wake me up?

You were late, and you failed to protect her.

He will make a fine sword.

His dreams were strange. He had thought he would be plagued by nightmares of the ones he failed, but the faces he once knew did not taunt him. He saw them in the visions, for sure, but they were doing normal dream-things, never screaming at him or crying or asking why he gave up.

It was worse.

He could tell when he was dreaming, but the drifting feeling of movement made him second guess himself. He thought he was back on Skyloft, but he couldn't be, there were small details that broke the illusion. He and Groose had never been friends, the waterfall island wasn't the size of the academy, the bazaar had less stalls than appeared to him. Faces and places blurred together in his mind, soaked in the ever present mistiness of the parallel world his mind created.

When he woke, the stories were half finished, unresolved. Problems he was already forgetting. He hadn't been able to solve those, either.

He grew bored quickly, which meant his mind would wander. Filled with resentment, rage, anxiety and fear, Link was sure he had at least three instances of a panic attack. Nothing helped him in those times but to close his eyes and stay still, afraid of the pitch black that surrounded him and what lurked in the castle. There was never any noise but the silence, and nothing to suggest he wasn't alone, but his mind played tricks and kept him paranoid.

He will make a fine sword. He became a sword. Sword spirit, a blade, a voice in the blade calling out to him. A follower. A servant. The Goddess Sword. Demise's sword.

What had he meant?

Finally, a knock came at the door. Link perked up, anxious but relived at the prospect of sentient contact. The door didn't open, the knock came again, and Link cursed.

"Please, please, help, I can't—I can't come to the door, but there's someone in here, please!" He called out, but the knocking had ceased. Link called again and again, screaming his throat raw, but no one ever entered.

Had he... dreamed that too?

Just as the thought entered his mind, the unseen light came back into the room. No torches lit up, no lamps that he could make sense of, but he could see again. Link sighed in relief, quirking his head when he heard a ping! and food appeared on the table.

He waited patiently for Ghirahim to join him.

This wasn't the end of his punishment, and to be honest, he probably deserved whatever else Ghirahim had planned. It was foolish and reckless to do what he had done, after all the demon risked for him, and he should be grateful to even have a chance to save the Surface. His mood soured when he reminded himself why the Surface even needed saving, and how the demon deserved no thanks for not killing him, but the voice in the back of his mind saying 'you did this to yourself' won.

Link could smell hot food, a warm and sweet scent filling the room. He hadn't had anything real to eat since he got there, just the red potion to keep him alive. His stomach finally growled, and for the first time, he was hungry and actually wanted to eat.

It didn't look too unfamiliar, some fruits that could have been for stamina and health and a loaf of bread. A pitcher of cool water, drops of condensation dripping down the outside, and an array of meats and spreads he didn't recognize. Though the meal was simple, it looked like a banquet.

He idly shook at the chains, waiting for Ghirahim to appear and release him. He was sure to accompany it with a lecture, but for what he was offering, Link would listen. He'd listen to another tirade or even his sickly sweet false hope if it meant he could eat.

Eventually (far longer than he would like to admit) he realized the demon was not coming anytime soon. The food sat out, looking fresh as ever. Like no time at all had passed, not even a cube of ice melting in the water. Link's mouth watered. He tugged at the chains, standing but unable to move very far, and nearly cried.

Ah. So, this was Ghirahim's revenge.

A cruel joke to play. Link sighed, head rested against the polished wood, and sank to his knees best he could. What an ironic twist, to be offered food before when he had no mind but to refuse, and now to be kept just out of reach. He slammed his fists against the bedpost, shaking the whole frame as he acted on his anger.

What had he done to deserve this? Had he not prayed to Hylia enough as a child? Did he zone out at one too many a festival, ignore just enough rituals and offerings that he had angered the gods? Why him, why was he chosen to save everyone, when he could barely keep himself alive? When he wanted nothing more than a quiet life, not riches or fame or even simply good grades on the next exam?

They were taught that Hylia was a giving goddess, but all Link had asked for was friends. He had no family left, and in return found Zelda. The one gift he had been granted, and he couldn't keep her safe.

Link felt tears well up in his eyes, but he didn't want to cry. He was angry. He was furious, not only at Ghirahim, Demise, or the demon army he had been sent to face alone, but at the gods. They had given so much to everyone else, plentiful harvests and clear skies for eternity, but when he was met with hardship and pain, his prayers came with conditions. Read the fine print, you don't get to be happy. You bear a curse, chosen hero, and everyone you love will pay.

He had had enough.

The once-chosen hero lifted himself to his feet, blankly inspecting the iron chains that kept him bound. They were heavy, and that worked to his advantage.

With a yell, Link swung all his weight to the side, hearing a faint crack in the wood. He panted softly, but did the action again, yanking his weight and forcing the chains to the wood until the post splintered and gave way. He gave it one last kick, and he was free.

The loops on the chains fell away, giving him more space to move his arms. He looked over to the food, still perfect, but the weight in his hands called to him. Why stop there? He was mad. He was furious, and he deserved a tantrum. Picking up the metal and creating a sort of mace with it, Link looked for his next victim.

So fragile, were Ghirahim's possessions. Not much in the room, but the furniture cracked easily under his assault and the pillows ripped with just his fingernails. Link screamed and growled profanities and cried until his throat was hoarse, leaving a trail of damage in his wake. The elegant façade crumpled like a deck of cards, the few glass ornaments shattered against the crimson walls and littering the floor. Link easily ripped the curtains on the four poster bed, breaking another bed post, and watched the top fall onto the mattress with a crazed smile.

Unable to stop if he wanted to, he clawed at the manacles on his wrists until his fingers were bloody and red. He punched each wall, trying to make a dent, slamming the chains against the paper and ripping down the colorful decoration. He wasn't sure if they were made of stone or wood, but his shoulder didn't break when he rammed himself against one (and neither did the wall). Out of breath, but full of endorphins he hadn't felt for a long time, Link surveyed the damage with a glare.

His eyes locked in on the curtain Ghirahim had told him not to open. He was already in enough trouble as it was, might as well. Ripping the dark fabric down from its poles, he watched as it fluttered to the floor and revealed a window. He shredded the other curtain best as he could, but curiosity took over and he paused his tantrum for a moment.

The curtains didn't hide much. It looked like Eldin was in the distance, the mountain stretching up over the rolling hills. It glowed in the dark night, pools of lava visible from their far distance. The darkness didn't make it clear where they were, but Link could see rolling hills and the tops of trees in the distance, just visible with the farthest reaches of the setting sun's rays behind them. The lush forests of Faron were south of Eldin, he knew, which meant they were probably somewhere in Lanayru. The window overlooked a deep chasm, stretching far out into the night and deeper than he could tell, but it didn't look like anything to hide.

He threw the chains to the glass, attempting to shatter it, to make an escape despite the nauseating height (he had never been afraid of them), but the panes didn't so much as crack. Link threw his weight against it one more time, and wonder, if he fell, what would happen to the Surface?

The glass wasn't breaking. The one thing in the room that wouldn't bend to his will, and it stopped him long enough to clear his thoughts. Link looked to the sky, wondering if just for a moment he could see the lights of Skyloft. It was impossible. Fi had told him Skyloft was on the edge of Faron and Lanayru, further west than the window allowed him to view, and even if he could pinpoint the location, the cloud barrier that kept them safe now blocked him from returning. So far away from home, he couldn't even see the blanket that kept them safe in the heavens. Link sighed, sitting down by the window, and watched the stars twinkle like the world wasn't about to end.

When Ghirahim found him, he was sitting in the wreckage of the bedroom, munching on the best bread he had ever had in his life.

"Isn't this a lovely sight to return to." The demon sighed, snapping his fingers. The chains disappeared from Link's wrists, and he thought for a moment to say thank you, but decided against it.

"What a mess." The demon tsk'ed, kicking aside an empty pillow. The feathers were strewn about the room.

"You left me alone in the dark."

Ghirahim glared at him, and though he was the room's length away, when he raised his hand Link flinched. Instead, all the damage he had done started to knit itself back together, like nothing had happened at all.

Link set down the bread, thankful he had finished his meal in time. Ghirahim's calm was unnerving. The calm before a devastating storm, he was sure.

"You're a lot less angry than I expected." He muttered, almost feeling sheepish. Goddess, if Ghirahim tried to start on the 'I'm not mad, I'm disappointed' with him, Link thought he might lose it and start crying. He couldn't stand letting others down, even if it was, well, the man keeping him captured and tied up like a naughty remlit.

"Oh, I'm livid," The demon laughed, vanishing the food with a wave of his hand. Link gulped, unable to keep his eyes up. "But I'll give you a chance to make it up to me. Choose your next words carefully."

Link fidgeted with the repaired curtains around the bed, but said nothing. He glanced at Ghirahim, waiting for him to continue, but wouldn't maintain eye contact.

"I just spoke with my Master. Despite your little stunt, it seems he's mildly impressed with you. He sees a weapon and a warrior, but one without a hand to guide it." Gently approaching Link, Ghirahim spoke as he would lash out at any second. "He wants to offer you a place in his army where he can keep a close eye on you. You're smart, Link. I'm sure you've guessed what he intends to do by now."

He will make a fine sword. Something told him Demise wasn't interested in teaching him blacksmithing.

Link scuffed his boot against the floor, and murmured, "He wants to turn me into his mindless possession."

"Watch your tongue." Ghirahim spoke calmly and clearly, but the danger in his voice was apparent. "You may have certain preconceived notions of how this arrangement may work, but I am nothing like your robotic servant. And nor will you be."

He felt like he should apologize, but Link held his tongue. He didn't really care if the demon sword was offended or not, considering he had done his fair share of ticking off Link.

"You have a choice, you know."

That caught his attention.

"What?"

"I advised him against it, but you have a choice. The Demon King will allow you to become his second sword, fight in his army, and maintain his control of the Surface if you swear loyalty to him, or," Ghirahim paused, spitting out the second choice like it was a bitter medicine, "He will allow you to live peacefully in the sky with the rest of your brethren, given that you never step foot on the Surface again and relinquish any worship of your Goddess Hylia."

Link was sure his heart stopped. Go home?

This nightmare could be over. He could be back in Skyloft, untouched, and move on like life was normal. He could attend the rest of his classes, finish the secondary knight schooling, wave to his friends in the bazaar and drink warm pumpkin soup in the hidden fields of remlits. He could be happy again.

All without Zelda.

The dreams of returning home had been crushed as soon as Ghirahim told him he found her. There was no home to return to, no normal to rebuild. He could go home empty handed, no one would blame him, and life would go on as is. No one would know about his stint as the hero (except Zelda's father, who would never resent him but would always know he failed). He could go home, leave the Surface to die, and live a monotonous life in the shadow of what used to be.

"Well?" Ghirahim snapped, his arms crossed and a foot tapping against the floor. "I don't have all day. It's not a difficult decision. You have nothing left to return to."

Something in Link snapped. All he had worked for, a childhood foregone to be raised a knight and a few weeks of playing Hylia's hero, and Ghirahim acted as if the decision to betray his people was less than choosing an outfit to wear that day. "And who's fault is that?"

Ghirahim scoffed. "Yours, I'd presume. You can't seriously still blame me for following orders, now that you know I'm nothing but a mindless possession, can you?"

Maybe some of his 'unbreakable spirit' still lived on in the form of a death wish. Link had never figured out what that meant anyway. He didn't care about the consequences when he lunged for Ghirahim, toppling them both over to the floor, scratching and clawing and punching anything he could reach.

"Everything was fine until you showed up! We didn't even think the Surface existed! You could have left all of us alone and never touched the sky, why Zelda of all the goddess damned people up there, you couldn't have left alone the one person I care about, she never did anything to anyone!"

Ghirahim was only startled long enough for Link to get a few hits in, before their positions were drastically turned. Link heard bones crack as Ghirahim caught his fist in his hand, crying out as his wrist twisted unnaturally.

"You really don't know?" The demon hissed, slapping him with his free hand and reversing their positions. Link spit but missed his face, the red tinged fluid dripping on his shoulder. Ghirahim screamed at him, unintelligible curses in a language Link didn't understand, and shoved him down to the floor so hard his vision went black. "You seriously think it was some random Hylian soul I needed? You are more foolishly naïve than I thought, and Demise was mistaken to think you could be trusted with a choice!"

Link writhed under the demon, throat sore from his shouts that only mingled with Ghirahim's threats and created a cacophonous white noise. His weak attempt at fighting only further hurt himself, the strain on his wrist and ache in his head numb to his rage.

"It's all your fault—"

"If you think I even care about one pathetic little boy's feelings—"

"If you never—and you act like I could just—"

"If you don't learn your place—"

"If you hadn't shown up in Skyview—" Link gasped in between breaths, rolling away from the fight with a sob, "With your—stupid—'You may call me Lord—I could have—gotten to Zelda faster—"

Ghirahim only laughed at his indecipherable groans. "She was never yours to save, Hylian! You speak her false name even now, when you are so far from Hylia's grace you actively shun it! You failed, hero, and by even accepting my offer your fate is sealed. Do you know what blasphemy you partake in? Do you even realize the disgrace you have placed on the name of your 'friend'"

Link buried his head in his hands, but Ghirahim hauled him up from the floor and threw open the curtains of the forbidden window.

"You see this land?"

Link didn't pay attention, and his lack of answer had Ghirahim fuming again. A hand closed around his throat, and then he was pressed to the cold glass he had tried to shatter earlier.

Visible just as the rays of morning light came over the valley was a desert chasm where nothing grew. The rocks jut out in dangerous spires and spikes like deadly blades of grass, caves and underpasses letting rays of pink light illuminate the barren land. It seemed to have no end, bottomless and deep and filled with dark, bubbling smoke.

"You come from the sky, hero, but I come from the earth. We clawed our way up into the lands of Hylia, our rightful domain, and we have finally conquered what is ours. How your gods would weep to see you now."

"Shut—" Link gasped, slamming his hands to the glass. "—up." He couldn't move very much, but was able to turn enough to stare into those eyes, bottomless and empty and soulless as the pit in front of them, and feel the guilt seep into his heart again. "You talk too much."

His neck hurt when Ghirahim slammed it to the window, keeping it at the angle he had twisted to. Wrenching his hands behind his back, Ghirahim snarled, "Your inability to craft words speaks louder than anything you could ever have to say. You will never understand, and not for my lack of trying."

"I'll give you one chance at feeble redemption." Ghirahim hissed, "I have no intention of letting you leave, despite what my Master may claim. I know he doesn't either. So, I'll give you some advice: there was never a choice. Keeping up the illusion is all that matters, so you'd best play along now."

Smooth, cold, motionless. Ghirahim was a sword through and through. His body shined like freshly polished metal, sleek and shiny but somehow with the give of human skin. Link squirmed under his hold, but couldn't escape.

After a brief, fruitless struggle, he let himself go limp.

"Fine. Fine, I'll do it." He sank to his knees, finally free to utter the words that would trap him for life. "I'll become his sword.

"Hylians are such weak things." Ghirahim sneered down at him, watching with distaste. Link heard the chime of diamonds, and knew he was alone.

He could wallow in his emotions by himself now, at least. Dread the coming punishment with proper fear.

It felt like peace.

Chapter Text

When Link woke, he was sore. It was midday then, sunlight streaming in through the window he had been forbidden to open before. He pulled himself from the bed, sore, and groggily inspected the damages.

A few bruises, some worse than others. Whatever Ghirahim had done to his wrist hurt more than ever, swollen and purple. His legs shook a little when he stood, but other than that, he seemed alive. Link nursed his broken wrist as he surveyed the room, nothing changed, the same as ever.

He noticed the red potion on the dresser, quickly gulping it down so the sting went away. He didn't wonder where it came from, or why. The black and blue faded fast, and for that, he was grateful. He would take what he could get.

There was really no turning back now. He agreed to Ghirahim's terms, barely doing damage to the ones that kept him captive. A blade that bounced off scales and a trashed room fixed with the wave of a hand did not constitute insurrection.

He couldn't even call this captivity anymore, Link thought sullenly, now that he made his choice. Just a precaution, Ghirahim had hissed in his dreams, unsure what was real and what was nightmare. A safety measure. I'm sure you understand.

He did. He agreed, after all. It was now a condition of staying alive, a fail safe to make sure he wouldn't run back to his gods at the first sign of escape. He needed to do this. This was the only way to make sure the Surface survived.

It wasn't of his own making, Link convinced himself. Ghirahim's idea, one he had been lucky to convince the demon king would work. A spark of light in the growing darkness, a small mercy Link barely deserved. He didn't choose this. There wasn't a choice, really. This was the only option.

No one explained to you what it means, did they? The demon had whispered the sweet promises, painting a beautiful picture of what his life would become. Vices and temptations he had never dreamed of, gifts he didn't ask for. Link knew they were exaggerations, but it was very appealing. He wanted it, really. This way, he'd be stronger. This way, he wouldn't fail them again.

Think of the power you'll have! Near immortality, invulnerability, increased strength, and you don't even have to lift a finger!

In the end, it was the best decision for everyone. Zelda was no longer counting on him, after all. He wasn't giving anyone false hope. This way, maybe he still had a chance at some sort of redemption. A way to control the damage.

He sighed, forcing himself back to sleep with the lies repeating in his head.

He didn't see the demon for at least three days. Food replenished itself often, Link was never without clean water, and clothes were laid out for him everyday on the chair by the window. Always something different, though no one ever saw it. He kept to a daily routine of forcing himself to eat, sleep, and bathe, keeping out of the depression he was prone to fall into.

He knew something changed when he woke up and the food was gone. The air had shifted, a heaviness hanging over him. A simple black robe hung over the chair, far less elaborate than any clothing Ghirahim had given him so far. It scratched against his skin, but it was better than nothing.

Ghirahim retuned that evening once the sun had set and the stars were back. He found Link cross-legged on the floor, watching the sky above.

"I'm sure you know where I've been." The demon murmured, soft steps padding up behind him. It was soon, too soon. Link had expected another day's time at least. Time to prepare.

He was never allowed much time.

Instead of screaming, crying, throwing all the furniture like he wanted to, Link nodded slowly, stiffly, back straight and hands folded in his lap. He was not going to back out now.

"It won't hurt too much. I promise. You'll survive. It will be wonderful."

Ghirahim stepped closer, crouching behind him with a hand to his shoulder. Link didn't flinch, didn't move, didn't acknowledge Ghirahim's presence.

"You're so sweet today. Obedient. Are you scared?"

"No." Link lied easily, and that scared him more than the prospect of turning over his spirit to Demise. He had never been a very good liar. Zelda always knew.

He was changing without the demons laying a hand on him.

"So brave, little hero." Ghirahim murmured, gently forcing him to stand. "There's nothing to fear."

The kindness hurt worse than the spitfire of the previous night.

"Can I have some food?" Is all he asked, trying to change the topic and stall as long as he possibly can. He had expected arrogance, gloating, and righteous victory from the demon, but this?

"Better not." Ghirahim hummed, but procured a stamina potion anyway. "Don't want any complications."

Link slowly sipped the thick potion as the demon darted about the room, reminding him of the first time he was presented to Demise. A few golden trinkets were dropped on the bed, and Link scowled when he saw the chains again.

"Do I have to wear them?" He whined, and at least he still had that fight left in him. Ghirahim chuckled, but he was much more gentle as he affixed golden wristlets and armbands against freckled skin.

"You'll thank me for these soon enough." Another dreaded sneer, and Link's frown deepened. He was lucky enough that the thin chains were not attached together, but not lucky enough to escape a golden collar as it clicked around his neck. Not even enough space to slip a finger beneath it, Link felt as if he were choking.

