Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I know you can hear me.

Vesan groaned and turned over in his bed, pulling a pillow over his head as though that would block out the intruding voice.

Vesan, please.

No. Leave me alone. He pleaded in his mind, eyes squeezing shut tightly, willing the voice to dissolve into the edges of a dream. But it didn't feel like a dream. It felt too cold. Too real. Like wind threading through stone, old and searching. The voice pulled at something inside him, and that something ached. He wished he could just slip back into his dreamless sleep, but it was too late. He was already too aware of his surroundings, the soft moonlight kissing the back of his eyelids as reality filtered back to him and each of his senses returned: the earthy perfume of the desert, the chilled air of his room, the tightness building in his chest... It was earlier than he would have liked, but that just meant extra time to get ready.

He sat up slowly, dragging a deep breath into lungs that didn’t feel like they belonged to him yet. Eyes still shut, he imagined a wall around himself. A thick wall, thick enough to block out the interloper's voice. He stacked the bricks carefully in his mind—each one a barrier, a "not now," a "go away." When she called his name again, her voice was faint. When the voice didn't come again, he could finally release the tension in his shoulders and open his eyes.

He took a moment to roll his shoulders and stretch his arms out before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and pulling himself to his feet. Today was a big day - he rarely ventured beyond the safety of Gerudo Town‘s imposing sandstone walls. Even then, only just beyond the town walls, never beyond the sight of the entrance guards and often with a few guards in tow. Yet today, he would accompany Lady Riju all the way to Kara Kara Bazaar. Just thinking about it made him feel like his stomach would collapse in on itself.

Vesan took a moment to steady himself. Deep breath. In and out. Don't dwell on it. Moonlight poured through the window across his bed and he turned his attention there, hoping to ground himself by pulling the covers into place, smoothing every wrinkle, and carefully flattening the creases with the side of his hand. He adjusted each pillow until they sat perfectly aligned, perfectly still. Straight lines helped. They felt like control. Like something he could actually manage.

With the bed restored, he moved to dress. He selected his favourite robe and pants, running his fingers over the soft fabric to center himself before letting it fall over his shoulders. He left the front open, exposing his chest to the cool morning air, but cinched it around his waist with a sash just a little brighter red than his own hair. He adorned himself with gold - golden earrings and golden bracelets - familiar pieces, worn so often they felt more like extensions of his body than accessories. It was the chunky golden necklace with its ostentatious sapphire gems that was a bit more showy than normal. He didn't know why he wanted to look so nice, it's not like he particularly enjoyed standing out, but it felt like the occasion demanded a little extra fanfare.

At the vanity, he ran the comb through his hair three times, then four, then three again. The rhythm helped. The knots didn’t. Once his hair was smooth enough to work with, he pulled half of his hair up into a loose sort of topknot, letting the rest fall down his back to his waist. Finally, he reached for the thin chains of gold resting on the stand nearby. With practiced ease, he laid the forehead chain across his brow, securing the delicate sapphire that hung from it in the center. The chain wrapped back around his head and tucked beneath his hair, cool and comforting against his skin. With it, his reflection finally felt complete.

Quietly, he stepped out to the adjacent kitchen, cautious not to wake his mother so early. He slowly chopped fruit on the countertop, each click of the knife against the stone felt like louder than it should have, threatening his mother's sleep. He scooped the pieces into a bowl and topped them with honey before pouring a glass of milk and settling down at the table, its wooden legs scraping against the floor. By now, his nerves were beginning to return to him. His foot tapped an anxious rhythm on the floor as he ate and the honey turned bland on his tongue.

"Sav'otta, Vesan." Before he could turn, he felt arms wrap around him. Relaxing into the embrace, his foot stilled. His mother shifted to press a kiss to his temple before releasing him and moving over to the cabinets. "Good, you're eating. I was worried you would try to skip breakfast. Finish the other half of that palm fruit, it's good for you and it'll only go to waste otherwise."

Begrudgingly, Vesan complied, accepting the other half of the palm fruit without a word. His mother nodded approvingly, then returned her attention to the cabinet and pulled out a small jar. She set to work cutting more fruit and dropping it into the jar, drizzling it with courser bee honey. "Where is your bag? I'll pack this away for you for later. Don't give me that look; you'll thank me later. Do you have your sword?"

Vesan sighed and shook his head. There wasn’t a point in dragging that thing out, it was merely ornamental in his untrained hands. Maybe the thought was if trouble struck, he could find the nearest child and give them the sword to fight with while he cowered nearby? Probably more effective than wielding it himself. He dramatically set his elbow on the table and rested his cheek in his palm in wordless protest. His mother just rolled her eyesand left the room. She returned moments later with his bag and the neglected scimitar, bringing both to the table.

“It’s just in case.” She explained, “I know you aren‘t going too far and Kara Kara Bazaar is safe... and both Lady Riju and Buliara will be right there with you... but I don‘t want you to leave unprepared. If there‘s danger-”

It was his turn to roll his eyes. His mother shot him a stern look.

"If there's danger, I would feel better if you had your sword. Sword first, Vesan. Magic as a last resort. Understood?" Vesan nodded, a pit forming in his stomach as he stared down at his bowl and slowly finished eating. "Hey. Look at me." He met her gaze. Her steady amber gaze met his own for a moment before she leaned over to pressed her forehead gently to his. "I love you."

It took him a moment to unstick his tongue from his brain and reply, "I love you, too." He knew it make her happy to hear it aloud. His voice was soft and creaked a little from disuse, which he hated to hear, but when she stepped away to clear his empty bowl from the table, she was smiling. Satisfied, he stood and gathered his belongings from the table. He slung the bag over his shoulder and diligently strapped the scimitar to his waist. He was almost to the door when he second-guessed himself. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to bring his sitar along, right?

When he made it outside, the nighttime chill was still settled over Gerudo town. The weight of his jewelry shifted with every step, brushing lightly against his collarbone and wrists. By the time he reached the town gate, the tips of his ears were stinging from the cold and he'd tucked his hands under his armpits to keep his fingertips warm. From the changing hue in the sky, he knew it would start to warm up soon, thankfully. He heard Patricia‘s loud bark before he saw her and both Riju and Buliara were only a few paces away, already waiting for him.

Riju offered a smile and a wave and Vesan returned both. From Buliara, a curt and professional nod. "Ready, Vesan?" Riju asked. He nodded. She’d moved to her sled, picked up the reigns, and motioned to the sand seal next to Patricia. “Dodie’s already waiting for you.”

Without much more fanfare, they were off - dashing over dunes awash with the golds and pinks of the rising sun.

--

By the time they reached the bazaar, the sun was bearing down on them in earnest. Sweat beaded on Vesan's brow, slipping along his hairline and gathering beneath the delicate gem against his forehead. He was thankful the sapphire's enchantments were doing their job to fight the worst of the heat, but as his robe, once a cool shield against the morning air, began to cling damply to his skin he found himself hoping for a chance to settle under a bit of shade. The oasis water presented a tempting alternative too, if he were desperate enough to embarrass himself like that.

Riju and Buliara split off to speak with a nearby soldier once they arrived, leaving Vesan to wander the market alone. It wasn’t as big and bustling as town, but it was just as colourful. The biggest difference was just how many travelling voe were scattered around the place. Sometimes Hylian voe liked to loiter outside of town, but usually just one at a time. To see entire groups together was a different matter. Whenever he caught ones attention he averted his eyes, pretend they weren’t staring at him, and give them a wide berth. The practice dummies in Ashai’s class always stared, too - but it wasn’t quite the same thing, it turned out.

Near the inn, a Gerudo vai sat in the shade under a sun-bleached blanket that might have been a rich scarlet years ago. Stepping over, he squeezed his hands into fists then relaxed them a few times, steeling his resolve and rehearsing what he was about to say in his head so he wouldn't stumble over his words. He cleared his throat when he got close and asked, “Excuse me, would it... be alright if I join you?”

She smiled and scooted over a bit on the blanket. “Of course.”

“Sarqso.” He sat down on the blanket near her and pulled his knees up to his chest, staring out across the clear water. The shade was thin, but it was enough to offer a welcome reprieve. Thankfully, the vai seemed content to people-watch instead of striking up one of those polite, awkward conversations Vesan was terrible at. A comfortable silence settled in around the pair.

—

Open your eyes.

Vesan snapped awake with a gasp, eyes darting around him, still bleary from the improptu nap. When had he fallen asleep?

“Are you oka-?”

The ground beneath them shook and the vai sitting beside him suddenly stood up and seemed to be staring into the distance. Vesan pitched forward and crawled out from beneath the cover as the sun grew dimmer. No, it wasn’t that it had grown dimmer - it was a sandstorm.