Ghirahim sighed, brushing his fingers through Link's hair. It took every fiber of his being not to shy away, waiting for the gentle touch to turn rabid as it always did. Link stood stiff as a board, not that the demon noticed nor cared.

Ghirahim didn't bother with the cosmetics this time, just the bonds around his limbs. Link shifted uncomfortably, the loose fabric brushing the top of his bare feet.

Another scripted reassurance was on the tip of Ghirahim's tongue, Link could tell, but his motions ceased. Looking back to the door, the demon set a grave hand on his shoulder.

"It's time."

Link's heart couldn't have beat faster, his nerves strung any tighter. Not that it would be a problem, soon. Ghirahim took his hand, guided him to his feet, and patted his shoulder reassuringly. It felt like an empty gesture.

"You won't regret this."

He didn't have it in him to recoil, no matter how much he wanted to.

It was as if he was outside of his body as they made their way into the hall. It wasn't him anymore, not Link as Ghirahim guided the ex-hero through the castle, twisting down, down, down dark hallways until the soft light of the moon was no more, the torches snuffed out as the demon passed by. Link shivered in the cold, and reminded himself that wouldn't be a problem anymore, either.

He didn't know where they were, but it didn't bother him much. He trusted Ghirahim in this, for some reason, that he was not being led aimlessly to his death.

Or maybe he was.

Maybe that would be easier.

His throat welled up when he tried to speak, an attempt to break the stifling tension, but his first few tries fell short. Ghirahim didn't notice, walking in front of him, until Link finally managed to choke out, "It's only been three days."

"Only three—it's nearly been two weeks, what are you talking about?" The demon scoffed. "My sword took two whole months, this is nothing. Be grateful we were able to get this done so fast with adequate results."

"But I only..." Counting the sun's rises and sets, it didn't add up. Link gritted his teeth, and had half a mind to stop in his tracks. "You said I had a choice, but this has been your plan all along, hasn't it?"

"My Master gave you a choice. I disagreed that you should have one."

Link bit down the bile in his throat. Of course Ghirahim would dangle hope in front of him, even if he denied it, and reveal later it was never an option. It set a menacing tone for his time there, but he would learn to live with it. He had to.

He shouldn't be this angry, after all, he did choose this. Even without knowing the second option was a ruse, he chose this one. His choice. His own volition. He failed, and was lucky enough to choose the consequences.

Link nearly ran into Ghirahim when he stopped at a familiar door, holding an arm out to keep Link from stumbling too far. He turned back with a gentle smile, much too kind for someone ready to hand him over to darkness.

"We're here."

It was familiar. Familiar here meant danger. Link froze, staring at the slight red glow to the sealed door, and memories of fire under his skin bled into his mind.

Ghirahim did warn him, he thought. The broken wrist wasn't punishment enough. He hadn't yet atoned for his sins.

But he couldn't. Not now.

"No, no, Ghirahim, please, I—I said I was sorry, please, later, not, not now, you can—can do it twice, just,please," Link nearly sobbed, only on his feet by Ghirahim's arm around his shoulders. His knees felt wobbly and his head swam, but distantly he heard the demon's soft murmur and a calming hand was placed over his forehead.

"Hush, no need for that. We're not here to punish you." A brush of fingers against his ear, a gloved thumb wiping away stray tears. Link felt numb.

"Think of this as a reward." Ghirahim purred, one hand still on Link and the other outstretched. "Think of this as your prize for choosing the winning team."

Ghirahim pushed open the foreboding door, new intricate patterns springing to life with the same red glow. They meant nothing to him.

Ghirahim's musings of victory and rewards offered no comfort as Link walked forward, as if marching toward his own death. For all intents and purposes, he was. The boy from Skyloft was long gone. The hero was no more.

Unlike the last time, the chamber was dark. No torches lit the path, only the angry glow of the Demon King's mane illuminating the subtle, yet drastic, changes.

Demise waited for them, new sword in hand. Distantly, Link recognized that as his future form, the vessel his soul would be trapped in for the rest of eternity. Would he still age? Could he ever die?

He couldn't see the details on the sword the demon held, from the dim lighting to the fuzzy overlay his vision had taken. Link kept putting one foot in front of the other, mechanical and impersonal, stopping short of the king. He didn't kneel this time.

Ghirahim appeared behind him again. He coaxed him forward towards a stone table, glowing with the same red runes as the door. It gave off a new source of power, a humming throb that invaded his mind and surrounded his senses. The whole room was alight with this magic, shadows dancing across the ceiling and walls as the glow flickered like flames.

The sword spirit's hands floated light on his sides. A caring touch, one he cursed as much as craved.

He made no motion, but Ghirahim didn't seem to mind his distant attitude. It was his idea, in the end. To become a sword spirit. Not Link's. Not his choice.

Never his choice.

"I helped make it, you know." Ghirahim whispered, gesturing to the lithe blade Demise held in his hand. It looked out of place. "It's awfully small, but it will adapt. Anything too big would hurt."

Link could picture the flighty demon choosing from blades and hilts like they were wedding dresses and not weapons, pointing to pieces he liked and arguing over details with tired shop merchants. In reality, he had probably forced his minions into grinding down metal, a constant yell in the background as his anger bubbled over. Link never saw that, just the finished product. A special occasion he should be happy about, and it had to be perfect.

For Link, this was an execution. A sacrifice. A rebirth.

Ghirahim's fingers pressed up against the back of his neck, warningly, before beginning his ceremonial spiel. He presented Link as a willing participant to his master, bowing and groveling and flattering the demon king with all he had. Trying to keep him appeased and calm. Demise couldn't have cared less.

Despite the fire in his stomach, Link waited patiently for Ghirahim to finish. Absently, he wondered if he would pass out early and not have to feel it for long. He never had a high pain tolerance.

That would be a mercy he didn't deserve, wouldn't it.

Finishing his monologue, Ghirahim caught Link off guard with a push forward, sending him scrambling to catch his balance, snapping him from his dissociative thoughts.

He protested still, but Ghirahim was nothing if not persistent.

"Don't fight it. It's how complications happen. You don't want to end up like your husk of a spirit, do you?"

Honestly, he wouldn't mind. No emotions meant no emotional pain, no anger or sadness or frustration. No emotions and he could watch the world burn passively. A machine, solid and simple, no will of his own. Bitterly, he thought, wasn't that what Hylia wanted of me?

It also meant he would never again be able to punish himself for the crimes he failed to prevent. It would be an escape and a mercy he had no right to claim. Choosing to forget was cowardice. He didn't deserve that mercy.

Link gave in, quivering as Ghirahim shoved him forward.

"It'll be over before you know it. Stop struggling." Ghirahim cooed, laying Link down on the cold slab. His hand drifted over his chest, where in a few hours time, a gem would appear.

Link's breathing sped up. In the corners of his mind seeped in the onset of panic, second thoughts that this wasn't the only option, guilt that he should have fought harder. He felt so vulnerable laid out on his back, primal self preservation screaming that he had exposed his soft belly to the predator and the fight was lost. Tears began to prick at the corner of his eyes, his elbows folded in instinctively to protect himself.

He heard a soft whisper of "don't", and cold, hard hands wrapped around his wrists. They struggled for a few long seconds when Link refused to follow their direction, then a snap rang through the room and the cuffs on his wrists and ankles secured themselves to the stone. Link gasped, unable to make his lungs work properly and push the air back out.

"Stop struggling." Ghirahim hissed, nails digging into his upper arm. Link whined, still frantically trying to get away as words he didn't understand invaded his ears and motions that were a blur passed by. His heart pounded harder in his chest, the blood roared louder, black spots danced across his vision as everything around him seemed to ring and scream and warn him that this was not a good idea and then—

Everything stopped. All Link could focus on was a blade held high above his chest, pointed at his heart and ready to strike.

"Wait—!"

It was too late. As whatever gods were still listening to his prayers answered with a miracle he had only hoped for, Link's vision went blurry, then black, and he could only feel the cold surround him before his consciousness faded.

Hylia... forgive me.

Waking up was a whole new torture to endure. Link first felt a twinge in his chest, near his ribs, and dismissed it.

Then it came again, slightly more painful. Link tried to move to stretch it out, but he was still solid.

The pain thawed from his ribs to his neck and stomach like spilled ink. It went from an itch, to a sharp stab, to a burning, white-hot pain that had him screaming again. The fire slowly, slowly seeped down his arm and legs, and kept burning hotter and hotter until it was flowing freely within him. A new force of life, his blood replaced with cursed ichor no god would dare spill for fear of harming themselves in the process.

It wasn't that the pain stopped, ever, but that he grew more accustomed. His body grew used to it, and the longer he lay there, the less it burned. When he had melted enough to open his eyes, Link did so to a brighter room. He was still chained to the slab, but he could rotate his head again, shift his limbs and attempt to stretch.

The fire illuminated a dark figure at his side, knelt with head resting on crossed arms upon the table.

"Oh! You're awake." Ghirahim snapped up, grabbing Link's hand. He couldn't exactly feel it. He knew Ghirahim was there, he knew the demon's hand was on his wrist, but the feeling of his skin against his was missing. Ghirahim gave him a harsh grin, and quipped, "I was afraid you'd been melted down too much."

Frowning, Link tried to pull his hand back. Ghirahim was, of course, stronger, but it didn't help that Link didn't really try to escape. He was caught by the sight of black against green, a shimmering diamond pattern synching up with each other's hand.

"See? It wasn't that bad, was it?" The sword cooed, letting go of Link's fingers to gently stroke his wrist. The chain that had kept him in place was no longer holding him down, but the glint of gold was still there. Link slowly raised his free arm in front of his eyes, rotating his wrist with curiosity. Where once was a bracelet was now a mark of some kind, like a tattoo or scar.

A sharp ache resonated from his chest, and cautious fingers revealed the gem centered just below his throat. The ache was more than physical, like a rock crushing his soul.

Shifting his head back, Link let it rest on the stone, becoming aware of how different everything felt.

Surprisingly, he could still feel, even if it was a corrupted mimicry of what it used to be. His limbs were stiff and sore, but that was to be expected. An ever-present pressure enveloped his mind, if he were lacking something, desperate for a missing piece he couldn't quite place.

Ghirahim smiled down at him, finally retracting his touch. Link felt sick as the demon's soulless gaze slid over his body, something akin to the way he inspected his own wooden sculptures filling his empty white eyes.

(He was sure, despite the ache in his very being that he assumed to be a soul, that his eyes must have been as empty and void as Ghirahim's. He tried not to imagine it.)

"You're really very pretty, Link—an emerald sort of green. Green and gold, and your gem is gorgeous. Like the sky. I'm almost jealous."

Slender fingers traced the planes of the pyramid, and Link shivered. It didn't feel good, nor was it particularly bad. Just... different. Everything hurt, and he made to sit up, but could only cry out as his limbs cracked and creaked like rusty gears.

Ghirahim rushed to press a hand behind his back, helping as Link swung his legs off the table.

"Oh, careful, careful, not so fast! It's difficult to get used to, yes, but before you know it you'll understand. And this!"

Link jerked back as Ghirahim brushed over his new gem, Link wincing at the sudden pressure. It didn't stop Ghirahim from manhandling his body, forcing him to his feet and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. The grind of metal on metal set Link's teeth on edge.

"Yes, yes, it's sensitive. Get used to it. Wait until our Master first pulls your sword."

Link shuddered. Even in his jumbled state he knew he didn't want Demise going anywhere near him.

"Soon enough, I'll teach you to shift forms. Not now, don't even try now. You need rest, to heal."

Ghirahim helped him stand on his own two feet, Link wobbly as he held on for dear life. The other spirit only laughed gently at his struggle, sighing when Link glanced forlornly towards the exit.

"I expect you're feeling lost. I was too when I woke up, but Master was there for me. Unfortunately, he had matters to attend to, but I can take you to him now. The ache will dull, eventually, and you'll be able to stray further with only a weak bond, but for now, you yearn, don't you? You simply ache with the need to serve? To be used?"

He hated the way Ghirahim was right. He hated that the demon had put it into words, this new feeling that was eating him from the inside out. Link hated it, but nodded, and bit down any complaints.

"Come now," The sword cooed, taking Link's arm with his own, "It's time I introduce you to our Master."

Everything was a haze. Link was familiar with having his head in the clouds, but this was... like nothing he had ever experienced. He was acutely aware of each step he took forward, Ghirahim's hand on the small of his back pushing him along. Each hallway they passed through felt endless, every door a looming entity that was going to eat him alive. His whole body ached, but distantly, as if a memory of pain he was reliving. It didn't feel real.

It felt like they had been walking for hours, but the next second, Link found himself at the foot of the throne. One minute they had been turning around a deserted corridor, then he blinked, and now he was so close to Demise he could feel his blood boil hotter. There was a pull deep within him, a siren calling him closer to the beast watching his every move.

Ghirahim said something with a flourish. Demise responded. Link fell to a knee. It all seemed very formal, but with his head spinning, he couldn't focus on the details. His head was down and he was able to concentrate on the smooth tile of the floor, and then the room was spinning and there were hands on his arms. Every time he tried to get a grip on reality, it flitted away as fast as it came.

Like a beacon in pitch darkness, Link's chest lit up with sensations he couldn't describe if he tried. A claw curled around his gem, tugging none too gently, and for the first time since pulling Fi from her pedestal, he felt purpose. He wanted this. He wanted to follow the hand as it pulled away, chasing the power that coursed through him.

Instead, the claw retraced with inhuman speed. Link couldn't follow fast enough if he tried. It left him reeling. Lost in the murky abyss again, he fell to his knees, curled in a ball.

There was a vague grunt of displeasure, and Link nearly sobbed. His fault. It was his fault they felt that way. He could sense it like the emotion was projected through a mirror, bouncing off the glass and giving him a second-hand reflection. Like a string connecting him to another, frustration seeping down the path until Link felt the full force of the other's anger. The hand that would wield him was rejecting him.

"He's not ready."

"Well, no, Master, it's—it's only been a few hours, you can't expect a weak thing like him to—"

More words were exchanged, angry, disappointed. Link kept his head down as he was yanked away, too rough for his creaking joints (but he deserved it). He had failed. He didn't want him. He wasn't strong enough.

Part of his brain told him it's happening again, but that was drowned out by the constant stream of need to make things right for the one he was connected to.

Apologies were thrown into the air, but they were half-hearted. Link could only feel frustration towards him.

His whole world spun, and they were back in the room with six red walls. Ghirahim's bedroom. It looked the same, as if nothing had changed at all.

"Gods damn it all!"

Link flinched when the sound of shattering glass filled the room, Ghirahim's angered shouts cutting through his haze. Quivering, he flattened himself against the bedpost as Ghirahim broke several more fragile objects, the floor once more littered with the broken remains of his possessions.

When he turned to Link, his eyes looked feral. Deep black cracks sliced his face open (which had become grey again, when had it changed?). His fangs on display as he snarled, Link stood frozen as he was sure the anger would be directed to him.

It did. Ghirahim only spared him a venomous glance, before Link found himself struck so hard he was on the floor. He hadn't felt the blow.

When Link looked back, Ghirahim was gone.

A tiny place in the back of his mind was still feeling another's anger, translated in his own emotions as fear and shame. He was a disappointment. A mistake. A burden.

. . .Why?

Was this not what they wanted from him? They took everything, and still, somehow, it wasn't enough.

Ghirahim had promised perfection. He had promised strength, invulnerability, acceptance. He had promised beauty.

He didn't feel beautiful. He felt weak, and wrong, a cursed thing that not even his master would claim.

Link was never very good with feelings, even when his mind wasn't a mess of molten lava and stiff iron. His throat and brain didn't often connect, voice lost to the wind and found amongst the clouds more times than he could count. He hated Ghirahim.

At least he still had emotions, right.

Link found out quickly that he couldn't sleep. He didn't need to do that anymore.

Hours later, after the rage had cooled down, Ghirahim had joined him again. His polar emotions had swung the other way on the pendulum, back to the sickly sweet pity Link never asked for.

"You look almost blue in this light. Brings out the color of your gem."

Fingers traced the sensitive crystal, and Link let out a soft noise. In the silent room it sounded like a wounded cry, but the touch lingered for a second too long.

"Viridian." Ghirahim breathed, admiring it almost distantly, "is what I'd call it."

Link murmured that all he wanted to do was sleep.

"I mean, you can, but it's going to take some time to learn all those human things again. Like breathing. I find breath to be quite the dramatic flair, though wholly unnecessary. Oxygen and metal create imperfections, after all. It only causes problems."

So instead, he lay motionless on the bed, trying to find a calm in the chaos. Ghirahim had ceased pacing to stand vigil at the foot of the bed, studying him with sharp eyes. He had shifted back to the same from as Link, trying to find some common ground and set an example. Link wasn't sure it was working as intended, and came off more intimidating than anything.

"Despite your kind's inherent weakness, I can still make the best out of this. He can't reject you, not after we've made it this far."

Link shrugged him off.

"Well, don't be huffy about it." The demon lord sighed, weight shifting from his stiff watch. "It's not like you can reverse it now."

A glint of light bounced off the dark mass on Link's chest. He tried to cover it with his hands, but the sapphire still shone through his fingers. Ringed with permanent gold, even those were a constant reminder of what he had done.

"I don't know if I made the right choice." The young sword whispered, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to see any part of himself. He felt trapped in his own skin, joints as stiff as metal and they creaked with every move he made.

"Why does it matter if it was right?" Ghirahim sighed, becoming increasingly annoyed with Link's doubts. "It can't be undone. Don't bother yourself with it."

"I just feel—"

Link found himself pinned to the bed in a flash. The sudden motion made his stomach churn, though there was nothing he could possibly throw up. Blinking open his empty eyes, he stared at the demon above him, frightfully anticipating his next move.

"Don't worry about what's right and wrong anymore. That is no longer your call." Harsh fingers gripped Link's wrists, and despite his recent upgrade, Ghirahim was still stronger. Metal grinded against metal, and in the darkness of the bedroom, his white fangs flashed mirthlessly. "Morality is not your place. What is right is up to our Master. Cherish your newfound freedom from such trivial ethics."

He wanted to. Oh, goddess, how he wanted to. Link squirmed beneath Ghirahim's uncomfortable grip, grinding their skin together worse than before, and it only made his restraints stronger. The demon growled, shoving his forearm across Link's neck to silence and sedate him.

He did not choke. As Ghirahim so tactfully pointed out, breath was a luxury he had not relearned.

Another reminder how human he was not.

"If you're going to be this pitiful, I may as well send you back to the dungeons. That's where I was banished my first night as a spirit, you should be grateful you have my assistance at all." Ghirahim hissed, teeth grazing Link's ear. His struggling did not still, and Ghirahim raised a hand to slap him across the face.

Link jerked back, though it held little pain. Before, Ghirahim's slaps were damaging enough that he often needed to heal, but now it was light. Like tapping a remlit with his toe to get it to shoo away. It was the humiliation of the action that kept Ghirahim doing it.

"Or, would you rather I let our Master deal with you? He would certainly not be as kind as I nor the dungeons. Were you to relay these thoughts to him, he'd make you beg for the fire in comparison."

That scared Link enough to still. After a solid minute of staredown, Ghirahim rolled off, laying on his back with a sigh. "Really, sky child, you had every chance to back out. This was never the only choice, yet it is the one you made. You will see it to completion."

That was final. The demon snapped his fingers, and was right back at the foot of the bed where he started. Stark white patterns looked like netting over him, tying him down to his fate. A fate that was now Link's to share.

Ghirahim was right. It wasn't like he had much choice now. Rising to the edge of the bed, Link sat up, staring out to the window that was always kept closed. The curtains fluttered from an unseen breeze, and Link wondered if Ghirahim had left it open. If he could find his way out, were he fast enough now. If he fell, would he hurt at all when he hit the ground.

No matter how he tried to distract himself, he could still feel. Though watered down like a reflection, looking through misty glass, it was there. Fire in his very soul, a neediness for something (or, rather, someone) that had died down after the past few hours but was nowhere near satiated, the itchiness of his skin. Ghirahim had told him he could go back to "normal" after a few days, but until then, he waited in his new form. And he regretted.

Oh, how he regretted. Link was distracted from his thoughts, but they were still there. He missed home. He missed Zelda. He missed what he could have been, had he not been such a failure.

"Oh, for someone so quiet, you think so damn loud." Ghirahim groaned, slamming a palm to the wooden post. Link jumped, startled at the contact, and nearly fell off the bed.

"Come here, then, if you're so antsy." Ghirahim grabbed his arm, dragging him to the window. Link fought it vainly.

"Oh, what now?" The spirit cursed, never letting go of his arm, the feel of iron and obsidian on whatever he was made of making his skin crawl.

"Hurts." Link simply offered, struggling to get his arm from Ghirahim's. "Metal on metal. Not exactly pleasant."

"Well, you better get used to it. It's what swords were made for." The spirit sighed, but as he did, diamonds filtered into the air. Link blinked, and Ghirahim was human(ish) again.

"Sit. Watch the stars, you seem to find peace in that. You need rest, even if sleep evades you."

Almost in a trance, he followed the instructions, and he finally let himself relax. Marginally. Ghirahim was still right behind him, looming over him as a guard.

"You needn't worry anymore." Ghirahim hummed, soft skin petting Link's smooth hair. He shushed him though he had no tears from his eyes and no breath for sobs, and Link felt so, so alone.

"Our Master can give you everything you need, if you would only let him."

Chapter Text

When morning came, Link found himself alone once again.

He had wanted to protest, struggling to grasp at some lasting taste of human connection, but Ghirahim abandoned him in a sparse room void of decoration. You don't deserve luxuries, yet, he had said. Prove yourself changed, and we'll grant you little freedoms. Can't have you slipping back into your old role because of memories.

Link didn't think Demise actually cared about that stuff, but Ghirahim was the one in charge of keeping him alive. Demise was just the one to hold his hilt.

He was allowed the day to rest, riddled with self doubt and loathing, floating between anger and emptiness. Most of his time was spent on the stiff bed, staring at a blank ceiling, wondering if he could disconnect his mind from his body if he tried hard enough.

Ghirahim came for him that evening.

"Have you even moved since I left you?"

Link declined to answer.

"This behavior is unacceptable." Ghirahim snarled, appearing by his bedside. "It ends now."

Link turned his head expressionlessly, indifferent to the sword's growing anger.

As he was dragged from his less-than-comfortable lodgings to stand motionless in front of a cracked mirror, Link's body moved on autopilot. Just as the first time the demon prepared him to meet his master, he flitted around him like a hummingbird, examining his new body with grating scrutiny.

Link found he was still capable of discomfort, at the very least.

"You're so small... pathetic," Ghirahim hissed, mostly to himself, dancing around as if circling Link would suddenly make him grow. "He'll tear you apart if he tries again."

"Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing." Link muttered before he could catch himself. Ghirahim's anxious fluttering ceased, replaced with a dangerous silence.

"You are lucky I have grown used to your insipid mouth. These comments will not be as appreciated in court."

Though the action strained his stiff new skin, Link's face contorted into a frown. "How was I supposed to know? You make them all the damn time."

He startled when a hand wrapped around his neck from behind, more so keeping him in place than cutting off air (though the threat surely would have choked him before). Head tilted back to escape the pressure Ghirahim forced on his spine, Link stared him down from their reflection in the mirror.

"You will do well to keep silent unless spoken to, and hold your tongue," The hissed voice cut through the chilled air like a knife, shadows creeping closer as if goaded on by Ghirahim's anger, "or else I will uphold my promise to cut it from your lips."

The pressure on his neck was released, but Link felt no relief.

"Understood?"

Dropping his heated gaze, he nodded in quick, jerky movements.

"I'll allow that." Darting away, Ghirahim stood by the only exit, a door made of a deep colored wood, the only break from the drab stone walls. "But see, that was an example of when you would speak aloud. You vex me, sky child. Were manners not a subject taught to your knights? I thought your kind held their protectors to the highest degree of propriety and civility."

"Rhetorical question." The demon added, a pointed look at Link's open lips. "Very well then, we have places to be."

When Ghirahim snapped his fingers, it was not to disappear as he so often did, but to beckon Link to his side. Not particularly wanting to obey but not want to anger him further, Link followed after, down dark hallways lit by dim torches. Shadows slithered across the windows, but Link couldn't tell if they were clouds covering the moon or monsters slinking in the dark.

While more alert than the last time, Link still felt as if he were walking through a cloud, in a haze as the doors to the throne room screeched open. The echoing hall was still save for their roar, void of any life. Even the black throne was empty, its master noticeably absent.

A strangled hiss brought Link to alertness, Ghirahim's agitation making itself known. The demon had a hand to his temple, teeth gritted and eyes squeezed shut. "He was just here, what's the point of parading you about in this weakened state if he won't even show up? I advised him it was too soon, another day at least, time to prepare, but no, bring him now, I must have it now, always now, now, now!"

"Ghirahim?" Link said his name gently, afraid of angering the demon mumbling to himself and bringing his ire down on him.

"It's fine." He snapped, straightening himself up. "It's only proper we wait on him rather than he on us. Though, after thousands of years trapped as he was, you'd think he'd appreciate how quickly I can follow much less complicated orders."

"I have all the time in the world to attend at my leisure, Ghirahim, now that the world is mine."

Twisting on his heel, the demon stumbled back, frantically trying to save face in front of his master.

"Master! There you are! I left to bring back your blade for only a moment, I said it wouldn't take long, I would have thought saying you wanted him immediately meant immediately, forgive me, I didn't think you'd leave so quickly—"

"Enough." Demise silenced him with a wave of his hand, and Ghirahim dropped to one knee. Following his example, Link sank down himself, albeit with much more difficulty.

The demon king began to stalk towards them, heavy footsteps echoing in the throne room. "Has he shown any improvement?"

"Marginally, Master, but I did advise you already that more time would..." At a stern glare, Ghirahim's jaw snapped shut. "... be helpful, but not necessary."

Like a bird circling prey, Demise approached Link almost curiously, ignoring Ghirahim for the time being. Link stayed as still as he possibly could, a task he found easier than when he was human.

Finally, Demise stopped in front of him. With his head dipped out of fear more than respect, Link saw little of the king.

"Rise."

He obeyed without complaint. The action made his joints creak and body protest, but Link stood firm with his head raised at the demon.

Demise continued to inspect the human form of his new blade, molten eyes raking in his lithe form. A sharp claw scrapped painfully from his shoulder to his gem, tapping against the sensitive stone in a way that sent painful vibrations throughout his whole being.

"What you don't understand, my sword," Demise began in his deep rumble, pressing his palm to Link's chest. "Is that if my blade cannot be drawn, he is worthless. Should this kill him, he is too weak to serve me, and it will be no loss."

The king caught Link's eye, narrowing his own at the terror he could sense from him. "Stay still. Do not run from this."

If Link had a heart it would have stopped. Instead, he could only obey, frozen as if chained to the floor, as excruciating pain rippled through his body. It wasn't a swift tug, but a long, slow, dull pull as inch by inch a solid hilt was torn from his chest. Link let his head hang back with a low moan, arms dangling useless at his sides.

His vision was fading, blurry around the edges with a white fog creeping in. The throne room spun though he was motionless, a twisting façade that looked as if it were fading from reality. Out of the corner of his eye, Ghirahim stood a stoic statue, watching the torturous scene with as blank of an expression as was expected of a living weapon.

Link was tired. Oh so very tired. He felt as if he were floating, feet not really touching the ground and head not attached to his body. The pain grew numb, ebbing and fading and rearing up again, a burn that churned his molten blood and muffled his thoughts. If he closed his eyes... maybe it would end... maybe it all would end....

He was not so lucky. With one last slide of the blade, Demise unsheathed the weapon from his chest. The momentum pulled Link forward, crashing to his knees at the demon's feet in a forced half-bow.

"Well." The pleased chuckle echoed around the hall, mirthless and cruel. "He has exceeded the bare minimum. Let's see if this blade will prove himself worthy of my hand."

The room was still fuzzy, but a sharp desire pierced through his haze. A call, an order, a beckoning Link couldn't place. It grew louder and louder, a persistent scream that made his skin crawl and head ache. He couldn't take it much longer, succumbing to the anguish and hoping it would simply end.

Link saw the tips of his fingers fading away to diamonds through his heavy lidded eyes, and everything ceased to be.

The vague sounds of an argument floated between his ears, a jumbled mess in a void he couldn't find his way out of. Link groaned, dull pain coursing through his body, and the noises stopped.

From somewhere far away he could feel a hand graze his shoulder, and a thunderous don't pulled it back. There was a frustrated huff, but the feeling of someone being close didn't leave. Link slowly blinked open his eyes, too-bright light flooding his vision.

"A swordsman that takes proper care of their swords will experience the benefits of a sharp blade much longer."

"Ghirahim." The lower voice rumbled, a dangerous edge to its tone. "Did I ask for your advice?"

Link finally saw the world come into focus, Ghirahim's dark form sitting next to him on his knees.

"No, master." The other spirit sighed, gaze traversing Link's prone body. He didn't look worried, per se, but there hidden in his annoyance was a concern uncommon to the demon.

"Don't think this will go unpunished. You've grown far too bold in my absence."

"Forgive me, master." Ghirahim grumbled, rising to his feet. He didn't leave Link's side as the spirit pushed himself to sit, but refused to look at him any longer, frowning at some unseen corner of the throne room.

Demise's anger did not rear its ugly head, but Link could feel the tension in the air like a thick soup. He blinked up at the towering demon, dazed and confused, gnawing guilt eating away at his mind from some unknown source.

He could feel his master's disappointment like a knife in his stomach. Even without being able to see him quite clearly or hear every word he said, the acid in his throat was screaming it.

"He must learn to recover on his own. You are dismissed."

"What?" Ghirahim snapped, turning on his heel. His fangs flashed, lips curled in a snarl that frightened Link even though it was not directed at him. "You can't—he's fragile in this state, he needs me, another sword, otherwise you may cause permanent damage—"

"I will do whatever I want with what I own." Demise's low roar filled the room "This... attachment you've grown is unhealthy. Perhaps you two need some time away from each other. A codependent blade will fail in battle when it looses its twin."

"Twin," Ghirahim sneered, "Is a strong word for a blade half the caliber of my own. I would not consider him nearly as capable as myself, which is why he needs guidance."

"You are not helping your cause, sword."

Ghirahim stumbled back like he had been struck, the look of hurt on his face unusually personal. Link stiffened when the demon sent a quick glare in his direction.

"I will deal with you later. You will leave now, if you know what's good for you."

With his head turned haughtily, Ghirahim stalked from the throne room with silent, seething grace. Burning eyes traced every step, future threats tossing about in their endless voids.

That charred gaze turned to Link as soon as great doors closed with a boom, no less enraged as it focused on another.

"Get up."

The order sent shivers through his body, and though it pained him greatly, Link obeyed. Demise raised the blade, the other half of Link, slicing it through empty air with a snarl.

It was... a strange feeling. He couldn't describe it with the words he had known as a human. To be in two places at once and yet not at all, alive but not living. The demon stomped forward, thrusting the sword in front of Link's face.

"Tell me, little hero," His low rumble washed over him in waves, a sharp ringing in his ears as the blade drew nearer to his face, "what you remember of your time within your new vessel?"

"I..." Link grimaced as the blade nearly brushed his face, the sound stinging and acrid. He grit his teeth trying to remember, but there was too much all at once to form an coherent thought. "I don't... know."

He wasn't expecting the swift backhand, and slid across the floor from the force of it.

"Get up." Drug to his feet, Link screamed as the sword was plunged back into his gem only to be pulled out just as quick, folding into a pile at the king's feet.

"Unacceptable. A spirit must be alert and aware during battle in order obey their master."

"But you didn't... call on me..." Link mumbled, thinking of how Fi only appeared when she was needed. He couldn't have expected him to know when to offer advice.

"You will learn soon I do not allow my servants to speak to me in such insolent tones."

Link yelped as his raw gem was kicked, folding in on himself to protect it as best he could.

"Speak only when spoken to, blade. Understood?"

"Yes." Link hissed through gritted teeth, clutching his sensitive chest.

"Yes, master. If Ghirahim had mentioned your attitude, I would never have accepted his proposal to keep you alive. He has grown dull in my absence and any suggestion he has to offer is stale."

Link forced out the amended statement, rolling over to watch the demon wander away as if he hadn't just caused him unimaginable pain.

"Between you and him, it will be far too much work before I can attend to my kingdom." His sigh came with a flare of the fire on his head, scarred forehead pinched between two large fingers.

Out of the corner of his eye, Demise glanced Link's direction, watching darkly as the spirit perked up.

"Oh? Does that please you, hero?" It was said mockingly, no hint of anger in the snarl. Link shrank back. "Do you think, from your position, you have any power still to prevent the destruction of your world?"

Frantically shaking his head as if that would appease him, Link scrambled back as the demon stomped forward, pictures flashing in his mind of the horrible tortures the king would inflict on him for this disobedience. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the blow.

It never came.

"I will offer you a deal." Completely unexpected, Demise sneered down at Link's cowering form, scaled arms crossed his broad chest. "If you can revert back to your original form this very moment, here on this floor, I will spare the surface as many days as seconds long you maintain such a form."

Seconds? Link's hope soared, a shining light in the darkness. A chance, finally, to right his wrongs. Determined, he nodded his agreement, a stiff assent to sign the contract.

"However," Demise warned, danger glinting in his eye, "if you fail to transform at all, I will raze all you knew before your traitorous eyes."

It did not scare him. Did he have any choice? The world would end whether he tried or not. He had to do all he could to prevent the destruction he had been fated to defeat. Link kept the king's stare, refusing to submit just this once.

"I'll do it."

The king's booming laugh shook the floor, head thrown back as fire surged around his features. "Very well. Let's see then, sword."

Then came the problem. He didn't exactly know how to do what he was asked, but it couldn't be that hard, could it? It seemed easy enough, inherent in his nature. He was first human after all, and no matter how far he strayed he should always be able to turn to the source.

Closing his eyes, Link imagined the metal fading away. The gem disappearing, skin turning soft, eyes brilliant blue and bright.

Demise was laughing again, a mocking chuckle at his stupidity. Link used it to his advantage, imaging human skin blushing, signs of embarrassment distinctly human.

It wasn't working. Link took a deep breath, forcing air into nonexistent lungs, and everything seemed to snap into place.

Oh, what a mistake it was.

Link released the air in a violent scream, crumbling to the floor as unimaginable pains wracked his body. Curling in on himself was deemed a mistake, as the terrible squeezing in his chest felt as if his gem was receding beneath the skin. Writhing, he squirmed as feeling returned, the sharp coldness of the floor biting.

He found it easiest to lay on his back, arms and legs spread, trying to keep as little contact between pieces of skin as possible. Everything was too sensitive, too much, too vulnerable. The gem still felt as if it were burrowing into his chest, carving out a cavity where a human heart should have rested.

He could breathe again, though it was no joy. It felt as if he couldn't stop, though his body recognized he didn't need it and rejected oxygen. His chest heaved, each movement sharply jostling the gem, stabbing pains striking his sternum.

It was torture. All he wanted to do was let it end, to sink back into the comfort of a non-viable body, lifeless metal a release of this pain. But Link cracked open his stinging eyes, saw Demise's fiery stare, and knew giving in would hurt worse.

He lay there, suffering and shivering, straining as he twisted and turned to find any relief. He tried, so hard did he try, but it wasn't enough. Tears started to leak from his eyes, though his throat was parched and dry and his head ached as if dehydrated. He hadn't had sustenance in days, and now that his body thought it was human again, it was starting to scream for it.

His stomach ached, skin stung, throat and lungs burned and struggled to remain open. He was starting to shut down, wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and sleep.

He couldn't. Opening his mouth to release a violent cry, he forced himself to his hands and knees, trying to prolong this as long as he could. Coughing was a new torture, stiff seizures and grating scrapes to his throat. He tried to force himself to his knees, to sit up, but he failed to move his muscles. He fell, exhausted, to the floor, unable to maintain the glamor any longer.

Turning back happened much faster, though Link's numbness and lack of senses helped. He returned to the new, corrupted form, viridian cheek pressed to the floor in the mix of tears and dirt.

A grunt from the king was the only recognition for his struggles. Footsteps resounded through the hall, an omen of defeat Link couldn't yet accept.

"Wait!" Link cried, a hand outstretched in a meager attempt to stop his retreat. The king paused, allowing him a merciful moment to plead and beg.

"How.... long?"

The silence stretched between them, tense and festering. Link had no energy left to worry, but the nagging guilt that he should.

"You have one hundred and thirteen days." Demise's lip curled as he scoffed the number. "I will say you managed to surprise me, pathetic as that display was. I will keep my word."

Sighing, Link relaxed against the tile. No longer was it a painfully sharp coldness to his skin, no longer did its unforgiving hardness hurt. He closed his eyes, resigned to acceptance.

Demise did not acknowledge him further. With one last order, he let him wither away on the floor of the throne room, lying in his own unnatural gore.

"You and Ghirahim are not to convene with each other unless it is in my presence, by my order, until further notice." Abandoning Link to whatever matters he had elsewhere, Demise strode leisurely out of the throne room. As he reached the doors, without looking back, he rumbled, "You are lucky. But know this: when the time comes for the world to meet its fate, you will have the power to do nothing but watch."

Shaking, Link held his arms over his chest in a poor attempt to comfort himself. The great doors slammed shut, and he was alone.

Chapter Text

Link was left on his own for the next few days with a ticking time bomb over his head; a countdown to a deadline and a looming fate he could not escape, only able to watch and wait. He had a little less than two months to stop Demise, which was more time than he was given on his quest, if he thought about it. At least this had a set end.

After Demise left him alone in the throne room, it took Link hours before he could force himself to stand and wobble through the darkened hallways. They were scattered with a few nocturnal soldiers, still hidden beneath armor that could make them pass as human. If Ghirahim and Demise were anything to go by, Link knew they looked far from it.

They mostly left him alone. A few seemed to stare at him as he limped by their posts, but with the helmets unmoving and eyes unseen, he had no proof. No one spoke to him, at least, and Link wasn't even sure if he would understand their language had they tried.

He wandered the sparse halls for what felt like days on end, but he found his allotted room when the first rays of sun glittered on the cracked stones. Finally locked away from the outside world, he sank down against the door, defeated.

For the first time in his life, he had no one to turn to. There had always been someone ready to lend an ear when he cared to voice his troubles (usually Zelda), an intricate support system he benefited from and played into on the tiny island of Skyloft. Even in this underworld he had relied on Ghirahim (though he only felt hatred for the demon, as draining his presence was). Now, forbidden from seeing each other, Link was beginning to miss it.