Another violent rumble threatened to topple over anyone in the oasis still on their feet. Voices rose in panic - usually a sandstorm didn’t come hand-in-hand with an earthquake like this. A crack of lightning sounded nearby and everything went silent for a moment before screams and shouts erupted. Vesan was slow to his feet as everyone at the bazaar started rushing to the inn for cover.

I cannot hold back Calamity much longer. Please, Vesan, Hyrule needs your help.

He stood, frozen to his feet for a moment as the winds whipped up faster and faster around him. To the south, some kind of structure - or maybe a giant creature? - was rising up from the sand, but the exact shape of it was shrouded by the storm.

Vesan-

“I don’t know what you want from me, I can’t help you!”

A loud, inhuman roar drowned out his voice, sending his heartbeat into overdrive. A crack! of lightning crashed nearby, followed by the splintering snaps and pops of wood - a palm fruit tree toppled over, thudding against the sand and stone.

“Prince Vesan!”

“What!” He shouted again, before realizing that voice hadn’t come from his own mind - it was Buliara. If she was taken aback by his tone, she didn’t show it. She just rushed over and wrapped a blanket around his head and shoulders, trying to block out the worst of the sharp sand whipping up around him.

“We’re taking shelter inside, come on.” She said, shouting against the wind and tucking him under her arm to shield him with her body. He stumbled along with her around the corner and into the crowded inn.

“What was that thing-?”

“I’ve never seen a sandstorm this bad-”

“Are earthquakes like that normal in the desert-?”

“Are we safe in here? When will it stop-?”

Some of the Gerudo soldiers were still ushering stragglers into the building, while a few Hylian voe had taken the initiative to gather up blankets to cover the open arch of the doorway.

“Vesan! Vesan, there you are! I was worried you were trapped out there!” Riju rushed over to the pair and the tips of Vesan’s ears warmed at the thought that the young chief had been busy worrying about him. He should have been the one keeping her safe. She was just a child. He should have been looking after her, not the other way around. Yet, she was infinitely more capable than he.

“Both of you, stay here, I’m going to make sure everyone else makes it inside.”

“Be safe, Buliara.”

Riju’s guard rushed back out into the storm and Vesan stared out after her, then looked down at Riju. “My Lady... did you see it?” He asked softly.

“Yes.” She confirmed. “It looked like Vah Naboris... but why has it reactivated so suddenly...?”

Vesan chewed his lip and stared at the door as it was swallowed up by blankets. As the wind hissed by, the colourful fabric flapped and billowed, offering glimpses of the raging storm outside.

“I think the seal is coming undone.” He mumbled, still staring outside, that voice from before rattling around in his memories. I cannot hold it back much longer. The threat of Calamity had always loomed over them, but would it be back so soon? How were they supposed to defeat that legendary doomsday he’d only heard whispers of? He turned towards Riju again, eyes wide, finding his voice. “She said she couldn’t hold it back much longer. I heard her voice...”

“Whose voice?”

“I don’t know.” There was a crash behind them as a Goron knocked into a vase. Someone yelled at them to be careful, and yet another voice shouted at that person that it had only been an accident and to calm down. The tension in the room was going to erupt soon as tempers flared across the crowd of strangers and travelers. Vesan’s fingers twitched to a stop. He shouldered off his bag and pulled out the jar of honeyed fruit his mother had prepared for him, offering Riju a strained smile as he pressed it into her hands. Maybe he could take care of someone other than himself for a change. “Everything will be alright.”

He pulled his sitar around across his chest and backed up against the wall. With a shuddering breath, he slowly sank down onto the floor and asked no one, “What am I supposed to do?” It felt like it was getting so loud in the inn that it was hard to breathe. Darkness overtook the edges of his vision and the air pressed in on him from all sides. He settled his instrument against his knee and began to play, pushing back against the noise with music.

The sound brought him much needed peace and all other sounds faded to nothing. The pressure around him melted away and the brightness of the room dimmed slightly, as if the lanterns, too, were calming down. The shadows they cast lengthed, lazily dancing withe the flickering light. Vesan closed his eyes, shutting out the world around him. Behind his eyelids, where he expected darkness, was another world. Before him, a vai with golden hair and bright blue eyes appeared. She regarded him silently, wreathed in blinding light, hands clasped together. When she finally opened her mouth, a harp rang out and began to sing along.

Just behind him, the sound of strings being plucked. He lifted his head but could not see whose voice it was. With the wall behind him, it was hard to turn to get a better look. He was distracted from trying, though, by the crash of a cymbal behind the harp-voiced voe. In rapid succession, a gentle vibraphone sang from her right and an accordian added its voice to the melody from her left. The song evoked a sadness deep in the core of his soul. Like a cry for help. Then, one by one, each sound faded until it was just him playing alone.

I am Princess Zelda of Hyrule. Prince Vesan, I know you don’t think you can help... but you are Hyrule’s last hope.

He wanted to correct her. He wanted to tell her that she was wrong about him. He was no hero, not even close.

But I’m only a monster, He wanted to say, though the words were meaningless to him, where is your Chosen?

But she faded away before he could say a word and the place behind his eyelids faded into a reddish-pink darkness.

Chapter Text

The spell shattered when Buliara returned, the wing of an injured Rito slung over her shoulder and a couple of barking sand seals hot on her heels. His playing sputtered to a stop, final notes droning quieter and quieter until the strings stopped vibrating. The room seemed to almost brighten. Voices picked back up and movement resumed, albeit quieter and less frantic than before.

Riju set the jar in her hands down, hopping into action to assist Buliara with getting the injured Rito settled in safely.

“I didn’t see anyone else out there.”

“Good. No one here has reported anyone missing, either. Looks like everyone’s safe.”

“The storm outside is subsiding, as well. The Divine Beast was approaching the Bazaar earlier, but it suddenly turned away to retreat and the storm is following it.”

Vesan’s fingers danced across the sitar once more. This time, he was just one sound amongst the general din of uncertainty and bubbling anxiety - not an overwhelming force that drowned out any opposition. He thought maybe the music would still help anyway. People generally tended to like music.

“As soon as it clears up out there, we can get back to town. Let’s arrange a meeting with Captain Teake then. It looks like we’ll need to keep an eye on the Divine Beast for a while until we can find a way to appease it.” Vesan was vaguely pleased to note that the chief was sitting again, this time next to Patricia, and picking honeyed fruit from the jar he’d given her.

“Understood.”

“I have a theory-” Riju paused, thoughtful for a moment. She glanced around the inn and the corners of her mouth turned down a little. “Well, we can get into that once we return. For now, we wait out the storm.”

Thirty minutes into the wait, Vesan was really regretting giving away his lunch.

—

Once, a few years ago, Vesan had heard someone say, “Evil chance seldom comes alone.” It was a very poetic way to say that bad things loved to happen all at the same time to really wreck your evening. Today was one of those days.

It was clear something was wrong when he, Riju, and Buliara returned. It felt like every guard and soldier was out patrolling in and around town, spears at the ready. Vah Naboris hadn’t come close to town, though, and there was no storm damage, so Vesan couldn’t imagine what would be wrong.

“Vesan, could you take the sand seals to the courtyard for me?” Riju was doing a good job at remaining calm and stepped off of her sled. Vesan just nodded dumbly in response. “Sarqso.”

She and Buliara were gone the next second, nearly jogging through the eastern archway.

“Wish I had a piece of fruit left for you, Patty. Maybe then you could explain what’s going on.” He mumbled, patting Patricia’s snout.

“Ork!”

“I was joking, you know. I can’t understand a thing you say... Maybe I’ll bring something by later, though.” He said, detaching the sled from her riding harness before stepping over to the other two seals to do the same. Buliara’s seal wouldn’t have far to go, that one could be left with the rentals - but he guided Patricia and Dodie inside to the palace courtyard. Thankfully, Padda was still around to keep an eye on them so he wasn’t stuck on seal-sitting duty while he waited for her to return.

With that matter settled, wandered back out into the palace to see if Riju had returned but found the place empty. Actually, the training yard seemed pretty empty, too - but when he walked out onto the steps, he heard voices nearby. The classroom?

Creeping closer, he began to hear pieces of a muffled conversation.

“-growing more bold-”

“-have to increase patrols-”

“-now Vah Naboris, too-?”

“-turned around? Why?”

“I believe Vesan could be the key to that-”

“Lady Riju, I hate to cast doubt on your judgement but... the voe?”

“He said something about a seal coming undone. Then, inside the inn, he was definitely using some sort of magic.”