This empty loneliness stretched out like his short period of grief. Once more did the sun rises and sets blend together, but Link now had a reason to keep track, watching each star cross the sky as it screamed at him to hurry up and save the world. There was no reason for him to leave his room, and so all he could do was wait.

He tried once to get his human form back, but the pain was still unbearable, and without an incentive to maintain, not worth it. Link would rather waste the hours staring at the ceiling than try again. The thought would have once seemed like torture, but now that he was metal, the restlessness in his bones was gone.

Four days in and he felt an aching persistence to leave. Like a string tied to his chest, tugging his heart out and dragging him behind. He ignored it as long as he could, but the temptation grew too strong until his mind was filled with nothing but the intention, and he could resist no more.

His body was on autopilot as he went through the motions, each footstep leading him closer to a goal he did not recognize. It was only when he was face to face with the solid stone doors of the throne room did he fall back into himself.

Link stood there blinking blankly, watching the swirling fire dance its hypnotizing path through the carved patterns. As he reached a hand out to touch them, the doors swung open, leaving him with a sickness in his stomach and an outstretched arm in the open doorway.

Demise was sitting on his throne at the end of the stretch of carpet, Ghirahim at the base of the throne watching Link like a hawk. Scoffing, the spirit flipped his hair as Link approached quietly.

"I told you he wouldn't understand." The sword griped, glaring daggers at Link. Stiffening, the young spirit halted in his tracks, eyes flashing from demon to demon.

"Silence." Demise snapped, ignoring his sword's frustrated pout. "It took you too long to heed my summons.

"I didn't know—" Link began, but at Ghirahim's bared teeth, he dropped his gaze. "I'm sorry, master."

"Since you are here now," the king slowly rose to his feet, regarding the two with a sneer, "As I told Ghirahim, I did not keep you around to be a trophy, pretty and useless as you are."

Though his cheeks did not burn, Link still felt the hot caress of embarrassment. He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to hide within himself.

"So. Prove your worth. Both of you." Demise growled, gesturing to the open hall. "Show me my swords will hold up in a fight."

Link was confused, but Ghirahim seemed to understand the order with no hesitation. Drawing a sword from thin air, he held the blade back in a deep lunge, readied to strike were it not for Demise stopping him.

"Ah, no." The dark king chuckled, the fire of his hair flaring up to show his amusement. "With your swords."

Ghirahim's body stiffened, a horror laying over the room like dense fog.

"But, Master—"

All it took was a raised brow for Ghirahim's jaw to snap shut, focus turned to Link in the blink of an eye.

He stalked his prey with the precision of a predator, descending the steps one calculated footfall at a time. In a whispers, almost mockingly sympathetic, his voice laid the path for his arrival.

"Well, you heard. Draw your sword."

Link stumbled as he tried to escape Ghirahim's approach, unable to outrun him and the consequences worse if he tried.

"But I don't know—"

"Then perish by my blade!"

With an anguished yell, Ghirahim ripped his own sword from his chest, grey skin simmering away with ashes and ember. He nearly collapsed from the sudden expulsion, chest heaving from the strain it put on him. Empty white eyes stared up from where he stood, hunched over, blade driven into the stone floor so harshly it cracked.

Link's eyes darted from Demise to Ghirahim, frozen in fear as the other spirit gathered himself. Neither offered any advice, and once again, Link was forced to figure out his new body on his own. His hand wavered over his gem, the threat of pain preventing him from going further.

He had no choice. Without knowing what he was doing, on a whim and a prayer he plunged his hand into the gem. The sensation was alarming, not quite painful but certainly not pleasant. Shoving his hand into a solid object turned gelatinous would do that.

It felt as if he had sunk his hand into his own internal organs.

Link gritted his teeth, but persevered. He felt his fingers wrap around a hard cylinder, and with the little strength he had, he pulled. He displayed his pain with pitiful whimpers, shaking hands, and quiet resignation, much unlike Ghirahim's violent rage. Counting on the spirit waiting for him to have an equal chance before attacking him, Link slowly revealed his blade, drawing on Ghirahim's honor he claimed to uphold even though he saw him as inferior.

Finally, the blade came dislodged from its sheath, and both were armed.

Link's shoulder shook as he held the sword out in front of him, knees wobbling. Ghirahim growled, stumbling forward as he tried to perform his signature dash, but faltering the entrance. Link had only a second to prepare himself before metal clashed on metal, the sparks dancing off their second bodies.

He wasn't expecting to feel when it happened. As Ghirahim's black rust came in contact with his shimmering steel, the scrape of the blades burned like an abrasion on his skin, a sharp screech as the swords slid off each other. Ghirahim grimaced, the only indication it hurt, but Link nearly fell to the floor in pain.

He had but a moment to limp away, missing Ghirahim's next attack by mere inches. Spinning on his heel, he was met with a swipe by his upper arm, a slinging blow that was weaker than should be expected of the demon.

Link had no chance to attack, only using his blade to defend himself (though with the blade being himself, it wasn't doing much to defend). A glancing blow here, a sharp rap as they came down on each other, hits and punches in the form of a swordfight. Neither drew blood, neither managed to get an upper hand on the other, and Demise grew impatient.

They could both sense it, staring at each other from across the makeshift battlefield. Link held the hilt with both hands, knees weak and shaking, as Ghirahim bared his sharp fangs. Cowering, Link covered his head with the blade, a blow sent from above harsh enough to topple him over.

From his hands slipped his sword, each clattering slide against the floor a striking pain he felt. Unarmed, Link brought his hands to protect his chest, the blue gem pulsing like a racing heartbeat.

Ghirahim followed him down, straddling him with the dark metal raised above his head. His silver gem glinted in the castle light, reflections of Link's own terrified face distorted in the sheen. Snarling, feral, and unnerving, the demon brought the blade down, going for the kill.

"Stop."

Barely touching the enemy beneath him, Ghirahim's muscles tensed. He was forced to sit with foaming mouth, trying to exact his revenge but unable to disobey.

Demise approached the scene carefully, deep rumbles vibrating from his chest. The chuckling grew louder till he was darkly laughing, taking sick pleasure from his servants' twisted showcase.

"Pitiful. I would have expected better of you, Ghirahim. He is an easy win, yet you struggle."

"I'm sorry." The sword's arms fell limp, blade shimmering out of existence. Without taking his eyes off Link, he stood, waiting for his next order.

"And you, little hero." Demise addressed Link, gesturing for him to stand up. Link scrambled to his feet, standing stiff next to Ghirahim. "You have put up quite more of a fight than I thought.... maybe I will get a good blade out of you yet."

Dismissing them with a waved hand, Demise ignored the curt bow and mumbled acceptance from his experienced spirit. Link refused to move from his spot, waiting for Ghirahim to leave out of fear of what the spirit would do when they were alone.

The king glanced back at the two of them, and between the fear on Link's face and the hatred on Ghirahim's, he must have realized the danger were they to be left alone.

"You are still not to be together without my supervision." He ordered, remaining until one of them left.

With a snarl, Ghirahim vanished into diamonds.

Still afraid, Link cautiously approached the king, soft footfalls still clinking against the floor. "Lord Demise?"

He did not turn back, but grunted in recognition, and Link took it as permission to speak. "I... I'm still not sure what you... want from me."

The king slowly turned around, flaming eyes curiously inspecting him. Link straightened his back, fidgeting under the stern gaze.

"I want your complete submission." He finally rumbled, stalking closer. "I want you to forget such stupid questions and do only as you're told, when you're told. If I want you to kneel, you prostrate yourself on the ground before me. If I want you to fight, you draw your own blade and swing until your hands are bloody. And if I decide I have no use for you..."

Link stood his ground, chest aching from the fight minutes before. He stared up, holding onto the spark of defiance as the king leaned down, voice dropping to just above a whisper.

"You accept that fate with dignity and do not fight the end. Nothing more, nothing less."

Link stared into the swirling eyes, waiting for him to back off, but neither moved. Link realized he was meant to lower his gaze and submit first, and the longer this went on the more he damaged his weak standing with the king.

A thought crossed his mind, for a moment, of how long they could stand there before the king grew bored and punished him for it. A sharp pain wracked his chest, and Link dropped his chin.

A hot puff of breath washed over him, and taking the blade from Link's hands, the king stood to his full height. "You are lucky. I keep Ghirahim around because he has some intelligence, arrogant and flamboyant as he may be. You?"

As he turned to leave, he held out the dark blade and finished, "You are nothing but a sheath for a living sword."

Link's fingers curled around his gem, resigned to a life where he would be kept in dark. Not much different from Hylia, he thought, but at least with the goddess he was loved. If he had tears to cry, they would have been springing up in his eyes.

He reached the great doors before a call beckoned him back, the king sat upon his throne watching over the room.

"Oh, and hero?"

Link turned his head, dreading what was to come.

"You will only refer to me as Master. Nothing else."

"Yes, master." Link murmured, head down. He had wanted to avoid the term as much as possible, but with a direct order, he had no choice.

He must have lingered too long, because the next moment Demise was barking, "Well? Does it seem like I have need for you right now?"

"No, master." Link bowed quickly, and scurried out of the hall. As the dark doors closed behind him, he let his face fall into his hands, wondering just what he had become.

Chapter Text

Link wandered the halls aimlessly, no purpose but no desire to return to his pathetic room. At least the castle provided some enrichment, no turn exactly the same, never knowing what he would find around the corner (mostly more hallway).

The faded paintings and varying degrees of rot were more interesting than lying in bed, watching the ceiling. Link only saw demonic soldiers on patrol occasionally, who mostly ignored him. Only once did he hear the creak of a helmet turning to look at him.

He had made his fifth turn down a winding, one-way hall when a cold wind rushed down the path before him. Dread filled his stomach, and his feet felt molded to the ground.

When he looked behind him, there was no one but the two guards at their post, unmoving and silent. They did not set his senses on high alert, no matter how unnerving he found their presence. Suddenly feeling very alone and vulnerable, Link took in his surroundings, recognized nothing, and had no way to figure out where he was or how to get back to the room he had been assigned. Lost and confused, it was a perfect storm of unpreparedness for the deep growl that assaulted him.

The sword was slammed into the wall, fingers slipping around his neck, the pain he felt as he was lifted by his shoulders startled him more. A cry left his mouth, silenced by a grey hand slapping across his face.

Ghirahim had changed back to his human form, and the expressions on his face were more pronounced. Snarling, he held Link aloft, cutting off a non-existent airflow. Despite the lack of need to breathe, it still had him panicking.

"Ghirahim!" Link shouted, eyes darting to the soldiers still standing at their post. "Demise said—"

"When will you learn," The demon gritted, folding an elbow across Link's chest to keep him in place, "that you are so far inferior to us, that to even spit those syllables from your mouth is more disrespectful than any suggestion I disregard?"

"It didn't sound like a suggestion!" Link squirmed, but Ghirahim's hand found its way over his mouth again. Muffled cries fell on deaf ears, the struggle no reason to break rank.

"I saved you." His assailant snapped, "I am the reason you live, why your pathetic existence is allowed to continue. You should be as dead as your failed goddess, but I convinced our Master of your worth, to give you a second chance, and this is how you take it?"

"Why are you—" Link coughed out, trying to bypass Ghirahim's hand, "—upset with me? I didn't know! I didn't—" He was silenced again, fingers pressing his cheeks together into a pout.

"I was lenient. I bought you time, I gave you comfort, and yet you spend your days moping? Did you never expect our Master to use you? Did you not even think to try keeping yourself in shape, to explore your new body and learn to use it to your advantage?"

Link violently shook his head, trying to escape Ghirahim's grasp but flailing helplessly.

"I heard about the little deal you made." Ghirahim hissed, dropping Link's face and leaning in closer. "What I would have given to watch you squirm there on the ground, trying the hard way to perform such a simple task."

Link gasped, trying to squeak out that it wasn't simple for him, that he tried, but Ghirahim raised a hand to snap his fingers, and a strange sensation passed over his body. Like icy water running down his back, feeling returned to his skin with a tingling shiver, dormant senses emerging. Link took in a deep breath, looking down at his body in horror.

No longer was his skin a deep viridian, but a pallid approximation of his tan, sun-kissed complexion. His freckles had faded, scars standing stark pearl against paleness, sallow and sickly. There was no rosy tint where blood pressed against the surface, all the depth gone. He wasn't in pain.

"Ghirahim!" Link screeched, struggling harder. The demon laughed at his turmoil, pressing up against his body to restrain him. He turned his head to the guards, still motionless at their post, spitting out worries about how Demise would surely find out through them.

"Oh? Worried about our little audience? They won't dare snitch. You may be nothing more than a tool, but I outrank every being in this castle besides the king."

Link continued to fight against Ghirahim's hold, but the demon was stronger by far. As his pain receptors flared to life, Link hissed and writhed as Ghirahim's claws dug deeper into his skin.

The demon forced a hand over his whining mouth again, and in a dizzying blaze of diamonds, they were teleported.

He struggled still as he was thrown to a cold stone floor, trying and failing to escape the demon's anger. Scrambling away, Link kicked and clawed as Ghirahim descended on him, teeth flashing and spit flying.

Link was still weaker than the demon, and though he put up a fight, Ghirahim managed to twist him around and force his hands behind his back. A fist wrapped itself in his hair, tugging at the stringy strands, the demon's mouth near his neck like the first time they met.

"It'll only be worse if you struggle." Ghirahim growled, but Link ignored him. Trashing his head back, he slammed it into the demon's nose, a loud shout ringing through the dungeon.

"How dare you?" The demon screeched, but Link had wriggled out of his grasp. Like a caged animal, he crouched down, ready to fight this time.

His once flexible body stiff and painful to move, the motion made his joints crack and ache, but adrenaline kept him more alert than ever. Ghirahim's dangerous eyes flashed from behind the curtain of white hair, a tension in the air too stiff to be cut by either sword.

The moment of motionlessness lasted no more than a second. The spirits launched themselves at each other like snarling remlits, a fight over something as petty as perceived territory.

"I want you to suffer, I want you to know the pain your existence has caused me!" Ghirahim hissed, slamming Link into the wall. "I want to make you pay!"

Link cried out and writhed until Ghirahim pulled away, twisting him around and pressing his palm over chapped lips. Link managed to open his mouth wide enough to bite down, but all it gained him was a low hiss and the hand curled in his hair detangling away.

"You're not even worth my time, you pathetic wet rat of a hero!" His muscles didn't even strain as Ghirahim threw Link to the ground, the sickening crunch of his body against the stone echoing in the tiny room. "How I'd enjoy grinding my heal into a worm like you, but sadly, I have much more important affairs to address."

"Ghirahim, don't you dare, we're not finished yet, so—Ghirahim!" His venomous shouts did nothing to stop the demon's smirk, the raised fingers snapping away. "Ghirahim, come back here and fight, you coward—"

"Were you saying something? Sorry, I don't listen to the cries of the vermin in the castle catacombs. Much too depressing, certainly not what I need to hear right now."

Link shrank back against the wall, the voice coming from all around like the dungeons Ghirahim had trapped him in on his quest. The disappearance of the demon meant monsters coming to fight in his place, and Link was sorely prepared for battle.

"I'll come back for you later." A dark chuckle, still in the all-encompassing blanket of sound, "Or not. Maybe Master will forget about you, and you'll spend centuries begging for my forgiveness as you lose your mind!"

Link shouted his name again, but no response graced his threats. Alone in the tiny, doorless room, the walls seemed to be closing in around him with each passing second.

"Why are you doing this?" He whispered, curling himself into a ball in the corner "I never—I'm not the one who hurt you!"

A soft drip of water from the opposite side of the room was the only answer. Shivering, head rested to his knees, Link resigned himself to this fate, alone in his solitary confinement.

"I never asked for this. Any of it."

Time seemed to blend together. The ebb and flow of his consciousness was all that kept him company, moments he was lucid stringing together like a broken puzzle.

He ended up on his back, staring at the spider webs on the ceiling.

There was moss on the far wall. It was damp, and he wondered if he would rust.

A draft blew in from somewhere. How, he didn't know, as the room had no exit.

His throat was sore. Blinking, he felt a salty warm taste in his mouth and a sting on his lip, looking up at the demon's dark grin through hooded lashes. He blinked, and the vision was gone.

When he spit, there was blood. It had to have been his. He blinked again, and it was never there.

He couldn't bleed anymore, after all.

Couldn't breathe.

Coming to was sudden, like falling into an icy pond and getting trapped beneath its waves. The calm, frozen surface seemed endless and empty with its crystal-clear top, but as soon as he stepped a foot to its glaze the surface cracked and sent him tumbling into oblivion.

Link was looking at himself in a mirror.

He had been in a dungeon, eyes focused on a single spider crawling across the floor, and now he was staring into terrified eyes.

He saw a human body with his face, but his mind would not register the figure in front of him as him. Even as a hand rose to his lips and he felt fingers against his cheek, his derealization kept him from understanding what he saw.

The figure on the other side was still short. Still blond, the same blue eyes, now sunken and framed by dark circles. The skin that covered it was pale, much paler than he remembered, a sallow sheen covering pristine almost off-white where his tanned freckles used to be. Instead of those, he was littered with splotchy red lines, pink scratches and purple bruises, green and blue where the two met.

Link pushed a hand through stringy locks, his once golden fluff dull and lifeless. Even as he moved his head, eyes glued to the same spot like a painting, he couldn't recognize those sharp cheekbones and chapped lips as his own.

How did I end up here?

The vision blurred once more. A door swung open, and Link jumped from his trance.

"Have you come to your senses?"

Frozen in Demise's presence, Link just nodded, looking back at the mirror. He was in his own room again, small, but nowhere near as cramped as the dungeon.

"How did I..." He started, but the words caught in his throat.

"I told you to stay out of trouble. And where do you end up? On the brink of insanity, having locked yourself into a cell. If Ghirahim hadn't mentioned your absence wasn't due to disrespect but rather something to be concerned over, your precious Surface might not have been worth waiting for."

"Ghirahim? No, he—" Link caught himself, torn between the rage he felt at Ghirahim twisting himself into a hero and the punishment that would come with the truth. "He... hates me."

"Be that as it may, you owe him the continued safety of your home now. Try not to kill each other."

"I'll fight back if he tries anything. I'm not a pushover." Link glared, maintaining the staredown with the demon king. The longer he watched the reflection of flickering light in his unamused eyes, the more unsure he became that he was making the right choice to talk back.

Link looked away first, his face flushed at the submission. The surrender.

"I would expect you to. It doesn't mean you won't both face the consequences." Demise's deep rumble had Link snapping back to attention, some primal instinct to listen despite how much he wanted to disappear on the spot. Ghirahim had set him up, put the fate of the world at risk to get revenge (which was only slightly more deplorable than risking the world out of some sense of duty Link still didn't understand), and he was reaping the poisoned seeds sown. Demise would never like him, Link knew, but now that he was eternally bound to the demon and the fate of life as he knew it rested on gaining his trust, Ghirahim was the greatest obstacle in his way once again.

Demise raised a browbone, expecting his response, and as much as the words felt like fire in his mouth, Link forced himself to comply. "Yes, master."

A stiff nod was his only indication this was accepted. The king left with no more words to spit at him, no more wrenches to throw into the gears of his plans.

Alone in the room with walls that felt every bit as much closing in as the dungeon, Link threw his fist towards the mirror and screamed.