A thousand conversations erupted all at once, louder than before. Vesan pressed himself to the wall and knelt down as small as he could, heart thudding in his throat. Damn. He had done magic, hadn’t he? If only he had better control.

His mother was going to kill him. Magic was a last resort. Granted, the sword probably wouldn’t have been too helpful either, but he hadn’t even realized he was doing it. Clearly, it wasn’t even subtle.

“Don’t legends say that the Calamity was originally summoned by a Gerudo King who could do dark magic? This could be a really bad sign.”

“But have you seen him? He’s pretty scrawny. Do you think he could be capable of that?”

“If he did, he could be a danger! Isn’t that why he was kept from the training grounds in the first place?”

“Look,” Riju sounded like she could barely contain her exasperation, “we can’t just base our judgment on old legends and superstition. Those stories are thousands of years old; we don’t even know how they’ve changed in the telling. What we do know is Vesan is a Gerudo. He isn’t weak and he isn’t an omen - he’s one of our people. And if he has the power to calm Naboris, then even better.”

“Okay, so what do we do?”

“Perhaps we should find Vesan and ask him.” That was Buliara, this time.

Shit. Probably shouldn’t be huddled up near the wall eavesdropping, then. Vesan rose up so quickly he nearly lost his balance, vision going dark for just a split second. Once he’d recovered, he made his way back to the steps as quickly and quietly as his sandaled feet could take him. Then, when he heard movement from the classroom, he whipped back around as if he were coming down the steps instead - just in time to see Buliara walking out.

He offered her a sheepish wave when she noticed him. “Ah, good. You weren’t too far, after all. Could Lady Riju have a moment of your time in the classroom?”

He nodded, ears heating up knowing he was about to enter a den of coyotes. But Riju was on his side. It would be fine. He backtracked back to the doorway as Buliara disappeared within it and took a deep breath, in and out, before entering. A dozen eyes fell on him immediately. May as well have been a thousand the way it made him feel so horribly noticed. They bored holes through him. Measuring. Waiting. Judging.

He was beckoned up to the front, a chalkboard illustration of a voe and a vai sharing a tender embrace looming just behind him as he faced the small crowd. Surely he wasn’t expected to speak now, was he...?

“Vesan, earlier you said something about a seal coming undone. Could you explain what you meant?” Riju asked. He whipped his head over to face her, eyes wide from the utter shock that yes, she did expect him to speak now.

No way. There was no way he’d be able to line up the words in his head with his mouth, not with everyone staring. Taking time to try working up the courage to speak would only confirm his weakness. He felt like his thoughts were scrambling for cover. His ears burned.

I should have kept my mouth shut in the first place. He thought to himself, glancing from the chief to the judging eyes of her advisors, then back to her. Finally, he turned around completely, facing the board. A few murmurs of disbelief rose up behind him at this. Sorry, Ashai.

He reached over to the eraser and began to clear away the nearly kissing – and frankly, kind of embarrassing in a second-hand sort of way - couple depicted on the board before drawing something new on it. In slow, measured strokes, he drew what he remembered from his vision: the vai with golden hair and bright blue eyes, hands outstretched. The one who’d called to him.

 Everyone was silent as they watched him work, the only noise in the room the soft click, tchh, click, tchhh, click of the chalk. Then, he wrote ‘Princess Zelda’ above her head and faced Riju again.

“You mean, you saw Princess Zelda?”

He nodded.

“This is the vai whose voice you heard?”

He nodded again.

“What did she want?"

He considered this for only a moment, then turned and wrote a single word:

Help.

Chapter Text

The room erupted the moment he finished writing. Questions layered over one another in quick, messy succession. Even if he wanted to respond, he couldn't have put two words together before the next person talked over the first. It was too much. He'd never wanted to disappear so much as he did right now. He kept his back to the others unable to find the strength to turn around and face them, his eyes dropping to the floor.

Honestly, there’d been a reason Vesan didn’t want to write on the board that Princess Zelda had specifically requested his help. He still wasn’t sure what she would want with him. Maybe there was something in him that she’d seen... she spent enough time in there-

Actually, he didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to think about anything. Vesan was still hungry, he was bone-tired, and he was covered in more sand than typical. If it were a more ideal day, he might’ve already been at the spa. Unfortunately, he was here. Standing in front of Riju’s advisors. Drawing pictures on a board.

“It must all be connected.” Buliara mused from nearby. Vesan chanced a glance to his left and saw her just an arms width away. She studied the chalkboard, chin in her hand. “The Divine Beast‘s rampage, the monster encroachment on the town, and Princess Zelda’s seal on the Calamity weakening...”

So that must have been what‘d happened in town. Monsters usually never got too close, but while he was away, it seemed they were becoming more of a threat. He hadn’t seen any monsters on the way in though, so the soldiers probably had it under control for now but it was a bit scary to think they’d been so near.

“I think so too. If the Princess is reaching out to Vesan, maybe he can help somehow.” Riju said. An utter betrayal. Despite his purposeful omission of exactly whose help the princess had requested, Riju had still interpreted that it was his help had she needed. His shoulders slumped and he worried at the sash around his waist with his hands. “Maybe she meant your magic. You should try to develop it. It could lead to answers. We should try getting you back into training, too - just in case. Babi should be able to help you with that.”

Double and triple betrayed.

She took a few steps towards Vesan and placed a hand on his arm, perhaps noticing his distress at being told that not only was he expected to fulfill some kind of crazy Hyrulean Princess quest and not only would he have to resume combat training, but he would also have to train under Babi.

“For now though, maybe you should get some rest. I’ll talk to Roni later about everything.”

At least she was willing to help break the news to his mother, which was good. That meant he should probably wait before going right home. Vesan gave Riju a short nod, but it was more to himself than to her, and quickly beat an escape from the classroom and onto the street. Starlight Memories wasn’t too far away. It'd be a good place to kill some time. He headed that direction, walking quickly to outpace the voices still emanating behind him. When he stepped inside of Starlight Memories, his cousin turned to him with a bright smile before meeting his eyes and slumping a little.

“Oh. Just you. Thought we had an actual customer.” Isha grumbled, putting a hand on her hip. “I’ve got you stocked back up on some of the crushed gems you were low on. Speaking of being low on things, I’m running low on green.”

Vesan had claimed a corner of the shop for himself - and about half the wall was lined with shelves, each crammed with labeled jars, glazed pots, and little boxes stacked like puzzle pieces all for his use. It looked more like an apothecary than anything, with dried herbs hung overhead alongside glimmering monster parts sourced from passing travelers. However, he liked to think he offered a more essential service than run-of-the-mill potions and remedies for his town - cosmetics. 

If anything was going to settle his frazzled nerves, it would be getting lost in work.

Green. Isha needed some green. He could do that.

Rolling up his sleeves and pulling a mask over his nose and mouth, he set to work grinding malachite to a fine powder in the mortar. The mortar was old, worn smooth by years of use, and the motion came easily to him—push, drag, circle, tap. It was repetitive. Comforting. The rasp of stone against stone dulled the noise in his mind. He let himself get lost in it for a while, watching as the malachite slowly became a soft green pile of dust that swirled around at the bottom of the mortar's bowl. He carefully tipped the power out into a mixing bowl before retrieving galena and a bit of courser wax from the shelves. Soon enough, he'd separated the rich green paste into several small jars and capped them. “Here.” He said, sliding over to the counter and setting a few of the jars down. 

“Sarq! You’re the best.” She grinned, holding a jar up to inspect it. It matched the eyeshadow she was already wearing perfectly. He was sure he could make Isha's green in his sleep. “How was the bazaar?”

He swallowed a lump in his throat and shot her a look.

“What? That bad?”

And worse. He thought. After a moment of collecting himself, he replied, “Monsters in town?”

“Hardly an issue. The guard had it dealt with pretty quick - it was just a couple lizalfos anyway and like, a chu chu.” As she spoke, Vesan moved back over to the desk and got back to work. “Hate to be the guard that let them slip past, but I’m sure Lady Riju has everything under control now. I just hope it doesn’t affect travelers coming to town - or with getting supplies. We’re getting kind of low on flint as it is and Cara’s getting kind of stressed.”

“Mm.”

“Well, at least your part of the shop won’t be affected. You’re still pretty stocked up. It might still affect you though - but, I guess if there are more monsters, that means more monster parts... as gross as that is to think about...”

They continued that way for a while. Vesan listening as he ground pigment and melted down waxes and Isha chatting away as if it were just another regular day. He could almost believe it was just another regular day. Every now and then, a customer came in to pick up an order or place one - sometimes for Isha’s wares, more often for his. Jewelry was a bit less of a daily need.