Trying to piece together how long he had been trapped in the cell had led him nowhere, so Link resorted to finding other means to occupy his time. He couldn't sleep, as he didn't need it anymore. Trying to run through breathing exercises the academy had drilled into him didn't work, as he couldn't quite figure out how to breathe. The motions were there, but the act brought him no relief. Pacing the tiny room only got him so far.

He found himself in the bathroom, staring at the pool of steaming water he didn't remember drawing. There were beginning to be more and more gaps in his memory the longer he stayed in the castle, but

Sinking to the edge, Link gently whisked his hand across the top of the water. It was near boiling, surely, but he barely felt the pain. When he submerged his palm, it even felt good.

He stripped out of his uncomfortable clothes, missing the soft, colorful tunics Skyloft boasted, and discarded them somewhere on the floor. The steam was floating over the edges now, billowing out from the pool and dancing across the tiles.

Link very nearly slipped on his way into the water, but his clumsiness didn't hinder his enjoyment. He felt his muscles relax, the burning ache residing like a tide. Resting his head on the slick wall, he watched the steam roll through the bathroom like the clouds in the sky.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Link nearly shot straight out of the water, the embarrassing squeak that erupted from his mouth more akin to a remlit whose tail had been stepped on than a blade fit for a king.

"Do try and be careful, I'm not cleaning you up if you rust."

Scrambling from the pool, Link grabbed the nearest towel and sharpest object (some sort of hair pin?), brandishing the weapon towards where the demon lord sat. Lounging by the vanity mirror, Ghirahim idly inspected his nails, ignoring the shorter man across him.

"Don't you have something to say? Perhaps, I don't know, 'thank you lord Ghirahim, for saving me from the wrath of our Master?'"

"You're the one who set me up!"

A blade whizzed by his cheek, another by his shoulder just grazing his arm. Link hissed, dropping the pin, and before he could reach his other hand to stop the blood from dripping.

"Now." Ghirahim's smile still conveyed jovial nonchalance, but his eyes were narrowed. "Shall we try that again?"

"Why can I—ah—" Removing his hand from the wound stung. "Why can I bleed? I don't have—you don't have blood."

Gritting his teeth, Link added, "Lord Ghirahim."

"Not quite, but I see you're trying." Ghirahim smirked, sliding down from the counter he sat on. "Simple. It's not blood, per se, like you had when you were mortal."

Diamonds flashed in his eyesight, and a second later Ghirahim was behind him.

"It's more... magmatic. Molten. It's your lifeblood, but it's not alive." Digging his fingers into Link' wound, Ghirahim coated them with the sticky, glowing substance. Link nearly buckled over from the pain, leaning back against the demon for support. "See? Not a mortal's blood, but lose enough of this, and you will feel weakened. Spill too much, and I suppose we'd die. Not blood, but performs the same function"

Ghirahim sighed, helping Link to stand back on his feet by himself. "A rose by any other name or whatnot."

Now able to support himself on his own, the demon wandered away while Link stood still, watching the spirals of lava-esque liquid mingle with the water. When the demon remained, clearly not finished tormenting him, Link cut him to the chase with another question.

"How did you do it?" He demanded, turning on his heel. He nearly slipped on the wet tile beneath his feet, dirty water pooling into mirrors marred by drops of red. At the demon's quirked brow, he gestured to his wet skin, clearly not made of metal, but not quite human like he had been before the damning ritual.

Rolling his eyes, the demon snapped his fingers.

Like a string yanking a rib from his chest, Link felt jerked forward as a painful ache spread from his heart. When he opened his eyes again, his hands had turned back to sleek metal, almost black in the dim light.

"How?" He pressed, stumbling forward. Each step felt heavier, loud clanks that wouldn't surprise him if they broke the marble below. Ghirahim shrugged, snapping his fingers again and Link was back in his human skin. As his eyes watched the diamond pattern trickle down his arm, Ghirahim snapped a third time, and the viridian returned.

"Magic? I doubt you are capable of even understanding."

"Then teach me."

"It's not that simple."

"I can learn."

"You'll just hurt yourself."

"I don't care! Just—anything so I don't look like this!"

Frustrated, Link turned back to the mirror with a yell, his fist slamming against the glass. Panting, he looked back at his own reflection, gold eyes turned back to blue but sunken and dull.

From behind stringy brown hair he glared at the dark circles deep enough to rival Ghirahim's, the way his cheek bones jutted out and his raw chapped lips. He barely recognized himself, skin pale and unblemished and stretched thin.

Despite the shards of glass clinging to his knuckles, nor the blood seeping into the splinters, Link let his head rest against the mirror. Rivulets of salt mixed with the iron on his cheeks, their stinging path an unwanted reminder he was alive.

"I can't stand it."

Silence echoed in the bathroom, the occasional drip of water permeating the tension. Link sank to his knees, willing the demon to leave him alone.

"You know," Ghirahim whispered, closer than Link would have liked. He hadn't heard him move. "Your situation is very precarious. I wouldn't make such demands if I were you. Be grateful you're alive this far."

"And why am I?"

Silence. Link let out a weak sob, burying his face in his hands.

"I can't do this. I can't."

"You have to." Ghirahim stated simply, a hand on Link's shoulder. "Like it or not, the Surface rests in your continued existence."

Link shoved him away, curling in on himself. He had never asked for the burden, no one ever bothered to ask. Zelda's father even told him once he had no choice, the only once capable of carrying such a heavy fate. Had he known he wouldn't be strong enough?

Suddenly, a sharp yank to his hair had him sprawling on the floor, a hard impact that left him dizzy. Heavy weight came down on his chest, an unmoving hand forcing him to keep silent. Slammed on his back, Link growled and clawed as Ghirahim held him down.

"Listen hear, and listen close, for I'll only admit it once." The demon hissed, Link's neck in his hands. His chest heaved, but each attempt to throw him off went nowhere. "I happen to enjoy my dominion over that which you call 'your home', and I would hate to see it reduced to a wasteland. Right now, you are the only thing between our Master and the fires of hell sweeping across all of the goddesses' creation. Act like it."

As quickly as he had been assaulted, the demon was gone, leaving Link scrambling to his feet ready to fight. The first blow came from behind, knocking him to his knees before he had a chance to fight back.

Bruised, lip beginning to bleed, Link wiped away the damage and spun on his heel.

"You were the goddess' hero, were you not? Have you given in so easily?"

"I don't understand—" Link dodged a blow, but his own was easily parried. "You uproot my whole life, kill my friends, turn me into this!" A fist finally connected with grey skin, though it only caused the demon to grip his arm and toss him aside. "And now you wanted me to win against you?

"Win? Ha! As if a scrawny excuse of knight could ever defeat me!"

Link turned to the sound of diamonds and was met with a stinging slap to his cheek. Spitting the hot blood from his mouth, he swung back, but was hit from behind and fell to his knees again. "You, defeat me? Defeat the Demon King? Laughable!"

Ghirahim's foot connected with his exposed side, forcing him to curl to protect himself. Instead, Ghirahim grappled his shoulder again, one moment standing above him and the next with their hips pressed together, entrapping him as he raised his palm to backhand him again. "You're nothing more than a distraction. A fun little plaything to toss about."

The blow had him crying out, but Ghirahim dug his nails into Link's neck until he was sure it bled. Leaning close, he bared sharp teeth, forcing Link to

"You're less than nothing. A trinket to be tossed aside when we're finished with you. You want to keep up the charade of convenience? Stop acting like you have any control here."

Ghirahim's claws released, droplets of scarlet blood welling from the wounds. Link squirmed, but he was unable to free himself.

"Speak only when spoken to. Do as you're told. And don't," Ghirahim forced his gaze again, gripping his cheeks so hard they would surely bruise. "Make any decision yourself. Deal?"

"I thought I couldn't make decisions for myself?" Link scoffed, glaring defiantly back up. Ghirahim sneered, but the expected hit never came.

"You're... learning." He spit out before swinging a leg off of Link, rising to his feet. Link stayed where he lay, glaring at nothing particular. "That defiance will be crushed out of you, one way or another. Mark my words."

Instead of gracing him with a response, Link closed his eyes. One last huff, a painful kick to his side, and he could no longer sense the presence of another.

When Ghirahim had left him alone, it was in the semi normal skin he had to grow used to. Bruised and bloody, it took Link hours to pull himself from the floor of the bathroom and finally wash the grime away from the body he refused to look at.

He hated the ache in his muscles, the way his skin crawled where Ghirahim touched him, the agony that was not-quite-pain in a way he couldn't make sense of. Each bruise seemed to shine with vicious mockery, standing out against his near-white skin. It was unnaturally pale, a shade he hadn't ever seen on any resident of Skyloft. Almost the color of the clouds just after dawn.

He could trace blue veins beneath his wrists, following the pattern to his heart unmarred by the freckles and scars he had known his whole life. Like a porcelain doll, painted with blues and greens and purples and reds, he scratched at his skin until he split his nails and he bled.

He imagined taking the blade now within his chest and slicing himself open, but would blood even spill from within? Or would the layers peel back to reveal the sparkling gem, a cold, hard stone void of any life?

Ghirahim was to blame, he told himself, but there was the voice in the back of his mind vindictively telling him he himself deserved this. He deserved to hurt, after what he had failed to do.

Salty tears stung his cracked, bloody lips, his hands rough and dry and catching against the cloth as he tried to wash himself. Frustrated, he gave up, only to try again, only to give up once more. It grew too much, and he left the soiled towel on the dirty floor, leaving the room feeling raw from how much he scrubbed but nowhere near clean from the demon's violent touch.

While the bathroom looked like a crime scene, the bedroom was pristine. The sterile elegance had Link's stomach churning, head pounding as the room swirled before him. Huffing, he left wet footprints behind and flopped onto the bed, pulling the sheets from their perfectly made position and curling around himself.

Restlessly, he fell into a fitful sleep, tangling himself in the blankets like a moth in a spider's trap.

Link jerked awake, nauseous and sweating, shivering despite the many blankets he was burrowed under.

That was not what woke him up. The pull at the back of his mind was there again, persistent as ever and more enraged. Scrambling from the bed, Link frantically tried to calm himself, but with no lungs each breath he took went nowhere. The high neck of his shirt made him feel like he was choking, the skintight fabric a prison of its own.

His mind was hazy as he ran through the halls, the path known to him but not registering to blind eyes, bare feet slapping against the stone with no care for pain. Link rounded a corner, morbidly aware of his anxiety despite no labored breathing or quickly beating heart as symptoms. He found himself in front of an imposing door, nearly as tall as the gates to the throne room, black as night and plain as day.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed the fear that threatened to eat him whole, almost entering the unknown path but thinking to knock first. A deep rumble came from within, which he somehow recognized as his signal to enter, and he pushed the heavy metal forward.

The creaking grated on his ears, but discomfort at the sound was the least of his worries. Inside was a well-furnished study, flickering with the light of flames from a roaring fireplace. Link softly padded inside, glancing down when his blistered feet met plush carpet.

Demise was staring out a vast window, watching something in a distance Link couldn't see.

"Recover from your bout of insanity well enough?" Without a glance in his direction, Demise continued. "I see someone has helped you maintain a more appealing appearance."

Link jerked to a stop, one wrong step from the frying pan into the fire. Demise did not seem to accept his silence as apology.

"What? Did you expect me to believe you did this—" The king turned and gestured to Link's human form, small and fragile next to his imposing figure—"by yourself? Last time I saw you like this on your own, you were writhing beneath your own inability to hold such a form."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Link shifted his weight between his feet, fidgeting restlessly as he waited for Demise's judgement. He could feel burning eyes on him like a brand to his skin, but no disparage came.

"Ghirahim thinks himself above my orders, doesn't he? He may have found a shred of pity for you, but that doesn't excuse his behavior. He thinks you his pet, have you noticed? Perhaps you both need a reminder who you serve"

Link was still getting used to having emotions with no physical indication they were present, his shame bubbling in his chest without heat on his cheeks. Demise could see it even without his skin going red.

"No matter. I did not call you here to discuss my misguided blade."

Pacing towards a window, Demise beckoned Link closer. "Your kind are weak things.... I'm surprised you have survived as long as you have. You lived a soft life in Hylia's clouds, didn't you?" He did not wait for an answer, turning back to the foreboding window and gesturing to the open gash in the land. "We clawed our way from the earth and claimed what is rightfully ours. You ran and hid."

Though he wanted to argue, Link knew better. He held his tongue as Demise strode towards the window, ignoring him. An uneasy silence stretched over the space between them, only exacerbating Link's restlessness. The fire crackled inside its cage, spitting embers fruitlessly as it tried to spread and consume the whole room.

"Strip."

The order came abruptly, so unexpected Link almost didn't hear it. Shocked, he failed to obey immediately, stock still.

"Well?" The king snapped, in no mood for a struggle.

Link's hands flew to his collar, gripping the tight fabric. "What?"

"You heard me. Just the shirt, if you are so shy."

Unamused and unwilling to deal with his hesitance, Demise met Link with a blank stare over his shoulder, barely a glance in his direction. The message was still clear, and as Link fumbled with the sleeves, he drew the fabric over his head.

Clutching it to his chest, Link tried to hide as best he could (though there wasn't anything to hide anymore—his modesty had been torn form him when he was changed to a possession), knuckles even whiter as they clenched the safety blanket.

"Hands behind your head and keep your feet apart."

If it was possible to be more humiliated, Link never wanted to know.

He let the shirt fall to his feet. It seemed to take forever to fall, landing before him like an iron weight. Slowly, he shifted his stance, eyes locked onto a rip on the far end of the carpet. Desperately willing himself not to shake was no use, as even with the roaring fire he was exposed in the open room. His full body shiver wasn't because he was cold.

Link kept focusing on the rip in the corner of the rug, counting the crimson threads that tried to escape from the weave, his stomach uneasy with a strange pain that twisted his gut. Demise's footsteps circled him, watching, inspecting, prying him open inside out. Still, Link stared at the threads, the wrinkle in the pattern folded over on itself.

A staggering gasp rocked his chest when the first touch of wicked claws grazed his skin, igniting electric fire from where nails pressed against purple abrasions. The claws traced across his shoulder, down his back, over the bruises on his side. Link felt that if he moved an inch out of place they'd pierce him, drawing blood from tender flesh already mangled by Ghirahim's sadistic desire to fight.

"Interesting.... he managed to leave such marks on your skin in spite of your new durability...."

Link shuddered as the touch left, leaving him feeling more vulnerable than when his master's hands were on him. The great demon faded away from his presence awfully quiet for someone so large, but his aura loomed in the study.

"That should make this easier.... consider yourself lucky."

Link faltered, eyes finally darting from the threads and flicking towards the king. Standing by the fire, in his hands was a long, thin rod, poking the flames until the tip burned red. It was not to keep the embers burning.

In denial, Link did not run, watching the metal spark and glow. Even when Demise raised the rod from the flames, tapping it with his own impenetrable scales to see if it was hot enough, Link didn't move a muscle.

And then the fiery eyes turned towards him.

"Wait!"

"No. You will stay as you are." The king growled, hand opposite the weapon outstretched, "You are my sword, my weapon. My tool. It is not for you to decide what orders to obey and follow and what limits to test."

Stalking forward, Demise held his gaze with near disinterest, like he was filing away paperwork or sweeping away a cobweb. "I have already reprimanded Ghirahim for stepping out of line, but perhaps it was my fault. I have not clearly staked my claim on you."

Link tried to move, but his feet were bound to the floor by some unseen chain and his shoulders pressed back. He couldn't even widen his eyes as the mark at the end of the rod became clearer, a familiar shape that struck fear into his nonexistent heart.

Demise must have sensed his distress, chuckling as he traced the sharp edges of the insignia. Though geometric and primitive, the figure was one he was dearly acquainted with. The sharp diamond curved and tapered into a second triangular point, a wingless body of the bird that once adorned his sailcloth.

"You are Hylia's Chosen Hero, are you not? Nothing can take away that decision and absolve you of your failure. Like an angel torn from the sky. Seems fitting."

Demise placed a mockingly gentle finger beneath Link's chin, lifting his head so their eyes met and could not be torn away.

"So now I will make my message clear to you." Lined up at the center of his chest, beneath the dip of his collar bones where his gem lay hidden under this imposter of a form, the heat emanated off the rod as it brushed his skin. Link thought he had known pain after the forge, but this was like nothing else.

"No matter what past you have—with Hylia, with my blade, with your friends and gods and enemies beyond my domain—they do not matter."

He couldn't scream as it pressed deeper, like it would melt through skin and bone (where he wasn't sure he even had any) and come out the other side. Frozen, paralyzed, molded to Demise's whim and marked with his bastardized ownership in some sick kind of sacrifice, Link was unable to neither struggle nor give in. His will was not his own.

"You are mine."

Ghirahim found Link hours later, curled up on the floor where Demise had left him. Pathetic, shivering, hands covering the open wound that was healing itself at an alarming rate.

Link glared at the demon as his cold hands apprehensively brushed against his shoulders, a look of not-quite-pity on his face. Despite his protests, Ghirahim drug him to his feet, swatted away his shaking fingers, and traced the edges of the brand.

"It's not so bad."

Barely above a whisper, Link took no comfort from his reassurances. He wiped his eyes, trying to push Ghirahim off, but the demon wouldn't let him.

"Why won't you just leave me alone? If Demise—if our master finds out you were breaking his rules again, he'll do worse."

Link shoved him away, crossing his arms over his chest. "He did this because of you."

The demon scoffed, ignoring Link's apprehension. He was in no shape to fight, so with one of the sword's arms around his shoulder and the other slipping to his waist, lifting him off his feet, Link let his eyes fall shut.

The slow rocking of his footsteps lulled Link to relaxation, enough so that when he opened his eyes to find an unknown bedroom, he wasn't mad. Tired, though. Just tired.

He let himself be manhandled like a doll as Ghirahim lay him on the bed, brushing his hair from his eyes. His mouth was pressed into a deep frown when Link looked up, tracing the path of his gaze to the mark on his chest.

"It healed quickly... too quickly..." The sword mumbled, and as his fingertips pressed the scar, Link flinched more from the pressure than the pain. "Even for a sword."

Link didn't think it what he felt was 'healed' in any sense of the word, his chest aching deeper than the brand had touched. His bruises and scrapes from the night before had yet to fade, so why would this one be any different?

His own pale hand coming up to bump into Ghirahim's fingers, Link followed the outline of sharp edges and soft curves, the two diamonds incomplete yet completing each other. "You recognize the symbol?"

The demon's wandering fingers halted.

"Don't you?"

Link laughed, a mirthless bark that wracked his chest. "As if I could ever not."

"It's... an interesting choice." Ghirahim murmured, pulling his hand away. "Our Master likes irony. He likes to rub salt into the wound and spit in your face at the same time."

"I figured." Link's arm fell to his side, unable to keep dwelling on the mark. "Making fun of my failures or some shit."

"No. I don't think you understand."

When Link turned his head, Ghirahim was facing away. He watched aptly as the sword drew his tight shirt over his head, baring his back to Link for the first time. His hands slid down his body to the golden belt, toying with the clasp for a moment before ripping it away.

On his lower back was an intricate ribbon of deep red ink, swirling in sharp edges around a black scar. The three triangles were facing the wrong way, points stretching to the ground instead of the sky. It barely covered half of the long expanse of the demon's back, but it stood out against his shimmering skin like a beacon.

From over his shoulder, Ghirahim's words dripped nonchalance, but his hands were white knuckled around the fabric they clenched.

"He stakes his claim to make the one he stole from know. It's not you he cares about spiting—it's her."