As the sun started to sink lower in the sky, he heard, “Sorry, we’re just about to close up- Oh! Aunt Roni!” Vesan jumped a little. “Vesan’s over in his corner.”

He leapt up to his feet, quickly trying to clear up his space. He lidded jars and shoved them back onto the shelves as his mother appeared around the corner.

“I’m glad to see you’re safe.”

He froze and turned to her, offering a sheepish smile.

“I heard about the bazaar,” She clicked her tongue, “I should have never let you go in the first place... Are you finishing up? I’ve got dinner ready.”

He’d forgotten that he was hungry.

“Hey, I can finish clearing up for you - you look like you’re going to end up dropping something.” Isha offered.

The last thing he did, then, was hang his mask back up. He stepped around the corner and placed a hand on Isha’s shoulder in thanks. He probably would have ended up dropping something - and with his luck today, it would have been crushed gemstone or something. Vesan’s mother started walking to the door as Isha returned the gesture, giving his shoulder a squeeze and his back a pat as he started out of the shop.

Back home, after a short walk, it seemed his mother finally felt free to speak her mind. “I spoke with Lady Riju today, I can’t believe she wants to get you back into training. What if you get hurt?” Vesan started to chew his lower lip, fretfully, as he helped her set the table. “She’s still a child herself, she doesn’t understand how difficult this is for me... I don’t want to put you in harm’s way... And this stuff about Princess Zelda? How are you meant to help with something like that?”

The metallic tang of blood hit his tongue - not much, just a bit. Still, he couldn’t keep himself from worrying his lip as she continued on. He set a dish of cooked and salted mushrooms onto the table as she sliced grilled meat. It looked like she’d sautéed peppers as well and as he reached for them, he thought that maybe he should stop biting his lip if he was going to eat those. He didn’t stop. With everything laid out on the table, they both took a seat.

“It’s... not that I don’t believe in you. I think you’re capable of wonderful things. I just worry.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t tell me about hearing voices.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t your imagination?”

He froze, goosebumps raising up across his skin. He’d never considered that before. Everything felt so real, but could he just be crazy? If he'd just made it all up, he could never face the others in town again. He wished his mother hadn’t put the thought in his head. Was it all fake...? He closed his eyes for a moment, picturing the Princess's face in his mind. He could almost see it as if she were right in front of him. He could almost hear her voice again. He felt a tug at his heart, some strange connection with a person he'd never even met.

“It’s real.”

“If you get hurt in training, Babi will never know peace again. They want you to start in the morning.” She mumbled, beginning to finally eat. Vesan followed suit, a little shocked that she’d not only accepted the idea of his strange visions he'd been having as reality, but also his return to combat training as easily as she did.

He went to bed with his lips still burning from the heat of the peppers. The last thing he wanted to do was wake up early in the morning and have to run laps until his legs could carry him no further or do spear drills until his arms turned to jelly, but somehow a weight was lifted from his chest knowing that his mom was, even just a teeny tiny bit, accepting of it. Of course, he still didn’t think he was capable of offering any meaningful aid to the castle princess that took part-time residency in his head, but it meant something to him that he wasn’t being treated like a soap bubble on the precipice of a sewing needle one wrong breath from disappearing forever.

Regardless, sleep didn’t come easily.

—

It turned out that Babi wasn’t happy to train Vesan either and she was terrible at keeping her displeasure hidden. It wasn’t his fault that he was out of breath so quickly or that he was clumsy with a blade and even worse with a spear - his only job for the past few years had been formulating longer lasting lip tints and grinding down the odd gemstone or some charcoal for custom eye shadows. He’d been Riju’s age the last time he’d done any of this stuff.

If that weren’t bad enough, there was no one in town that really understood magic so trying to develop his skills was just one blind Gerudo being led around by a bunch of other well-meaning but clueless blind Gerudo. He’d always been discouraged from using magic before. It wasn’t easy to just start being able to use it. By the end of the day, he was sure everyone doubted whether he could do anything at all.

The one scrap of light in his entire horrible day was getting to wind down at the spa while Romah called him a “poor thing” and told him that he’d get there eventually and to not expect the world on day one. Which was fair.

Day two wasn’t too much better though. He was just more sore.

Day three was a rest day for the physical exercise and they decided maybe the sitar was the key to the whole magic thing. Vesan still couldn’t really tap into how to perform magic, though, but the music was calming and made him feel better.

On day four, he’d come home from training with a bruise on his cheek and his mother had stormed over to Babi’s house, interrupted her dinner, and yelled at her for thirty minutes. Vesan’s face was bright red the entire time out of secondhand embarrassment as he’d been dragged along so she could gesture wildly and dramatically at his face to emphasize her anger.

It was impossible to get Babi back on board for day five, so Captain Teake had to take over for her. Later on in the day, Riju suggested that maybe Vesan’s mother should take the opportunity to get out of town for a little bit. She knew his mother had wanted to go back to Lurelin Village for years and years now to visit her husband - his father, he supposed - but never felt like she had the opportunity. Vesan was safe, in good hands, and old enough to enjoy an ice cold Noble Pursuit at the Canteen when the mood struck him. And her presence at the training ground was just stressing *everyone* out.

It took a couple more injury-free days to convince her to go and that he’d be fine. It’d be good for her to do more than just exchange letters with her husband. Vesan hugged her goodbye and told her he loved her and she’d promised to send a letter as soon as she could. Babi agreed to resume training once his mother was gone and could no longer harass her over every scrape and bruise.

Time trudged on. Each day, he did improve a little - but mostly just his physique. He still wasn’t anywhere near winning a spar, even with the newbies. Weapons never felt right in his hands and his footwork, he’d been told, was atrocious. When it came to the arcane, he’d been told people around him could feel something in the air when he played his sitar, but he could hardly put that something to use yet.

Two weeks in, Vesan was getting desperate to be able to do anything at all with his magic. There was something he was missing. He’d skimmed through just about every book in the palace and then some on the off chance that something could help him there - failing that, he’d sought help from Rotana, hoping ancient wisdom might be the key. Unfortunately, while there was plenty of interesting information to be had, there wasn’t much useful information.

So, he turned to prayer. He’d dragged a whole troop out to the Seven Heroines monument even though Rotana told him there wasn’t really any proof that they could offer magical guidance of any sort. When all that got him was a horrible shock from a lizalfos, he’d had to admit that it was a pretty far-fetched plan. But there was another statue in town he could try. He’d never really paid it much mind before, but there was a statue of the Hylian Goddess in town, too.

Face-to-face with the thing though, it didn’t look like any kind of goddess to him - it looked kind of creepy, actually. He probably just wasn’t used to Hylian ideals, though. It would be rude to judge. Kneeling down, he considered the horned statue for a moment, before closing his eyes.

“So there are still some who pay me homage.” A voice sighed. Vesan’s eyes shot open and he looked around, expecting to find someone nearby, but even Muava wasn’t around right now. Plus, the voice sounded, well, like a voe.

“H-hello? Who’s there?” He asked, slowly standing up.

“Ah, so you can hear my voice?” Vesan spun around, sure he would spot someone in the alleyway or around the corner - maybe even up on the wall, somehow - but no. Nothing. A chill ran down his spine as his eyes slowly returned to the unmoved statue. Either that thing was talking or he was truly going out of his mind. He eased back down onto a knee in front of it, studying it.

“Statue...?” He mumbled, unsure.

“Well, I haven’t always been a statue. I was once a dealer in life and power - a deity in my own right - until the Goddess Hylia saw fit to trap me in this statue long, long ago. Recently I’ve ended up here with only an old woman for company, but I’ve been waiting for someone such as you, who can hear me... what were you praying for? Long life? Wealth? Whatever it was, you’ve come to the right place."

Vesan realized he’d been holding his breath while he’d been listening to the thing. He let it out slowly and studied the statue some more, hardly believing it was real at all.

“Well?” The statue asked, impatience colouring its tone.

“Ah, uh...” Well, it wasn’t Hylia, but it was still a god, right? Perhaps it could still help him? “Magic.”

“Magic?”

“I’m... supposed to be able to... but it’s hard.” He mumbled, taking time to make sure the words came out right.

He heard a sigh. “Well, unfortunately in my current form, I can’t be of much use with that. But, if you’re truly a mage...” It sounded thoughtful for a moment, “If you’re truly a mage, perhaps you could figure out how to free me. Then, I could help you even further. Perhaps a concrete goal will unlock your ability.”

“How?” He asked, realizing after he’d asked how vague his question was. He was leaning closer to the statue now, dropping his other knee to the stone.

“Imagine what you want, then make it happen. Bend reality to your will. Make it a demand, not a request.”

“Then you’ll help me?”

“It’s a deal.”

Vesan sat back, pondering the absurdity of his situation. He was in a dark alley in the middle of the night talking to a big rock. He shrugged. That was exactly what he’d intended to do when he thought the thing was a goddess statue anyway.

“Um... okay. I’ll try.”

Chapter Text

No great magical epiphany came to him that night, but as day broke, he was already at the palace dragging Riju out of bed. Now they stood before the statue, the morning sun casting a dim orange glow over the quiet alleyway. He stood with Riju by his side, eyes fixed on the horned statue that loomed before them.

“And it talked to you?”

“Mmhmm.”

She knelt down in front of it, peering around each side of its stone body, reaching out to touch a horn - carefully, as though it might sting her. “Is it talking now? I don’t hear anything.”

“No, not now.” He admitted, crouching down beside her. With no one else in the quiet alleyway besides the pair, he felt comfortable enough to speak freely. “But it did before. It said-”

“He.” The statue corrected.

“Sorry, he said that Hylia turned it - uh, him -that way.”

“He?” Riju withdrew her hand. “Wait, did the statue just talk?”

"He did."

She stood again, dusting off her skirt around her knees. Her stance into a neutral position, a fist resting against her hip. “Well, maybe you're the only one who can hear it. And this is definitely not Hylia.” Perhaps he imagined it, but Vesan could have sworn the statue snorted out an incredulous little laugh. “But, I’m not exactly sure what it’s supposed to be either. Are you sure you want to put this thing in your house?”

“He said he could help me with magic.” Vesan still knelt there, watching the unmoving statue.

"Are you sure it's not just saying that? How do you know you can trust it? The statue said it was sealed away by a goddess - if that's true, it doesn't sound like something I'd want around. Plus, it's kind of creepy looking."

Vesan couldn’t deny that it was odd, he’d already thought so last night when he’d heard it the first time. He wanted to believe that this was the answer he had been looking for, the one thing that could help him unlock his magical abilities. But he also knew not to let his desperation override his common sense. There was a long pause before he responded as he worked out exactly what he wanted to say. Then, finally, he straightened back out to his full height and spoke. “I understand your concern, Lady Riju, but I just feel like this is something I have to do to fulfill your expectations of me. If I’m... supposed to help this princess somehow, I think this could be the key.”

“Fine.” She relented. Her body language said she was still uncomfortable with the idea. There weren‘t any alternatives, though - this was their only lead. “I‘ll get it moved for you while you‘re training today. Looks like we‘ll need a replacement statue for the town, anyway.”

—

“Keep your hands further apart, Vesan, your grip is letting the spear droop down to the ground.” Babi growled, her eyes burning holes into his back as she guided him through the combat drills. “Back straight!”

Vesan shuffled his feet and straightened out his posture, his hands sliding back out to their proper places. The weight of the spear suddenly felt heavier on his already sore and aching muscles. Beside him, Marta whispered, "You've got this, stay strong."

He appreciated the encouragement and struck the training dummy hard, earning a hearty whump from the target strapped to its chest. When he yanked the spear free, he made sure to keep his balance so he wouldn't topple backward from the momentum. He'd only done that a few times at the beginning but the embarrassment was enough to teach him to keep his feet planted squarely where they belonged. He finished the movement by slicing the spear upward until the end of it faced the sky.

"Again," Babi barked, and Vesan couldn't help but groan inwardly. His muscles were screaming at him to stop, but he knew better than to argue. He stepped forward and thrust the spear forward, his muscles burning with effort and sweat trickling down his temples. It was okay though, he was almost at the finish line for the day. Then he'd finally be free to go home and focus his attention on the mystery of the horned statue.

A few more sets and finally came "That's enough," from Babi. He let out a loud sigh of relief, shoulders slumping and arms suddenly limp. Marta chuckled under her breath beside him and he shot her the most piercing glare he could manage before spinning on his heel and moving to put the spear away. "Tomorrow's the sword so don't forget yours this time."

He nodded in acceptance and bowed his head at her. She regarded him coldly then, surprisingly, offered a small nod back. Despite the fatigue that seeped straight down to his marrow, he felt a warmth grow in his chest at the small acknowledgment. There wasn’t much time to bask in it, though, before Babi turned back to Marta and slammed her spear on the stone. “Don’t get lazy now, raise that spear higher!”

He decided not to stick around too much longer in case Babi redirected her ire in his direction for sticking around too long. Last thing he needed to cap off his day was to do a few laps around town. He hurried out onto the street and made his way home where the horned statue awaited in the main foyer.

“Um, hello.” Vesan said, unsure if the statue could see him when he entered or not.

“Took your time, didn’t you?”

“I have weapons training in the mornings.” He went to pour himself a bit of water from the counter. It was lukewarm - he didn’t have the luxury of storing ice like the cantina did - but it was still refreshing after a morning of endless drills in the desert heat.

“Well, now that you seem to have monopolized my attention and gotten me replaced as the town’s statue, I assume you’re ready to free me? If you’re even able to.” The statue said, its tone oozing with disdain.

A tinge of guilt curled up in Vesan’s stomach. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get you replaced. Just... let me wash up and I’ll be right back.”

The statue made a satisfied sound in response.

“By the way-”

“I thought you were going?”

“I uh, I am. Just- Well, I’m curious. I guess you can hear but... can you see?”

“Not in this form. I can hear and I can speak. When prayers are offered to me, I can even sense my supplicant. Beyond that, I am as any other statue, albeit with extraordinary power.”

“Ah, I understand.”

“Do you?”

Vesan didn’t really have a good answer for that so he decided not to give one. Instead, he went to his room, drew a curtain over his doorway, and filled a pitcher with fresh water. He poured some into his wash basin, along with a few stems of golden safflina flowers from a nearby jar, before stripping off his sweaty clothing and washing up.

Once he was dressed again, he was sure to comb out his red hair before it turned into a mess of wet tangles. He didn’t bother tying it up, however, leaving it loose down his back. Nor did he bother with his jewelry - though it was odd spending so much time without the tiniest bit of gold adorning his neck, wrists, fingers, or even about his forehead. He’d only needed to make the mistake of wearing it to training that first time before he learned better.

Pushing aside the curtain in the doorway, he stepped back into the foyer where he’d last left his sitar. With his mother no longer in town, he often just left it by the sofa since it was close to the door anyway.

“Well, at least you don’t rush through the act of bathing.” The statue said. It must have heard him approaching, he realized, either his footsteps or the soft twang of the strings when he’d picked up his instrument. “Ready to make your attempt at freeing me?”

He nodded on instinct before correcting himself. “Yes.”

“Very well. Good luck.”

—

The sun rose and fell in the sky, casting ever-shifting shadows across the room as he played. His eyes were pressed closed and his sore arms made it hard to keep up the proper posture. Still, he kept trying - kept attempting to demand what he desired from his magic. But no one had ever taught him how to demand something before. It wasn’t easy for him.

“You’ve been playing non-stop for hours.”

“I‘m trying to do what you said.”

“I can barely even sense an aura of magic from you. Are you sure you’re trying? Or is this the extent of your magical ability?”

“I’ve done bigger magic before, I just don’t know how.” He stopped playing, frustrated with himself. “When I was a kid, it used to be easy. But I haven’t really done anything since then since-” He cut himself off there, deciding not to go into it much further. It wasn’t really pertinent information that his mom had told him not to, was it? It’d only sound pathetic.

“Well, you’re welcome to keep playing, but if you waste any more time, I implore you to place me somewhere else so I have at least a small chance of being heard. Perhaps the next person I meet will actually be capable of freeing me.” He said, taking on a mocking tone. “Not that I mean to be disagreeable, I’m sure you’re trying your best. But sometimes one’s best simply isn’t good enough.”

Vesan frowned at the statue. Maybe it - he - was right. He set the sitar down in front of his crossed legs and lifted his calloused fingers up to his hair at his temple, twisting and un-twisting a small chunk of it over and over. It’d be a lot easier to give up now. Tell Riju in the morning that he was done with all this and just... go back to his normal life. She’d be so disappointed, but she wouldn’t force him.