As his eyes followed the pattern, Link's mind tumbled over the meaning. A Triforce, corrupted, a thread of crimson the color of power and his loftwing and fire and diamonds and—

"Wait—if you have the Triforce, who did Demise steal you..."

"It doesn't matter." Ghirahim cut him off, sweeping around and hiding his brand from view. "What I'm saying is, it isn't about you. Don't take the shape personally. You'll feel better."

Link didn't believe him, and as his fingers brushed the scar again, he wondered how it could possibly be anything but personal.

His hand fell back to the bed, eyes turned towards the ceiling. "So, the Triforce I get, but why so big? What does the red mean in response to mocking... whoever he's mocking."

"Oh, the red isn't by our Master."

A pause. Link sat up, shaky arms holding him well enough that he could sit level with Ghirahim's bare chest. "Were you someone's sword before him...?"

Ghirahim scoffed, flipping his bangs from his eyes. "Of course not. The red is mine. I etched it into my own skin to remain beautiful. No ugly mark is going to disrupt this exquisite form!"

He brushed his arms up and down his sides, showing off and relishing in the way Link looked on in awe (not really, but it was clear that was his thought process. Link rolled his eyes).

"The marks carried over onto my sword... our Master never cared much to notice, so I was allowed to keep them."

As Ghirahim pulled his shirt back on, Link once again drew his gaze to his own brand. The incomplete bird, rough at the edges, sunk into his skin. It had gone from its angry red to a stark black, charred and rotting like he was already in the grave. He closed his eyes, his stomach turning over itself at the sight.

"How?"

Ghirahim had started to wander away, but Link's demand called him back. "Hmm?"

"How did you do it? The red." He ripped his eyes away from the sickening mar, the defiance in his soul burning hotter than the rod he was branded with. For the first time in months, he felt determination and hope. "I want it too."

Ghirahim quirked a brow, watching Link with an unreadable expression. Link refused to back down, the prospect of gaining back a part of himself a poison spreading through his mind.

The demon leaned forward, tracing one finger around Link's brand until he slid up his throat like he was slitting it open.

"I have two conditions."

Link met his dark eyes, head tilted back so far it put a strain on his neck, but he held his gaze none the same. He seemed to challenge Ghirahim, daring him to go on.

"You don't say a word throughout the process..."

Ghirahim's hand was back on Link's chest, palm flat against his skin and cool to the touch. He pressed down until Link's back hit the bed, a dark shadow looming over him backlit by a halo of gold.

"And I draw whatever pattern I wish."

That defeated the purpose of claiming back a part of himself, Link thought, but it was better than nothing. He imagined the bird surrounded by the demon's favored diamonds, a swirling spiral that distracted from the mocking mark. Behind closed eyes, the shimmering lines wrapped around him until they tightened so much, he felt he was choking.

He surrendered.

"Fine."

From behind his lashes, he saw Ghirahim smile with a grin more damning than a curse.

He had blindfolded him. Tied him to the bed. Promised it would hurt.

Link felt little more than a tickle as thousands of sharp lines drug across his chest.

He lost track of the pattern Ghirahim drew, at first with an ink stylus that scratched his skin and felt cold and sticky. The pinpricks that followed weren't much more comfortable, but they were not the brand. His chest tightened every time the demon wiped away splattered ink with a rough cloth, brushing over open wounds and smearing ink and blood.

Blood. Link had (foolishly and impulsively) touched his chest after the first solid line, which had been what resulted in his hand slapped away and his wrists chained. Before Ghirahim could apprehend him, he had seen crimson dot his finger tips, fluid and runny and red as the sun setting in the sky. It should have startled him, to be marked so permanently, but it garnered no emotion.

Every time he thought it was over, Ghirahim would press back down with the needle. He had no concept of how much time had passed, just of the dig into his skin and the numbness that spread. Ghirahim did not go past his shoulders, nor above his clavicle or below his sternum, leaving most of him unmarked. His ribs ached when they were passed over, lines carefully carved out one prick at a time.

Finally, finally Ghirahim let the chains fall away. Link remained laying on the bed, not wanting to anger him or worsen the wounds, but Ghirahim took his hand and led him to his feet. Still blinded, the path he was guided on was a mystery, until he was stopped seemingly at nothing more than the demon's volatile volition. A cool gel was rubbed over his chest, a single swipe that should have stung but felt like a final release, in a way. Hands reached up to his hair, gently untying the knots in the ribbon around his eyes.

When the fabric fell away, Link froze.

His heart should have skipped a beat, his lungs caught in a gasp, but his body didn't know how to do those involuntarily anymore. Instead, he widened his eyes at the reflection in the mirror, still foreign, and now even more so.

The brand stood out against his pallid skin like a beacon, yes, and his eyes were drawn to it immediately. The blue was still dull and the sockets still sunken, cheeks hollow, bruises plastered across arms and legs and torso, but those no longer commanded his focus. Instead, his gaze locked onto the thin lines of red that painted his chest, a pattern symbolic of a fate he wished to forget.

The wings spread out from the body as if in flight, a thread tracing their shape in three connected wings. The line did not break as it danced down into claws, swirling stripes going from one side to the next and back up to draw the other wing. It ended in one long, final swoop, straight through the brand like it was crossing out a misspelling on an exam.

Link forced himself to swallow to watch his chest move.

As the wings flexed, Ghirahim's hands slid over his sides, gloating as they traced up his body and across his handiwork. Chin resting on his shoulder, the demon kept his eyes downward at Link's new decoration, tracing the wings lazily.

"I thought it would be fitting." His low drawl cut through the air, nails across the lines smearing the red ink that was still oozing out. "They say the first hero was gifted a great crimson bird by the goddess, an ally that could soar the skies and carry him on his back. What tall tales you Hylians have!"

"A loftwing." Link swallowed again, and the wings seemed to flutter. Maybe he was imagining it. "A crimson loftwing."

"Hmm, is that what your people call it? A bird is a bird, in my opinion, no need to give them all silly little names."

"No." Link's hand caught Ghirahim's, squeezing where it had rested against the branded body of the bird. "No, it's.... my loftwing."

The demon's fingers curled. His relaxed stance grew tense, waiting for Link to explain.

"Skyloft, we all have... soul mates. Our birds are our other halves, a piece of a whole. Everyone has one, they come to us at a young age and we grow with them. No one knows where they go when we die, but..."

His throat felt like he was choking. Crimson and blue flashed through his vision, a pale indigo bird he hadn't seen in weeks. Where had she gone? Where would his go?

"Well." Ghirahim's wrist slipped from his grasp, down Link's chest. "You don't have much need for that, anymore."

Link's cheeks burned, not from anger or embarrassment, but from tears threatening to spill over. His eyes were sore, weeping for the memory of feathers in his fists and wind in his hair. He would never... could never feel that again.

"Soul mates... interestingly enough, they say the red thread of fate binds such individuals." Ghirahim muttered, growing possessive in his hold. His voice was almost a growl, claws on Link's stomach drawing his gaze away from the red marks. "I never did believe in such thing as fate. Too perfect for my tastes... too easy for the gods to explain away their mistakes and leave the rest of us to clean up the pieces. Destiny is carved by duty and loyalty, not the stars. But you..."

His claws started to climb, sending shivers down Link's body. From behind, Ghirahim pressed closer, rising to his full height to loom over him. A second palm rest on his shoulder, idly stroking the bones that jutted out. Link's mouth twitched, the desire to run an ache all the way down to his bones.

"You and I, we're bound by a red thread of fate. Crimson and gold, soaked in the sun."

His hand was around Link's neck then, drawing their eyes to each other in the mirror. Head tilted back, lips on skin and eyes barely open, the threads of ink seemed to be lit with a fire beneath his skin.

"And your blood."

Three months. Link had wasted three months in the castle, the number counting down ever closer and closer and closer still to when the king would raze the surface. He was running out of time, and time would not wait for him to stop mourning.

His life was repetitive, if nothing else. Link grew more confident in his abilities, more at home between the dark walls, a tense sense of respect between the soldiers and him. He never saw a demon's face other than Ghirahim and Demise, never more than a glimpse of some past official in conversation with one of them before the helmet covered the silhouette once more.

Link knew there was much going on behind the scenes he didn't know about. The clandestine meetings, the rows and rows of straight-backed soldiers outside closed curtained windows. Whispers in the night as he wandered through castle halls, ceasing as if they were never spoken when he turned around empty corners.

He had plenty to take his mind off of such things. Demise let him train, given some weak blades to keep occupied but swords of his own all the same. Ghirahim had been gifted his obedience on the battlefield as his mentor, teaching him how to use himself to his advantage. Demise was always watching, always a presence in the corner of the training room and never uttering a single word. Only once had he picked up Link's blade for himself.

Despite this, Link and the king grew closer. "Closer" as in Link found himself by his side as often as Ghirahim, and sometimes, though rarely, even by himself. Standing next to the throne as the king listened to reports in a language Link could not understand, growing ever so slightly more comfortable as he was addressed in conversation. Ghirahim would often be sitting on the armrest, nearly in Demise's lap, offering suggestions and critiquing nobles that came to beg forgiveness for past failures. Demise was not merciful, but to kill off everyone who had failed him would result in wiping out his own army, so many were spared despite Ghirahim's chagrin.

Link couldn't decipher the relationship Ghirahim had with Demise and was not about to ask. The sword was always clinging to his side, but never gave any indication of a relationship outside what was expected of a blade. He preened at praise and took simple reprimands flippantly, like they were not actually aimed at his behavior. Link did not know what happened behind closed doors, but he shuddered to imagine.

His own proceedings with Demise were... strange, to say the least. Demise did not treat him like an enemy, nor a trophy, nor an advisor. Not even a sword. He wasn't sure what he was to Demise, but found himself taking inexplicable solace in his presence, shivering at each touch, wanting something more but dreading figuring out what and too disgusted with himself to ask. A brush of his arm against rough scales had him spiraling into obsessive thoughts, a hand on his shoulder sending lightning down his spine. Not often, but enough to make him question. It was not what the disgust he had with Ghirahim, or the love for Zelda, or respect of Hylia or anyone else, but it was intense to a pain.

As for Ghirahim, they stayed away from each other. They were still under orders not to interact outside of designated supervision, but that did not stop a few bloody tussles and snarky comments that left Link scrubbing his skin clean until it was red and raw. He would show up to training the next day like nothing happened, having cried empty tears in the mirror at the sight of his chest the night before.

This is how he went about life, until all he had left was twenty-one days. He had twenty-one sunrises and twenty-one cloudy nights to save the world, and he didn't know how. He could barely function without the will of another, the king deciding daily if he would be confined to spend it as sword or human or as the blade itself.

The day he finally figured out a saving grace (when he only had those three weeks left to enact his plan), Demise had wanted him and Ghirahim in their spirit forms flanking his throne, intimidating and silent as a council tried to explain some appeal they were making. It was clear their words angered Ghirahim, who had to be gentled and leashed like a poorly trained dog after nearly every new demon spoke. Demise did not seem to want this behavior to be admonished, doing little more than holding out a hand to stop him.

Tensions were high when the party left, the three of them in the throne room alone. Ghirahim was raging silently, offended on his master's behalf, but a conclusion had been made and that was that. Link had no idea what it could have been about and was not going to ask.

With little more than a grunt, Demise beckoned his two swords to follow him, leading them to a wide-open great hall Link had come to consider the swords' private training room. No explanation needed, Ghirahim jumped into putting Link through his hardest drills, combinations and tactics the academy would never have dreamed of.

He had more stamina than before, and was growing stronger by the day, but when Ghirahim had him pinned by two crossed blades hovering over his neck and his body on top, Link was reaching his limit. He knew his muscles should ache, but as they were iron at the current moment, he felt a sense of crushing exhaustion that would manifest in pain once he was human(ish) again. Ghirahim did not give him his usual smirk when the demon rose to his feet, not offering a hand as Link scrambled after.

"Master," The sword bowed, waiting for Link to quickly do the same. Addressing Demise, Ghirahim waited for further orders, their usual regiment completed.

"Well done, Ghirahim. He is barely recognizable from the boy playing knight you told me of."

Link's shoulders almost scrunched at the insult to his past self, but he had learned to keep his back straight and take the words completely still. If he was ever going to defeat Demise, he needed the demon king to trust he was truly under his control.

"I think it is time to put his skills to the test. Draw your swords."

So, the king wanted another staged battle. Ghirahim would win (of course) but the longer Link could draw it out, the more pleased Demise would be with him (and the harsher he would be with Ghirahim, who should have been able to defeat Link in the blink of an eye after all). Lose-lose for Link, in the end, because Ghirahim would be stalking outside his room as soon as he returned seeking revenge. Link readied the blade held in his hand as Ghirahim flourished is own, but the king scoffed loudly.

"No. You know what I meant."

Blue eyes met black. A cold fear ran down Link's shoulders, his chest already aching from the thought. Hesitantly, both laid down their mortal weapons and raised delicate fingers to their cores, brilliant light already shining underneath the gems.

Though Ghirahim's shoulders rose and fell like a beating heart and Link's frame shook with each step, both had drawn their swords, now awaiting Demise's further orders. Ghirahim sank into a low bow, kneeling with the jagged black spikes reverently before him, and Link followed suit.

"Now," Demise rose to his feet, lumbering over to the lithe blades on their knees. "Let's make this... interesting. Switch your weapons and face each other with their own."

Two pairs of fists tightened around hilts they would be forced to release, the tension in the room sweltering out of control.

Chapter Text

Ghirahim relented first. Each step he took towards Link resounded through the throne room, metallic clicks on the marble floors. Thrusting the dark blade in front of him, he offered himself to Link without a word.

Link clutched his sword to his chest. Deep within him, something was throbbing, a heartbeat that echoed from what felt like a distant past. Gingerly holding out his own, the two spirits took hold of each others' blades, fingers brushing where they met on unforgiving hilts.

Neither wanted to let go.

Ghirahim's blade was too heavy for him. Link stumbled as it was forced into his hand, his sword ripped from his fist before he had the chance to back down. Its obsidian sheen glinted in the dim light, a dangerous glare reminiscent of the sword's own eyes when they weren't empty white.

Taking the hilt in two hands, Link faced Ghirahim with himself.

Ghirahim was admiring Link's blade, gently flipping it from hand to hand. Much smaller than his own, it fit like a dagger in Demise's hands but a true sword in the demon's. Swinging it through the air, Ghirahim finally acknowledged Link, readying for battle.

Link did not extend the same curtesy, repulsed by the jagged edges that lined the black metal. It was unnatural in his small hands, pale as they curled around a hilt too long for his frame. The antithesis of the Goddess Sword emanated a sickeningly similar energy, familiar in an almost comforting way. To once again feel the rumble of a living weapon between his palms disoriented him, calling him back to a past that would never return.

In his confusion, Ghirahim struck. With a large sweeping bow he lunged forward, giving Link barely enough time to parry. He held Ghirahim's monstrous blade in front of him, the weight of it dragging him down, trying his best to keep up. He managed to block Ghirahim twice before he proved too fast. When his sword swept across his upper arm, Link lost all concentration.

The scrape of metal on metal grated on his ears, a fraction of the pain he felt. Managing to pierce his invulnerable skin, his own sword had dug deep enough that molten ichor spilled from the wound, hot and syrupy as it dripped down his arm. On his knees, Link grasped his arm, trying and failing to keep the blood inside of him.

He clawed blindly at the floor for his dropped blade, but each reach stretch his damaged muscles too far. He fully expected another blow, disarmed and helpless as he was, but when he looked to the face of his rival, it was cold and motionless.

"Get up." Ghirahim ordered, blade pointed but still.

He was being torn apart from the inside. The sharp edge danced from left to right as his vision swam, nauseating pain keeping him from uttering much more than a whimper.

"Get. Up."

His eyes flicked up to where Demise watched much too fast, as the picture felt delayed like watching the reflection in water. He thought the demon opened his mouth to speak but no sound found his ears. Even the tilt of his head as his boredom made itself known was delayed, an echo of what was happening in real time.

Finished so soon?

Impatient, Ghirahim surged forward, striking Link's shoulder on the same limb that had been cut. The burst of pain burned white-hot along his skin, resonating deep within him and spreading like wildfire.

"Ah! Ghirahim, please, I can't... even hold your sword," Dragging painted fingers away from his chest, Link shuddered at the sight of unnatural blood, "I don't care what the punishment is, I can't do this..."

"You fool," Ghirahim hissed, and in the blink of an eye he was on his knees above Link's prone body. He felt the crushing weight before the picture formed in his mind, a sword pressed to his neck but refusing to slice. "What do you think this is?"

Squeezing his eyes shut, Link let his head fall limp to the side, waiting for whatever blow Ghirahim had to keep this show going. What he didn't expect was the blade slammed down next to his ear, sparking off the tiles but missing completely.

"Hit me."

"What?"

"Hit me." Ghirahim muttered, voice low and raspy. "Aim for my face. It needs to be believable."

"I don't..."

"It has to be hard enough to knock me off, or at least look like it." Trapping Link's good arm, he raised his blade like he was about to make another blow. "Squirm. Struggle, break free like I'm actually holding you down. Then you can gather your blade and stand on your feet."

Shifting his weight sent spikes of pain down his side, his knees half bent as he tried to dislodge Ghirahim.

"Do it, Link! Now!"

Ghirahim clearly hadn't been expecting Link to grab the hilt held tight in his own hand, the smaller blade they had switched at the start. Link's sword form scraped against his cheek as he flipped their positions, dropping Ghirahim's fist and scrambling away as soon as the demon's head slammed against the floor. His hand had just rest on his discarded weapon when Ghirahim pushed himself to his knees, shoulders shaking with a simmering rage.

"You...!" The demon held his face as it dripped his own blood, fangs bared. "That was dirty."

Link had less than a moment to force his straining muscles to lift the sword before Ghirahim was reeling back, charging forward with speed Link had never mastered. Whatever mercy he had was gone now (or if this was his mercy, then Link never had a chance to begin).

He spun on his heel to only just prevent a face full of steel, and Ghirahim was gone before he could strike back. Twisting and turning back and forth had him dizzy, not able to work up enough momentum to get the gargantuan blade to swing.

Ghirahim was stronger, faster, and smarter than any opponent Link had faced. Head still spinning, the wild attacks distracted him, no way to tell when and where the demon would appear next. He stood no chance, much less when he was practically fighting himself. His second skin met his metallic flesh once more, almost enough to knock him to his knees.

"Stop."

Surprised faces were framed by clashed blades. Turning to Demise, Link's saving grace was only the harbinger of worse to come.

Ghirahim pushed him away with one last snarl, straitening up and bowing. Exhausted, Link couldn't be bothered to repeat the action.

Demise didn't seem to care. His eyes flicked between the two of them. "This fight may not be as mismatched as it seems..." (Link found that absurd, and considering the way Ghirahim spat out a hiss, he did to), "Perhaps I should make it more interesting. Winner will receive a favor they may find of value to them."

Dark eyes met gold, a fire reflecting in the emptiness. "Link. If you win, your surface will be spared for another twenty days and twenty more."

More time. Link's chest ached at the chance, fists tightening around his hilt with renewed strength.

"Ghirahim." Finally breaking their stare, Demise turned his body to the demon. "If you win, you may raze the land when you see fit."

Link glanced towards Ghirahim, and with no pupils in his solid white irises there was no way for him to tell if the demon was doing the same. Still, the air in the room grew cold, his stiff posture like a frozen block of ice where he stood.