Somewhere along the way, he’d begun to want to prove everyone who doubted him wrong, but that flicker of hope was suffocating in his chest. He should be used to this. Used to staring down at his feet to avoid both judgment and pity. Used to biting his tongue until speaking was more painful than defending himself. Used to burying and suppressing his own innate power, stuffing it so deep within in his soul that it was no longer accessible to him now when he finally needed it. He was so used to this learned helplessness that maybe it would be a comfort to return to it. So why did his failure still sting so badly? Giving up now would definitely feel worse now that he had the chief’s support. Now that his mother was no longer hovering over him. Now that Babi had acknowledged him. He’d had a taste of hope, was he willing to give it up now?

“Ah, have you given up?”

“Maybe.” He mumbled back, running his thumb over the twist he’d made in his hair and feeling the smooth strands before letting it uncoil.

“Shame. Did you want to make a deal you can keep your end of the bargain of this time, instead?” The statue asked, beginning to hum.

“I-” A flicker of something red rose from the floor, distracting him.

It was little more than a wisp - a red wisp, like an ember from a flame. It floated just beyond the tip of his nose before fading away. His chest tightened with panic and a sudden, sourceless cold sweat broke out across his skin. Slowly another wisp rose from the stone floor, then another. As more and more drifted up around him, his room was suddenly awash with an alien red glow. Vesan whipped head around, towards the window. Outside, the darkened sky changed hue dramatically - changing to a deep pink then a blood red in quick succession. The moon—bloated, too large—hung low and heavy in the sky, red as open flame and rimmed in a halo of twisted light. Clouds churned around it like ash.

As he stared out the window, frozen by the sight of the sky, a sharp pressure built behind his eyes. He blinked hard, but the feeling didn’t go away. His chest ached like it was being squeezed from the inside, his breath suddenly short and shallow. Something about the moon’s light gnawed at him, prickled beneath his skin. His fingers curled unconsciously. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, no matter how much he wanted to. Couldn’t breathe right. The pressure wasn’t just in his chest now—it was in his stomach, his throat, the back of his neck. Like a string pulled taut through his whole body. 

Somewhere deep down - deeper than his heart, deeper than the core of his being, something in him stirred in response to the dark power roiling all around him.

Something that recognized it.

Something that wanted to answer.

Through it all, either oblivious to what was happening or simply uncaring, the statue hummed pleasantly. Vesan clung to that sound, tried to center himself around it. He tried to fill himself up with it to block out whatever strange call was tugging at his soul.

“Well?” the statue asked.

“Keep... keep humming. Please.”

“Since you asked so nicely.” The horned statue laughed, then resumed once more. His voice sounded rather pleased at the request.

Vesan centered himself around the humming again and finally tore his eyes from the window long enough to blindly fumbled around for his sitar, his hands shaking as ice ran through his veins and his mind buzzed. There. His fingers found the fret and he pulled the instrument close. This red light, this deep-seated dread, this ever-burning malice pounded against the base of his skull... Instinctually, he felt that whatever was happening was connected to what the Hyrulean Princess was asking of him - like he had felt it at the edge of his vision. Or maybe he felt it more deeply than that? Somehow he knew that this was what giving up meant. If he failed to heed the Princess's call, this would be what awaited him.

Knowing that, he resolved that he was just going to have to suck it up and try his best to be some kind of hero. 

He slowly turned on jellied legs and stared at the humming statue, bathed now in a sinister red glow, and began to play his sitar to calm himself, the music a single point of focus. This time, he followed the statue’s lead, weaving his tune into the music and humming along. As he played, the red light began to shift to pink and the crushing grip it held his heart in loosened. Soon, the normal colour of night returned to the room casting the usual array of dark shadows across the room. His own shadow stretched over the statue, coating it in darkness.

Under the music, softly, he heard a cracking sound. Then another.

The statue shifted slightly, one foot jutting out slightly. Pieces of stone were chipping away from its surface, revealing flashes of scarlet red. It was the true colour of the statue’s cloak, he realized, though it was trimmed along the bottom in gold, with a row of embroidered diamonds an inch or so just above that.

“Finally...” The statue groaned, its neck twisting a bit to the side, stretching out a bit. His face - no, not a face, a mask, was white ceramic under the gray stone, with golden horns. He lifted up his arms and pulled the hood back, letting long white hair pool around his shoulders. Then stood, the wings on his back breaking away in entire chunks before shattering against the floor. He was much taller than Vesan expected - though the statue had been doubled-over - and as he threw back the right half of his cloak with a flourish, Vesan could tell that he cut a rather lithe figure. “I suppose some thanks are in order... What was your name again?”

“Vesan.” He replied, voice small and cracking pitifully as he spoke.

The man dropped to his haunches, gray dust still shaking loose from his clothing. He lifted a gloved hand and pulled the mask off of his face, letting a slash of shorter hair fall across the left side of his face. The mask fell from his face to the floor. No longer hidden away, Vesan could see that his skin was a pale sort of gray and the visible eye was so dark that Vesan couldn't tell wbat was iris and what was pupil and it was ringed in purple kohl. His lips, in contrast, were bright white and Vesan was struck by the absurdly out of place thought that he had no idea how to replicate such a colour to make a cosmetic product.

“Vesan...” the man murmured, frowning. His eye narrowed as he regarded the gerudo, a crease forming on his forehead. Then, suddenly, his expression twisted and he reeled back as if burned. “You!”

“H-huh-?

“After a myriad - after ages - you come crawling back! Do you have any idea what you put me through?! I gave you the chance to wield me again, already, and you rejected me. Me! After all I did for you. For Demise!” A growl rose from the man‘s chest, deep and low, as he loomed over Vesan, his weight shifted forward. Sensing danger, Vesan skittered backward. With a sharp kick, the stranger sent the sitar between them crashing into the far wall. “I‘ve stayed far away from your everlasting war and you dare to drag me back into it? Not in this lifetime. You’ve made a fool of me for the last time.”

A black blade materialized in the once-statue's, accompanied by a shower of strange, faceted light and he raised it up high. “Don’t-!”

“A shame for you," the once-statue snarled, voice dropping into something guttural and almost gleeful, "I’ve learned my lesson long, looong ago. No more mercy, even if you are still barely more than a boy. Better to crush you under my boot heel now before you become a thorn in my side later.”

He charged, blade slicing down towards Vesan's head. Vesan threw himself to the side, the sword slamming into the floor with a deafening clang just inches away. Scrambling, he struggled to right himself again.

“Stay still - be glad I offer a quick death. It’s more than you deserve!”

Another swing. As Vesan twisted away, he cursed himself for trusting the statue in the first place. Then he launched himself forward into a roll, grabbing one of the statue's abandoned stone wings and holding it in front of him to dampen the next blow. It shattered upon impact and the blade embedded itself deeply into his shoulder. He screamed as white-hot pain shot through him. The blade retracted, drawing up a gush of warm blood in its wake. Vesan couldn't just sit here and wait for the next blow to fall, he had to move. He abandoned the rubble left in his palms and dove to the side, scrambling for something to protect himself with and finding only his attacker’s mask. 

He grabbed it, knowing that it wouldn't he able to keep that blade from tasting his blood again, and raised the mask up like a shield as the blade came crashing down again.

He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting.

But no impact followed.

He opened an eye, chancing a glance upwards.

The blade was stilled mid-air, just millimeters from the mask with its golden horns shining in the moonlight from the window.

“So, Hylia had another trick up her sleeve after all. I would laugh if I weren’t so sick with anger.” The man said, seething. Vesan watched, shaking from adrenaline and fear, as the man’s sword vanished into a burst of little lights again - each one voth dark and light at the same time, like gemstones. The man took a deep breath and let it out. “Fine. Fine! You win. How the world always seems to conspire against me! Even when I do my very best to stay out of it, it seems the thread that binds us is still constricting my soul after all.”

And with that, he, too, disappeared as facets of light fractured of light, a low sound of chimes emanating sourcelessly as he did. Vesan whipped his head around, back and forth, searching for the voe, his muscles wound tight and ready to dive out away from another blow. But he was gone without a trace.

I guess I’ll have no choice but to keep up my end of the bargain now, won’t I? The man’s voice was, terrifyingly enough, in Vesan’s head now. Yet another interloper - though this one was sure to give him nightmares. He glanced down at the mask, his makeshift shield. It felt... almost warm. And since I’m stuck with you, I suppose I should give you my name... You may refer to me as Lord Ghirahim. I insist on my full and proper title, understood?

“U-understood.”

Oh, and Vesan?

“Yes?”

You might want to get that shoulder looked at. Hope there's no hard feelings.

Chapter Text

It took nearly everything in him to rise to his feet, his vision spinning - head throbbing. What little he left he had in reserves, he used to bite back the rising tide of bile stinging his throat, slap a hand over his left shoulder in a desperate bid to keep the blood in, and push himself towards the entryway.

He collapsed against the doorway like a rock, his right shoulder pressed tightly against cool stone. Arterial blood collected on the tips of his fingers and pooled by his bare feet. There was no way he was making it beyond this spot by himself.

Taking a shuddering, shallow breath he tried to steady himself - he’d just resolved not to give up, he’d just steeled himself to fulfill the duty he’d been charged to complete - but the pain was too much. He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t focus on anything beyond the throbbing in his shoulder. He knew he needed help but didn’t have the energy to call out for it.

Approaching footsteps bolstered his hopes. He tried to lift his head, but it was weighted too heavily by exhaustion. Tried to take a step, but he only succeeded on tipping forward, knees slamming hard against the ground first, before his cheek hit the dirt.

“Vesan!“

He burbled a response, some choked, guttural noise escaping from the back of his acid-stung throat.

The entire world winked out of existence.

—

“Stay with us. Come on, wake up.” A voice urged, desperate.

Vesan’s eyes fluttered open and he groaned through parched lips. Everything was a blurry haze. His head still throbbed.

“That’s it. Good. Keep strong, you’re alright.”

Babi? He narrowed his eyes, trying to focus on her face. Slowly, her features came into clarity. Her intense green eyes were trained on him and reflected relief and worry.

“Keep with us. Eyes open.”

Something was plucked from his forehead and replaced with something else - something was cool and wet.

“We‘ve already got you stitched up, but you lost a lot of blood. Hey, keep your eyes open. I’ll let you rest in a bit, but we’re waiting for some medicine, okay? There we go. Good. Just like a true soldier of the Gerudo.”

It was a few minutes and an eternity until he heard someone else enter the room. He made no attempt to lift himself to see who it was.

“Finally.“ Babi growled. “C’mon, hurry up. Bring it over. You have the salve, too?”

“Yes, right here.”

“Good. Get it ready.” When she turned her attention back to him, her voice was softer again. "I’m going to sit you up a little. Just bear with it for a moment, I need you to drink the elixir and then you can rest for a while, ok?”

He couldn’t contain the cry of pain as he was shifted up, a searing pain lancing through his left side like a bolt of lightning. Babi didn’t chastise him for it but her jaw was tense and her teeth ground together. She kept a firm hold on his right arm, supporting him as she lifted a glass bottle to his lips.

Finally, when he’d choked down every last drop, she eased him back down. The pain was already dulling, but he still grimaced as his head met the pillow.

“There we go. Close your eyes now, Vesan, get some rest.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

—

The next time Vesan opened his eyes, he felt a weight next to him. It was Riju - she’d pulled a chair up right next to the bed he was lying in and was bent over forward, a hand on his arm. She was also drooling on the blanket and he couldn’t help but laugh a little bit as he slowly sat himself up, wincing only a little at the deep soreness in his left shoulder. He dragged his left arm forward and into his lap, noting how heavy and numb it felt.

“You’re awake.” He hadn’t noticed Buliara by the door until she spoke. He looked up at her and, having nothing better to say or do, nodded. As if nodding would confirm that he was, in fact, awake moreso than just...being awake would. She walked into the room and put a hand on Riju’s shoulder, gently shaking her awake.

“Mm?” Riju had dark circles under her eyes, more evident without any makeup on. “Oh, you’re awake.”

Again, Vesan nodded. Again, he felt that it was kind of stupid to do. Riju sat back up, wiping her face with her hand and looking around.

“You’re supposed to drink this...”

“Right over here, Lady Riju.”

“Sarqso, Buliara. Here, drink this.”

Vesan took the bottle with his right hand and downed it, hoping not to have to taste it for longer than absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, it coated his teeth and tongue and throat anyway with the bitter taste of something quite obviously derived from lizard and monster bits. He could have cried tears of joy when Buliara took the empty bottle from him and Riju replaced it with a bowl of hydromelon. Greedily, he chased the taste of medicine with chunks of sweet fruit.

“What happened last night, Vesan?” Riju asked. Vesan nearly choked, fruit juice spilling from the corner of his mouth and dribbling down his chin. He quickly wiped the back of his good hand against his mouth.“Was it the Yiga?”

Yiga? He racked his brain, trying to remember who or what that was. It sounded familiar... Right, that was it. The clan of thieves. He shook his head, confused. Buliara and Riju shared a look.

“You’re...sure?” Buliara asked, adjusting her weight from her right foot to her left. “We know they were in town last night. They stole Lady Riju’s treasured heirloom. It wasn’t someone dressed in red with a mask?”

He considered laying the blame at their feet for simplicity’s sake. Then, he considered the truth - telling them that he’d freed that voe from the statue, and it turned out to be some kind of homicidal maniac who immediately mistook him for someone else and attempted to murder him. But... somehow, he still felt like he needed the voe's - Lord Ghirahim’s - help. So, he shook his head again.

Riju took his hand in hers, studying his face, the tiredness in her face overtaken by concern. “Then who-”

“An accident.” He croaked. It was an awful lie, but it was the first thing that came to mind. When he saw the disbelief in their faces, he quickly added. “With magic.”

“The guard went through your house after they brought you in - they said the place was littered with pieces of stone?” Riju prompted.

“Yes.”

“From the accident?”

“Yes.”

She sighed, clearly not convinced but not pushing it, either. "Well, they’ve gotten things cleaned up for you at your house, but you’re welcome to rest here for a while if you’d like. Babi said the healing elixirs will probably make you pretty tired for a while as your body heals.” She stood up and stretched her arms, stifling a yawn. "You’d tell me if you were in danger, right? Or if there was a danger to the town?”

“Of course.” He said, nodding emphatically.

She looked a little relieved to hear it. “Ok. Get some rest. I’ll check in on you later.”

Once the pair left, Vesan resumed eating, taking in his surroundings. It looked like he was in the barracks sleeping quarters - but curtained off from the rest of the space for privacy. Then he realized he wasn’t wearing his usual robe - the sash that tied it around his waist was nowhere to be seen, either. They probably had to get rid of it all to access his shoulder. He could only imagine how disgusting it must’ve been, covered in blood and sand.

He finished off the melon and placed the bowl on the chair Riju’d been sitting in, then pulled the blankets up around himself and swung his legs around the side of the bed. He may have been tired, but he wasn’t going to stick around in this bed all day half-dressed in dirty clothes, hair matted with drying blood.

The blanket helped cover up the worst of the atrocious state he was in as he stumbled out of the barracks and made his way back home, taking frequent breaks to catch his breath. The stone by the entryway to his house was dyed a bit pink, still, but overall it barely looked like a violent attack had taken place. Which was good. When his mother returned, he’d hate to have to explain the state of the place.

He slipped the blanket off and tossed it onto the couch before entering his room.

A familiar mask was lying on his bed, golden horns gleaming in the light pouring in from the window. The eyes seemed empty, though, somehow. Behind him, he heard a chime. Before he could turn, a face leaned into his peripheral vision.

“Wow. You look disgusting.”

Vesan leapt forward, away from Ghirahim, heart pounding in his chest, teeth grinding together audibly. He twisted around, not wanting to keep his back to him.

Ghirahim regarded him for a moment then chuckled darkly. “Well, it’s not entirely your fault. I was a little hard on you.”

“A little-!”

“But you seem like you’ve managed to pull through. And I’ve realized that I was mistaken about you anyway. I can feel the current incarnation of my former master is elsewhere. It looks like you’re just an empty vessel. Same spirit, but devoid of purpose.”

“You almost killed me.”

“You might ask me to finish the job later as a mercy.” He disappeared, reappearing in the seat in front of Vesan’s vanity and idly re-arranging the various combs and jars there. “If the hero isn’t successful, anyway.”

Vesan didn’t really know what to say anymore. He dropped himself onto the bed, bone-tired. Hesitantly, he reached over for the mask and pulled it into his lap, studying it. Ghirahim watched, expression bored but eyes sharp. They both existed in silence for a while, enough for Vesan’s breathing to slow and his eyes to try drifting shut. He fought the urge, the logical part of his brain not wanting to drift off when he could be in danger.

“At least clean yourself off before you go to sleep.”

Vesan ignored him.

“I think I preferred you when you were cowering in fear. At least you were a little more interesting then, Vessel.”

“Vesan.”

“Vesan.”

“Prince Vesan.” He didn't know what pettiness compelled him to use that reviled, meaningless title. There was almost a sort of... anger brewing under his skin. Perhaps that was white. Or perhaps the exhaustion was making him delirious enough to destroy his common sense. 

“Oh! Pulling rank now are we, your highness? Funny, this doesn’t seem like any palace I’ve ever seen. What kind of prince are you supposed to be?”