There was no warning. Ghirahim darted at him before he could even raise his sword, barreling down with a rage that was reminiscent of their battles as enemies. Link took another hit to his calf before he could fight back, limping and dragging the great blade around as Ghirahim struck like a snake. It sparked where it slid across the surface, the grating screech as painful to the spirit that inhabited it as it was on Link's ears.

There were no words spoken. The clash of the blades and the sting when they were ripped away were too loud, Link's muscles screaming as he swung and his chest heaving as if he needed to catch his breath. He took another hit to the leg, and unable to keep standing, fell to his knees.

His time had been borrowed to begin with, but staring down the cruel blade made time move so slowly. Cruel irony, that it felt like it took ages for the blade to reach him when really time was all out. Link met Ghirahim's strike with a glare, expecting his blade form to pin him to the marble beneath his knees. When there was no time to escape, it was apparent Ghirahim was not aiming with mercy in mind.

Instead of ending in a near miss, the blade came in contact with the center of his chest. To say he felt pain would be an understatement. Agony didn't even begin to describe the shattering that spread from his core, back arched involuntarily and only drawing it deeper. Like he was melting away, fading out in a crescendo of a burning ache that grew until it blotted out his mind.

Ghirahim showed no remorse as he drove the blade deeper, shimmering back to a human form as Link's eyes fell shut.

And then his eyes snapped open to the demon bowing before him, the entire world spun on its heel.

It took a moment longer for his senses to come back to him, to feel Demise's hand on his shoulder and to make out the words that were being exchanged. The ache was still present in his chest, but when he went to feel his gem for breaks, his hands were flesh and his skin unblemished. Touch came back to him in waves, the cold air of the room shaking his frame as he wrapped his arms around his bare chest.

"Keep them yourselves, I have no use for them right now." The demon king's thundering voice washed over him, his knees threatening to buckle. Link swayed on his feet, subtly leaning into the hand that was tightly wound across his back.

He was clearly not subtle enough as Demise and Ghirahim's conversation ceased, both pairs of eyes honing in on him as he tried to orient himself. Dazed and hazy, it took all his strength to stay on his feet when Demise pushed him forward.

"Took you long enough to come to your senses." The demon sneered as Link whipped around, dropping to a knee next to Ghirahim. He steadied himself with two hands on the floor, his vision clouded except for the single crack in the marble directly in front of him. "And I was just applauding your performance. Need I take back my praise?"

"I... but I..." Link blink rapidly, trying to focus again, trying to remember if there was some detail he was missing. "But I lost?"

"And I will stay true to my word: Ghirahim, you may prepare my armies for the destruction of Hylia's creation. Unless our 'hero' finds some way to stop you before then."

The demon only gave a stiff nod in response, none of his usual humoring the king's banter. As he began to pace towards them, Ghirahim rose to a straight posture, but each movement Link attempted made his head spin.

"I suppose you're confused, and I don't blame you, given my own... displeasure." Demise circled to two of them, the beginnings of a snarl in his rasp. "I had expected more from Lord Ghirahim, as he chooses to call himself."

When he was directly behind them, Link did his best to rise to his feet, barely managing to sit up on his knees.

"I hadn't expected this to be much of a fight. My mistake." During Link's final attempt to bring himself from the floor, Demise's fist shot out and picked him up by the back of his neck, dragging him standing himself. He couldn't hold back a cry as it sent spikes of pain down his spine, held aright like a remlit holding its kit by the scruff.

"It seems Hylia's hero still has some nerve left." Letting go with a 'tsk, Demise left Link to struggle alone, his attention turned to his other blade.

"You have your orders, don't disappoint me this time. You are dismissed."

A stiff bow and a murmured 'yes, master', and Ghirahim had vanished. He left a stale silence in his wake, like the air before a storm.

"As for you," Demise rumbled, tracing a claw across Link's shoulders until it rested on his sternum, dangerously close to piercing where his gem lay just beneath the glamor, "I underestimated you. For all his current faults, Ghirahim was right to keep you."

Link glanced up to meet his dark eyes, swimming with fire as they pondered thoughts Link couldn't begin to fathom. "There's much to discuss, but not here. You've earned to mourn your fate in private, at least."

Claws enclosed around his arm, and before he could feel the pain from their bite, shadows swallowed the ground they stood on.

As much as he despised teleporting with Ghirahim, Demise's method was infinitely worse. His feet met solid ground seconds later, but his skin crawled with the darkness like it were spider silk, impossible to shake the smoke off as Demise brushed him aside and easily stepped from its web.

When he was done clawing at his skin, the nausea set in, but Link forced himself to stay alert. The room was no longer the lifeless palace hall, but the study the demon had branded him in. Instinctively his head snapped to an empty fireplace, a rumbling scoff mocking him for his fear.

"Sit, you can barely stand on your feet."

When he didn't move, Demise turned around to gesture to a couch, its pristine velvet as if it had never been used in the object's life. Almost afraid to touch it, Link gingerly sat on the edge, shivering on the balls of his feet ready to pounce up at a moment's notice.

Demise took his time creating anticipation, Link's anxiety twisting his stomach worse than the teleportation. His cheeks ached like they were on the verge of tears that refused to fall, his mind more numb than when the sky was too cold and his hands couldn't quite grip his loftwing's feathers. Trying to run through breathing exercises the academy had drilled into him didn't work, as he couldn't quite figure out how to breathe. The motions were there, but the act brought him no relief.

Even that was a reminder of a past life, all the tips and tricks he had been taught useless now that they would be lost for good.

He didn't notice when Demise turned his attention back to him, only brought back to the present when the king cleared his throat. Trying to stand back up to make up for this mistake was futile when Demise waved him off, an invisible force pushing him down into the cushions.

"I presume this is Ghirahim's doing?" Gesturing to the threads of red that adorned his scar, Demise already knew the answer. "He thinks I don't notice... I've been too lenient with him."

Unable to talk back, Link curled around his core to hide it, though there was nothing left to keep hidden. Ghirahim had etched himself into Link's skin just as much as Demise's fire, no part of his body his own anymore.

It never was.

'Hero', the king still called him, a title that sounded no more fitting now that he was face to face with the adversary he was meant to slay. Each and every doubt was right, in the end, that he was too weak. It was blasphemous to think Hylia wrong, but the truth was she was mistaken in her choice of agents.

He had never asked for the burden, no one ever bothered to care if he did. Zelda's father even told him once he had no choice, the only once capable of carrying such a heavy fate. Had he known he wouldn't be strong enough? Did he know he would sit walled away inside a castle while his daughter was sacrificed, that her only hope would fall and break every time he was given a chance to make amends?

"I see now what a mistake that has been."

Called back from his thoughts by Demise's musings, Link turned his full attention to the king. As if just now becoming aware of Link's presence in the room, he pondered him with a watchful eye, impassive as he watched Link squirm.

Each step towards him was much too soft for the monster he was, and Link almost shrank back and tried to protect himself. He knew better than to resist, but still trembled as his hand reached out to lightly trace across his skin. His fingertip followed the thread that surrounded his core, pressing a touch too hard where Ghirahim had pierced him with his own blade. Link flinched, the spot still tender, but held still as Demise mimicked the damage. The burning eyes never left the scarred skin, but his hand closed in a fist that held Link's chin aloft.

"You heal alarmingly fast. A wound such as that should have taken weeks to heal. Even Ghirahim would struggle to reform after such a violent sheathing of his sword... its like there's something still protecting you."

If Link had a heart, it would have stopped. He stared unblinkingly at the king, frozen where he sat. He half expected him to lash out, rip the sword from his heart or strike his cheek, but those were things Ghirahim would do. This was Demise, and despite Link being bound to this demon rather than the volatile sword, he could predict his actions even less.

Finally, stormy eyes flicked up to his, the intensity of his gaze a burning itch under Link's false skin. He wanted to fade away to nothing, a unnatural instinct to give in eating him away from the inside.

"I must apologize." Demise murmured, and as his palm engulfed Link's cheek he finally broke away from staring into the fire, unsure what to do with this gentle touch. Link could anticipate pain; suffering was commonplace and welcome. Kindness set him on edge more than the promise of punishment.

"You are nothing like the hero of the past. It seems you have simply been caught in the crossfire of the gods, given false hope that you could ever change the fate of the world. I myself abetted this. I didn't intend to break you; I had thought you already broken."

Like there was a lump caught in his throat, Link choked on a whimper he desperately did not want to be heard. Broken. That was how he was perceived: a husk of a hero, fallen from the sky and left in shattered pieces on the surface below, the shards of his soul not strong enough to hold together in the face of fate. So pitiful even the merciless found it within themselves to find empathy for him.

Link wanted to crawl away and hide, wallow in his failure and let himself mourn the world he barely knew, but he was less than a soldier now. A blade, subject to the will of another, a tool to be wielded against what he had once stood for. He had no choice but to meet the king's gaze again as nails dug into his jaw, forcing him back to eye contact.

"I must say, I prefer it this way. You'll be more interesting to mold how I wish. The mistakes I made with Ghirahim can be corrected with you."

He let go of his face, and in a wordless order of a gesture of his hand, Link felt himself compelled to stand. He waited at attention for the next order, his throat tightening like he was struggling to breathe.

"I've allowed you enough time to foster hope for something that will never be. If Ghirahim has any of his past competence, he'll be ready to advance tomorrow morning. I want you to join him, follow his lead. If you participate, maybe it'll get it into your head you lost."

Link wouldn't call it kindness or comfort or anything of the sort, but there was a strange feeling in his chest when the one who owned his blade took his arm in his hand, something deep within burning to be seen, to be held. He wanted to sink closer and run away all at the same time, but he did neither. He knew those reactions would not be welcomed.

"Take this time to recover. I'll have him fetch you when it's time. Don't dwell on what must happen, you'll only hurt yourself."

Possessively holding Link's cheek, Demise looked as if he had more to order of him. Instead, he sighed, waving him away.

"You are dismissed."

Chapter Text

Link thought he was ready. He thought, when the time came, he would be able to find some emotional void in his mind and stay there until it was over, numb to the feelings and pliant to the orders he would be given. He had lost. There was no chance to save anyone, now. No reason left to fight.

But when he stood at the edge of the treelined forest, the world of green just coming to life in the faint dawn sunlight, he knew he had been wrong.

Ghirahim was making plans with a small group of demon soldiers in hushed tones, pointing over the trees and ordering them to their positions. Link hadn't seen the extent of the demon army, but knew these few were far from what the sword had scrounged up out of the ruins of what once was.

What could Demise possibly want with any of this? There was nothing here to rule, lest he counted a few lost kikwis and a handful of gorons. The land had long since been vacated by most of its controllable life, either wiped out or sent to the Sky.

"Ghirahim, what's the point, there's nothing down here to fight—"

"It's not our place to ask questions." The sword muttered, cutting off Link's desperate plea. "So I suggest you stay quiet and stay out of my way. Do not interrupt me again."

There were whispers from the demons, hushed tones questioning Link's loyalty that he didn't bother to listen to. He kept staring at the rising sun, hearing the little birds coming to life in the trees.

"Oh, we know he's not to be trusted." Ghirahim's voice cut through the empty chatter, Link jumping when a hand was placed on his shoulder. "But as I told the Demon King's chosen blade, it is not your place to question his orders. He stays with me, and you do not worry about him."

They didn't seem to like that answer, but they had no choice in the matter otherwise.

Ghirahim's hand still gripped Link's shoulder, turning him from the forest as he ordered the last of the demons to their positions. "Take the last band of bokoblins and prepare to ambush the waterfall. The Shiekah have long since died out, but I wouldn't put it past a few remaining militant bands to still pop up. The Hylians know of the Surface now, but I don't expect any interference from them. Our main concern are the guardians."

The skies of red descended on the land, horrific chimes chasing him down as blades cut through his body, no sword to protect himself, nothing to do but run and hope he made it in time, knowing the alternative was to die by his own failed soul—

Link's head snapped to the conversation and away from the forest. Before he could open his mouth, though, Ghirahim beat him to it.

"The dragons, Link." The demon sighed, holding a hand to silence him. "They're not expecting us, but they'll have known about my Master's return. They'll have noticed the hero and spirit maiden's absence, maybe even felt Her Grace's death, and will be on high alert for any attack. Each guard their own realm, so I only expect trouble from the Water Dragon (and she'll raise hell, believe me)—"

Ghirahim had to stop to calm himself, squeezing Link's arm painfully. "Once she knows we're here, she'll try to fight by herself. We can use this arrogance against her, and wipe out any opposition before the others arrive. Am I clear?"

A general murmur of agreement rose up from the group. "Good. You have your orders. If you happen to fail..."

All eyes were on Link. He stepped closer to Ghirahim, wrapping his arms around himself as if it would make him smaller.

"... don't return. Succeed or die trying. The king doesn't often offer second chances, and he has yet to forget the disasters of the first war. Don't mess this up."

A weak battle cry rang through the clearing, the demon soldiers disbanding to go their separate ways. Link watched each one wander off into the forest, going to gather more monsters that would destroy the land he was meant to protect.

He felt sick to his stomach.

Wandering away, Link traced the bark of a nearby tree, feeling the ridges under his fingertips. It was still young, only just recovered from the first path of destruction Demise had swept across the land. A lone bird hopped on the ground before him, naive to the impending doom.

"What are you thinking about?" Ghirahim appeared behind him, and Link was reminded how close an eye was being kept on him. He could warn her. If Link could get away from Ghirahim, he could warn the Water Dragon and she'd have time to call the others, and maybe they'd have a chance. He'd have to get away from Ghirahim.

"Will everything die?" He murmured, sinking to his knees as he held a hand out to the bird. It curiously hopped in his direction, not getting too close but intrigued by this strange being all the same.

"Everything will, eventually."

The bird had fluttered into his palm now, looking for food he wouldn't find. Link held a finger to its head, gently petting the tiny creature.

"This is Hylia's creation, and everything that exists here has been polluted by her touch. Anything that resists will be annihilated, and what's left isn't worth crying over."

Before he could react, a dagger flashed through the air, guided by magic. Faster than the blink of an eye it lodged itself into the tree behind him, the loud thunk ringing in Link's ears.

"So don't get too attached."

Feathers drifted to the ground, each slow spiral dragging out the inevitable fall. Link let his empty palm fall to his side, tarnished with the first drop of innocent blood that would stain his hands for eternity.

The best he could do was wait. Watch, and wait. So Link followed where Ghirahim went, trying not to act suspicious, ignoring the damage in their wake. Small things to draw the dragon out, just the demons setting traps. A tree engulfed in dark magic here, a band of bokoblins stationed at either end of a valley so nothing could get past there. Stuff that would be cause for concern, a red flag on their radar but not enough to raise alarms and shut the lake off. Link knew of the underwater caves, but had never reached the dragon herself. It would have been the first place he was sent after the Silent Realm, had he made it through. He wasn't sure if they knew what had happened, but by now, surely they weren't expecting him.

The forest was silent, even by midday, and Ghirahim was becoming agitated. He never revealed any part of the plan to Link, but it was growing increasingly clearer that something had gone wrong. Afraid of incurring his wrath, Link waited on the sidelines, keeping within the demon's sight but never interrupting him.

The stifling anticipation finally broke when the brush began to rustle, both spirits drawing their swords only to be greeted by a weary solider stumbling from the trees, armor crooked and strange patches of black oozing from open wounds.

"My lord," The messenger dropped to a knee, chest heaving from exertion, "a rouge Sheikah has been engaging the army. We believe they are alone, but the damage they have done to the east band has been enough to incapacitate many of those you sent. We are trying to keep them occupied, but if there were any others, they'll surely have sent warning to the Water Dragon by now."

Blade still pointed at the demon on its knees, Ghirahim only cocked his head as if this was an interesting puzzle and not a devasting blow to his strategy. Having been the cause of some of those foiled plans, and on the receiving end of his concurrent outbursts, Link knew nothing good was going to come from this fake leniency.

"Damn." Ghirahim hissed, furling his fingers around his sword, entirely too calm for what had been conveyed to him. "And you haven't solved this yourself?"

"No, we—" The messenger stopped short, throat bobbing. "The captain sent for you specifically. It has been millennia since any one of them have fought, and the magic they are using is... it can only be countered with the same."

"A couple thousand years and none of you figured out how to harness that power. Pathetic." Ghirahim sighed, running his free hand through his hair. "Fine. I'll do it myself."

With a quick glance between the demon and Link, Ghirahim sent his blade shimmering into diamonds. "You wouldn't mind babysitting, would you?"

While Link bristled at the insult, the demon on theirs knees hesitated, "... you want me to watch him?"

Stalking toward Link, Ghirahim was smiling with a dangerous warning in his eyes, strained kindness a character he was close to breaking.

"A test of your loyalty." Ghirahim murmured, pointer finger pressed under his chin. "So be good for me, won't you?"

Link's stomach churned as he nodded, hoping his eyes weren't giving away his guilty conscience.

"Good." He cooed, flicking his hand away so that it would have left a scratch were Link's skin not steel. "I'll be back, and I expect you to be right here when I am."

Without waiting for an answer, the sword vanished into diamonds, off to fight by himself what a whole army was having trouble prevailing over.

Sunlight illuminated the clearing where the other demon still half-kneeled awkwardly, rising to his feet in halting motions. Link stay put on the edge of the trees, half in the shadows, half betrayed by dappled specks of gold. The two were watching each other with varying trepidation, the demon clearly afraid of him and Link more afraid he couldn't get away with the plan forming in his mind.

The demon was wounded. Link was weaponless. Ghirahim thought he needed a guard. The guard was here to humiliate them, not Link.

Finally, like they were skirting around a wild animal unsure if it would attack or not, the demon solider rose to their full height. Not quite as tall as Ghirahim, but still a head or two over Link. They were wearing armor. There was a large gash at their waist, easily within Link's range.

"I don't know what Ghirahim's playing at... having you here." The demon rasped, staggering out of the open clearing. "We all know what you are. A curse, like him. At least he was well on our side when he changed."

They now stood across from each other, the grass before them like an arena. Like the training yard at school, like a final room of the dungeons and mazes he had fought his way through. Link shifted his weight, watching silently, unblinking.

Propping themself against a tree, the demon placed a hand to their wound. Hissing, it drew back covered in dark blood, placed back over the gash to provide some relief. "Did you know he was like you once? Once a traitor, always a traitor... He might play at commanding respect, but he's just a puppet."

The wind rushed through the gaps, whistling around Link's ears as he kept still. His fingers twitched, desperate to fight back, but too much was at stake to mess it up now.

"So don't think for a moment any of us trust you, knight of Hylia. You should have stayed a trophy inside the king's castle." They turned their head and spat out more dark blood on the ground, and in doing so, made a very crucial mistake. Their eyes were off their prisoner.

Link made it across the clearing in two and a half seconds. He counted each in his head before he slammed into the demon, sending the both of them tumbling back into the forest, trapping each other among the drying brush and fallen logs. The demon snarled, thrashing out and swinging wildly, but none of their blows made a dent.

It took another two seconds for Link to shove them to the ground, forcing his knee into the wound on their stomach. It took the breath from their lungs, but they still fought, and this caused Link to lose ten whole seconds from his plan. Link's arms darted out in front of him, clamping around the demon's neck.

"You—I knew it, Ghirahim should never have—" The demon groaned, coughing more even as Link choked him. He pressed harder, cutting off their airway, keeping them from saying anything more.

He just needed them to pass out. He didn't need to kill them, he told himself. Just to lose consciousness. It was getting easier and easier to hold on as their thrashing was punctuated with stalls, halting jerks as they kicked and clawed for their life.

Link tried to look away as he choked them, but the insults still came in unintelligible curses bubbling from their mouth. They had stopped fighting enough for Link to free one of his hands, the other still tight around their throat.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, sitting back so his chest was exposed. With a deep breath, he reached into the depths of his soul, calling out a part of him he wasn't even sure he could find.

The hilt of a blade grazed his fingers, and with one harsh pull, Link drew his sword from himself. It caught the light, sending reflections dancing across the forest floor. It hurt; the ache in his chest made him want to curl into a ball and hide away, but the sting in his thigh and the soft flesh under his fingers were stark reminders he had to keep moving. The demon beneath him had gone completely still, and if he left now, he could get away, no need to stain his hands any further.

He didn't know if they lived or died, but there wasn't time to mourn an enemy. Link scrambled from the forest floor and began to run in any direction he could. He had to find the dragon before the army did, blinded by this goal to any other distractions.

They'd be watching the bridge, the most obvious entrance. Link wracked his brain for any other way in, going through the map of the forest he had never quite completed. The water dragon would be at Lake Floria. He couldn't get there by using the bridge. What else was there to go on?

In his haze, he slipped, tumbling down a grassy slope. His nails dug into the dirt as he tried to steady himself, slipping further towards the chasm he had missed from his single-minded goal. Coming to a stop just at its edge, Link lay back in the grass, fear invading his mind without any of the other symptoms he was so used to.

His heart wasn't pounding, he wasn't out of breath. He was more than human now, and he could use this to his advantage. As he peered over the edge, Link felt a shimmer of hope. The hidden cutout had towering golden ruins masked by clear waterfalls, a sunken path with a river flowing back into the cave. There was nothing else in sight, but the way the cave was adorned with ancient carvings and glittering golden decorations made it seem important.

He hurriedly felt around in the grass for his sword, finding the extension of himself with ease. He didn't have time to sheath it, and held it in his fist as he searched for a way down. There were a few ledges and tree branches, put none matched up to make a clear path down to the cave. The fastest way would be to jump.

His leg still ached. He couldn't tell how deep the water was, but it would be better than falling on the solid ground. Pushing himself to his feet, Link closed his eyes and leapt.

He had never liked swimming. It felt suffocating, surrounded on all sides and unable to breath. Nothing at all like the freedom of flying. As Link felt the first impact against the water, sinking beneath the current and letting himself be swept away, he felt as if everything up until that point had been like drowning. The oppressive weight of his sword in his hand was as suffocating as the water, tying him down to a Surface he had never wanted to be a part of.

His head broke the surface and he instinctively gasped for breath. Each stroke of his arms felt like he was dragging them through mud as he swam to solid ground, pulling himself out of the depths and back onto the comforting unwavering ground. Small currents pooled around his ankles as he entered the cave, beckoning him in with their warning of what the water could do when provoked. It made the descent more difficult, but if it had been easy, he would probably be going the wrong way.

The sunlight had started to fade, growing darker as he made his way through the damp tunnels, occasionally interrupted by a spotlight that left rippling patterns of light on the water. Link followed the flow of the stream as it twisted through the underground, slowly approaching a light at the end of the tunnel. Opening up to a large open cavern, he looked on in awe at the sweeping arches and twisting roots of the natural architecture, the woods themselves creating a throne room for a formidable force of nature. In the center an empty platform jutted from the lake, a lone island surrounded by the vibrant sea.

Link took one step into the cave, hesitant as the tap of his boot on the stone echoed around the roots, ringing along with the droplets of water that fell to the pond beneath. All was still quiet and still, and so he took another step out into the open.

Before he could react, he was thrown to the wall, slammed into by a giant mass that whipped out from nowhere and trapped him. He struggled to free himself, and as soon as he had slipped from its grasp, he was knocked into the water by the snake-like tendril again. Tumbling over himself, disoriented by the waves and bubbles as he tried to fight, Link kept his sword in his hand despite it all.

He felt claws clamp around his middle, a large hand pull him from the lake and pin him to the nearest arch, and no matter how much he kicked and bit he could not escape. Suspended in the air above the lake, his sword was torn from his hands, held out of his reach as he strained to get it back.

"No!"

The hand he was held in tightened, squeezing his ribs so hard he was sure he would break. His weak grunt of pain was overshadowed by a booming voice, echoing in his ears and around the cavern.

"You dare to stand against the guardians of the Surface, you banished demons? You who come crawling out of your hiding places to fight losing battles again?"

"I'm not—" Link tried to gasp out, but he was interrupted.

"You think you can launch surprise attacks? I am Faron, Water Dragon and guardian of these lands! You think anything you do in my realm goes past my reach? You are fools!"

"Please! He spit out, crushed by the water dragon's hand. "I'm not here to—I'm here to warn you!"

The room spun as Link was taken from the wall and dropped to the platform, falling through the air and crumbling when he landed. He didn't have time to bring himself off his knees before the dragon had him trapped again, looming over him as she crafted prison bars from her claws.

"How can you be? You reek of dark magic, a sign of the demon king itself. You're some sort of trap, aren't you? Do not lie to me, boy!"

"I'm not." Link hissed through gritted teeth, squeezing himself out between her claws. "I'm... please, you have to believe me."

"Why should I?"

He slowly backed away, keeping himself low and barely looking up at her. "I'm... I'm Hylia's chosen hero."

"Impossible. Her hero died when he failed to stop the rise of the demon king."

Groaning, Link didn't know how to make her understand. "Look, I may not have stopped him from rising, but I'm trying now, and I need you to listen. You can't fight by yourself, there's too many of them, you need to call the other guardians for—"

"You dare to order me? You pathetic demon, you don't even bother to show me the proper respect, you come to my hall and deign to warn me of an attack I already know?"

"I'm sorry, your excellency," Link spit, "but there's no time for stupid things like that when the army is already at your door."

Even as he spoke the words, Link knew he was in trouble. He dodged the dragon's tail as it landed right where he had been standing, rolling to the side and nearly into the water.

"I should bite your head off where you stand!" Her booming voice crashed over him, anger bubbling the water that flowed over her scales, "You say you are the chosen hero? Then where is your sword? The one the hero was destined to wield?"

He could hear Fi chiming in his mind, the memory of her blade a reopened wound. Ghirahim had never told him what became of the goddess sword, whether broken or lost or safe with some hidden agent of the goddess, and Link had never dared to ask.

"I don't... I don't know." Wrapping his arms around himself, Link felt so very small in her presence. "What you hold now... that's my only sword. It's... it's me. I've been cursed and corrupted and now I'm like her, the spirit of the Goddess Sword, and I know there's no saving me, but if you could just please give it back, it's not too late to save the forest, there's still time—"

"Ha! Absolutely not." Trying to strike him again with her tail, Faron drove him from the platform, catching him beneath the water and dragging him from its embrace once more. "If you are what the Goddess and her enemy send before their wrath, then both have made poor choices in their harbinger."

"Demise didn't send me!" Link writhed, trying to break himself free. He was getting frustrated, the time ticking down to convince her to save herself. If she's all Faron has to protect itself, they're done for.

Is it really worth saving?

His blood froze at the thought as it crossed his mind. Unfortunately, Faron took his silence and stall as surrender, squeezing him in her fist and laughing.

"You are a poor liar!"

Throwing him to the water again, Link kicked as he clawed himself back to the platform, back on solid ground but still under threat of the dragon. There was something sinister tugging at his mind, arms shaking as he crawled back to the center.

"Why won't you listen!"

In his anger, something snapped. He could feel his skin melting away, the dark obsidian of his spirit form breaking through. The blade was an extension of himself as it vibrated in Faron's fist, slicing through scales as it dropped down to the platform with alarming speed. Without a second thought, he picked it from the floor, dripping with her blood, watching as the dragon thrashed in the water.

"I knew!" She screeched, tail coming down by his side again. "I knew you were a trap! A monster just like him, sent ahead of the rest to distract, a ploy to bring me down! You came here with your talk of heroes and saving this land, and now you will never leave!"

It was like he was driven by some other force, a puppet controlled by a master that held his strings. Link leapt into the air the next time the tail landed by his side, sinking his blade into her scales. Even her wailing didn't reach his ears as all else ceased but the voice in his mind telling him to attack.

He wished he could say he blacked out. But Link was fully, complicitly aware as he hacked away at slippery scales and spilled divine blood, the heavy validation of vengeance in his chest. No one had believed he could be the hero. He was always too late, too weak, too small. No one had paid him any mind, not even Ghirahim, not until Demise. The only one who had ever shown any recognition for the hardships he had faced, the way he tried and the hopelessness of it all was his master, the master he had gone behind their back and was trying to betray.

Faron was yelling. Whether she was screaming, begging, cursing, it didn't matter. Link was on autopilot as his hands gripped his sword, swinging it through the air as it found its mark. His battle haze was clearing, vision starting to come back to him as pained gasps fell upon his deaf ears. The wails had gone silent, empty, stuttering gasps replacing them.

"No..." Blinking as if that would make the sight go away, Link heard his sword clatter to the ground. "No, no, I didn't—no, this isn't, I didn't mean to—Hylia, please, please tell me this isn't—please tell me I didn't—"

His prayers went to a goddess who he had failed, a girl he had once been friends with who was now dead because of him.

"If you really were... Hylia's Chosen..." Faron coughed, her head falling to the side as her eyes closed, "Then may she have mercy on all our souls."

"No. No, you can't—Hylia, why? Why did you let this happen?" Link sobbed, sinking to his knees before the wounded dragon. Her breath stuttered, catching on itself as her chest rose and fell, still alive. Still fighting.

Link stayed in the chamber for longer than he had time for, longer than he should have been allowed. He had done this to her, and somewhere out in the forest, the demon army was advancing.

He had felt possessed, but now, running the scenes back in his mind, it had all been him. His anger, his frustration, everything that scared him come to the Surface. Zelda was gone, Zelda was dead, and it was all for nothing.

Something had broken inside of him a long time ago.

Sword limp in his hands, Link rose to his feet, praying to gods that had never heard his pleas.

"Hylia above, and to the Golden Three..."

He had been to a handful of funerals in his life time. He was too young to remember his parents, just barely able to understand when he went to Zelda's mother's. Pipit's father had been a shock, recent enough that it was still taking its toll on their family but far enough in the past that it didn't cloud every day's thoughts. They had been just entering the academy then, and to watch the upperclassman change after the death of his father had been strange. Pipit seemed to work himself to death trying to make a ghost proud, and his mother had never really recovered.

Had they put on funerals for Zelda? Had they honored him as a knight? Did the people of Skyloft grant him rites he didn't deserve, did Zelda's father tell them what he was meant to be? Were they still holding out, waiting for hope one of them would return?

"Please, find strength and heal your servant, Faron, the Water Dragon, the guardian you entrusted with this land..." Even as no tears came to his eyes, Link choked. He didn't deserve to be standing here, speaking directly to gods that had he had blatantly forsaken. Praying for healing when he had done the harm, the irony stiff in his throat.

"Please, if you can hear me at all, if you ever chose me as your hero as they all say you did... let me save them from the suffering that's to come. I know I've knelt for a different god, a demon I should have—I should have defeated, but, goddesses, please... if not for me, for them."

Dropping the blade from his hand, Link sank back to his knees and clasped his hands together, pressing his fists to his forehead as his heart ached. There would have been celebrations. There would have been a stone, a send off, they would have let their loftwings fly away into the clouds and become one with the sky, protecting Skyloft as their riders had in life. Had they given him the knights' funeral? Had they laid an effigy at the goddess statue when they had no body, no sword to bury?

He mourned for the life he never got to live, if not for himself, for Zelda. For her father. For Fledge and Pipit and Karane, his friends, for the remlits he teased and the kikiwis he unwittingly terrorized, the spirit of the Goddess Sword and all those he never had a chance to say goodbye to. If Hylia had chosen him as her hero, then surely she had never meant for them to live.

He didn't even have the comfort of tears on his skin as he pulled himself away from his prayers, back to the looming body of a great spirit he had taken down by his own hand. She was still breathing, but in great danger, and now there was nothing left to protect the Surface. He knelt in the great hall of a god, having struck her down with his own hands. If Demise had doubted his loyalty before, Link thought bitterly, he was going to be pleasantly surprised.

And that was what hurt the most, in the end. Link chosen to follow a master that wouldn't even raise a finger to care for him, for a demon masquerading as a god righting the balance of the world. Demise was no different from the goddesses that had stolen his youth, no less attentive. At least he had been up front about it. At least he had never promised something he couldn't give.

Link would have stayed in the dimly lit cavern for the rest of time and considered it half the punishment he deserved, but the tug at the back of his mind had returned. He wanted so badly to ignore whatever it was, the itching feeling there was still somewhere to go and something to complete, but his legs led him from the platform to the water's edge. The coral and reeds waved in the current, still vibrant, still colorful. Life was struggling to survive, and he had to help it.

He had to find Ghirahim before Ghirahim found the dragon.

He luckily didn't have to climb out of the valley, following a side path as it snaked back up to the slopes of Faron Woods. Something had changed, the way no birds nor bugs jumped out at him and nothing was chirping in the trees. Like walking through a cemetery devoid of even ghosts, Link felt completely, utterly alone.

When he looked up to the sky, the distant hills were covered in thick, heavy smoke, as good a sign as any the army was on its way. He wondered what happened to subtly, the surprise attack Ghirahim had ordered a plan gone down the drain.

He had made it halfway to the far ridge when he was abruptly stopped in his path by something sharp flying past his face, sunk into the bark of a nearby tree shortly before he was slammed against it, too.

"Surprise, surprise." Ghirahim's unimpressed drawl cut through the silence, "Look who I've run into, far from where he should be."

"Let me go." Link ordered, not struggling even as Ghirahim kept an arm over his neck.

"You killed the messenger, didn't you?"

"No, I—"

"I knew you would. Why else would I have left him there? A test and a punishment in one... a pity you failed, though."

Letting him down but keeping a hand on him, Ghirahim dragged Link along the path, back the direction he had been coming from. "Plans have changed since you left. We're heading back to our Master."

"I didn't—"

"Oh, please." Link was interrupted, Ghirahim's nails digging into his arm. "You've killed plenty of my bokoblins, why is one demon messenger such a hang up for you? Sure, I'm pissed, our Master will be even more, but you've proven you can't be trusted and still have some misplaced hero complex. It doesn't matter now, anyway, your 'precious forest' is burning."

Link stopped, causing Ghirahim's march to halt, too. "What?"

"Couldn't you tell?" Tugging him to his chest, Ghirahim snapped his fingers and they were high above the tree tops, standing on the branches of the great tree. Overlooking the burning forest fire, the absence of the birds made more sense, all life trying to escape the rampaging demon army.

"It's not exactly what I remembered.... or imagined." Ghirahim sighed, watching the flames engulf the brush. He glanced to Link, his shellshocked stare, and looked away. "It's easier if you don't look."

Though they were far from the flames, the scent of smoke was beginning to drift into the air.

"Why did you do this?" Link murmured, almost drowned out by the crackling of the flames and the shouts as they marched closer. "Why do you do this to yourself?"

"Do what? Burn everything? It wasn't my first choice, I wouldn't have been opposed to leaving some subjects to rule, but an angry mob is more difficult to control when they're scared, and that damn goddess serving dog—"

"No, not... I mean, all of this. Why did you become what you are? Why did you make me? Did you really do... all this for Demise?" Link tore his eyes away from the flames, waiting for an answer that would never come.

He knew so little about Ghirahim. Bits and pieces were given to him but they didn't seem to line up, Ghirahim's past a puzzle that was missing everything that held it together. To become what he was, willingly, to worship their Master yet go behind his back and want for his own power... it didn't make sense.

Finally, as the flames were growing closer to the Great Tree, Ghirahim's mouth parted to whisper no more of an answer than Link had yet been given.

"One day, you'll understand."

"He doesn't..."

"He doesn't what, Link? Love me? Of course not. I know that." Scoffing, he crossed his arms and leaned against the tree, watching as the forest fire sent billowing black smoke into the sky, blotting out the dying sun. "Let me ask you: why should he? What have I ever done to deserve it?"

"Ghirahim..."

"No, don't." Waving his hand, the demon dismissed any of Link's attempts before he could even start. "Hylia loved you so much that this is where you ended up. Your fate is a direct consequence of her love. Still believe it's worth it?"

Link thought back to the prayers he had whispered alone, the goddesses refusing to hear him until he was already mourning.

"There's nothing good that's ever come out of love. I never told you how I opened the Gate after it was destroyed, did I?"

Closing his eyes to the destruction in front of him, Link's hands curled into fists.

"Only an act of true devotion could have fixed that mistake. Suffering, blind devotion. A sacrifice only her hero was meant to give. But you had a friend follow you here, selfish hero. This was supposed to be your quest alone, but someone else wanted to save your goddess."

"What? No, no one else..."

"Big, much taller than you, atrocious red hair." Ghirahim raised a hand as if to map out the person he was talking about, but Link's blood had already run cold with recognition. "His screams were so much less pretty than yours as he bled out on her altar, but just like you he wouldn't give up. You know, you never told me her mortal name. Zelda, was it? I heard it from him in his dying breaths. Goes to show who you really cared about, in the end."

"Groose is dead?" Link whispered, and though he had never seen eye to eye with his bully, he had never wanted this to happen.

"I wish." Ghirahim scoffed, flicking his hair. "He was saved by some blasted goddess servant at the last second, but it was too late. Obviously I was able to remake the Gate, and obviously I got to your Zelda before they could."

"This is all your fault!"

One thing was still true as Link launched himself at the demon, sending the two of them tumbling down the branches that whirled around the Great Tree: Link was armed, and Ghirahim was not. He was still invulnerable to nearly any attack, but Link knew his weaknesses and was aiming for his core.

"If you had never— why would you do all this if it wasn't out of love, what could you possibly gain?" He shouted over the roar of the fire, growing ever closer, as Ghirahim snarled and fought back. He clawed at Link's hand for his sword, hoping to take one of the few things that could hurt him, but Link had grown stronger with his own blade on his side.

"Give up! There's nothing left for you, so stop fighting it!"

Ghirahim's hand slipped from Link's fist, and as Link took the opening to jerk his sword away, it caught on the demon's chest slicing through clothes and skin. It left a long black mark across his core, the beginnings of his spirit form starting to peel away and the tip of the diamond shining through.

Their fight was cut short by the loud cracking of the tree above them, a burning limb falling away from the trunk.

They went in different directions as they dove to escape the falling branch, separated by the wall of flames between them. Ghirahim looked murderous on the other side, and still dizzy from smoke he had inhaled, Link panicked.

He ran.

Nothing looked the same as he sped through the burning forest, shrouded in smoke and raging flames around every corner. Link slipped on the ash as it fell from the sky, still coughing to get the smoke out of whatever held it inside his body, blindly racing down whatever paths were still left.

The bridge to the waterfalls was just up ahead, the lake promising respite from the anger of the fire. He could wait it out in the water, and deal with Ghirahim's wrath once the flames had died down. Legs shaking as he turned the corner, he leaned against the stone gate for support, so close to the ledge he could then jump from. Panting, he looked up to his only exit.

Someone was already at the other end.

He would recognize them anywhere. Even after his dreams had stopped, he couldn't forget their face, seeing her in the ghosts that haunted his living nightmares. Link stood, framed by smoke and firelight, half the person he used to be in front of an old friend.

Surrounded by the spitting waterfalls, alive and solid, no apparition or ghost from his memory, was Zelda.