“It’s just a title. What are you supposed to be chief of, Lord Ghirahim?”

“You insolent-” Vesan watched a flash of rage cross Ghirahim’s face as he rose from the vanity, teeth bared. He flinched back in response, expecting an attack and regretting not holding his tongue. But then the other man stopped and mumbled, “If it weren’t for that goddess-damned mask, I’d tear your throat out and watch you gasp for air as you drown in your own blood. Hylia, haven’t I been punished enough.”

Instead of advancing on Vesan, the white-haired voe turned on his heel. He stepped over to the washbasin and grabbed the jug then vanished in what seemed to be his usual manner. When he reappeared, he poured water from the now filled jug into the basin, then wheeled the whole cart towards the vanity. Next, he turned himself to Vesan again and leaned forward, a smirk playing across his lips as the prince flinched once more. Instead of offering violence, Ghirahim hefted Vesan up by his armpits like a sack of flint and half-dragged him over to the vanity.

“If we are to be bound together in this lifetime, then we are reflections of one another. And I am not going to let this be a reflection of me.”

Chapter Text

At the intersection of denial and desperation, Vesan found uneasy acceptance. He sat at the table, the self-proclaimed deity and dealer in life and power draped in the seat across from him. After a night of sleep with his new housemate, he was fairly convinced that Ghirahim wasn‘t going to try to murder him again. He wasn’t sure of the exact rules involved, but it seemed to have something to do with the mask Ghirahim had been affixed with as a statue, so Vesan thought it wise to strap it to his right hip.

“Are you finished yet?” Vesan ignored Ghirahim, popping another large grilled mushroom into his mouth from the plate. Casually, Ghirahim leaned across the table, his movements languid as he stretched his arms out until the moment he flicked his hand out, Vesan’s plate flying from the table. “I don’t like being ignored.”

Well, I don’t feel like talking to you. Vesan thought to himself, his face growing red as he chewed his now-last morsel of lunch.

“And I don’t feel like babysitting an overgrown child.” Ghirahim hissed, pulling himself back up and leaning against the chair.

Vesan swallowed. “What?”

“Now you feel like talking to me, then?”

He narrowed his eyes at Ghirahim. Are you listening to my thoughts?

“Of course not, that’d be ridiculous. You’d have to have a thought in that empty little head of yours, first.” Vesan could feel his tenuous grasp on his acceptance of this situation slipping away. So the false deity had full access to his brain. Great. This was worse than knowing Ghirahim could project thoughts to Vesan. “When you get that red in the face, I feel like I could almost mistake you for your better half.”

Stop comparing me to whoever it is you’re talking about.

“What was his name again? Ganon?”

Calamity Ganon? Vesan stood, chair clattering backward to the floor. Ice ran down his spine. Why was the accusation so repugnant to him? The idea that he could be anything like the Calamity... He should have been able to just laugh it off as ridiculous. But instead, Ghirahim’s words were clawing for purchase at the base of his skull.

“You call him Calamity Ganon in this era? I feel like I’ve really missed out on the latest news in that statue.”

You mistook me for the Calamity ?

“Mistook? No. I’ve lived through more of your incarnations than you can count - and most of them were called something like Ganon. Ganon...dorf? Something like that. He’s certainly the only male Gerudo I’ve ever heard news of.”

Vesan relaxed, letting out a shaky breath. Relief washed over him, cleansing his doubts. He hadn’t expected that to hit so close, but it was just a misunderstanding. “Oh. That’s it? He was just another Gerudo voe...” He knelt down to lift up the chair, then moved to tidy up the spilled mushrooms and broken plate from across the room. “Gerudo voe are just rare. We don’t often survive past infancy.”

“Is that so? How fascinating.” Ghirahim said, in a tone that sounded suspiciously like he was not, at all, fascinated with the lesson on Gerudo voe infant mortality rates. “But it’s a little more metaphysical than being the little voe who lived, you ignorant child. I told you before, your spirit - your soul - is the same.”

“That’s not possible.” A beat. “And I’m not a child.”

“Sure, it’s possible. You’re just a stray little spark of the same exact spirit which deserves nothing more than to be snuffed out.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Fine. Live in denial.”

Vesan finished sweeping up all the shards of ceramic and the bits of food, tossing them out. He was trying his best to avoid eye contact with the very smug, self-satisfied jerk still seated at the table. It was clear Ghirahim was just trying to get under his skin however he could and Vesan wanted nothing more than to change the subject.

Are you still going to help me with the magic?

He heard a chime in response, and suddenly Ghirahim was draped across the countertop, his long hair flowing down towards the ground, cloak billowing beneath him like a pool of blood. “Oh, did you still need my help?”

Yes.

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you.”

“Yes.”

“Was that to me?”

Vesan squeezed his fists shut. Relaxed them. Squeezed them shut once more. Took a deep breath in. Held for four counts. Released it. “Yes, Lord Ghirahim.” He was loathe to address him by the title - not only was the sound of the title ‘Lord’ ridiculous in its very concept, but he already has a chief, and it felt wrong to offer a similar title to anyone else. Besides, Ghirahim had still failed to clarify what he was supposed to be Lord of.

“We’ll work on that. But yes. I may as well impart some small measure of my vast magical knowledge unto you, undeserving of it though you may be.”

“Sarqso,” He said. Rolling his eyes at the expectant look on Ghirahim’s face, he added, “Lord Ghirahim.”

Satisfied, the false deity snapped his fingers, disappearing in yet another flashy shower of sharp, mirrored light and reappearing across the room. He bent down and retrieved Vesan’s sitar, holding it as if it were a soiled rag. “Lesson One: Stop relying on this thing to do magic. It’s too cumbersome, and you’re using it as a crutch.”

But I-

“What‘s our goal here, anyway? Can‘t imagine you‘d like to drown the world in darkness and subjugate all who oppose your rule... Back in the alley, you mentioned a Princess? Don’t tell me-?”

“I’m supposed to help Princess Zelda.”

The laugh that burst out of Ghirahim was an ugly, hateful thing. It made Vesan’s skin crawl to hear it, and both of them wore disdain plainly across their faces. “So,” Ghirahim was gone again with another snap. Vesan felt a hand on his shoulder, “you’re aiming to play hero?”

“Not hero-” He said, trying to keep the doubt from his voice. She asked for my help. She said... I’m Hyrule’s last hope. I have to try.

“You’re being set up for failure.” The weight lifted from his shoulder and from the corner of his eye, he could see Ghirahim now lounging on the couch, twirling Vesan’s scimitar in his hands. He tossed it into the air and caught the blade between two fingers, another barking laugh forcing itself from his chest. “You have no control over your magic. You don’t have a proper blade. You’re soft. Untrained. Powerless-”

“Don’t you think I know that!” Vesan spat, hot tears welling in the corners of his eyes and a great ache building in his chest. Yet even as he felt the usual sting of his self-pity rising, he felt hellfire tear through his veins. He imagined that sinister red moonlight washing over the room again, but his fear had transformed into rage. “Don’t you think I know I’m not a hero? That I’m soft? That I’m weak? You can’t tell me anything I haven’t told myself a thousand times, Lord Ghirahim! But maybe what Hyrule needs isn’t some big, strong hero who isn’t even here to come rescue us! Maybe-”

Vesan paused for a moment, his anger blowing away like grains of sand lost in a storm. He looked down at the floor and frowned. “Maybe it needs people who are soft. And weak. Maybe this time the world gets saved by someone who’s afraid to disappoint his mother and lets the tip of his spear drag on the ground because his arms are too sore and who’s afraid of the sound of his own voice more often than not. Maybe the world needs people who just... try anyway.”

“Wow.” Ghirahim breathed. Vesan looked up at the other man, now sitting up - leaning a bit forward. Dark eyes wide, pale lips parted in shock. Ghirahim placed his hand on his chest. “Genuinely... I think I could cry. Vesan, I think... I think that was the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard anyone say. Ever. I cannot imagine being anywhere else in this lifetime than by your side just so I get the pleasure of watching Calamity Ganon tear your hopes and dreams to shreds before extinguishing your life firsthand. I get chills just thinking about it.”

Vesan frowned. It seemed like sympathy was a foreign concept to Ghirahim. Well, what had he really expected? This white-and-red-clad stranger was a violent narcissist who proclaimed himself to be divinity. One whose mouth was filled with sharp insults and a lying tongue. Vesan made his face blank, determined not to let Ghirahim under his skin yet again. “I’ll try to make my death entertaining for you.”

True to his word, Ghirahim seemed almost eager to train Vesan once the table was cleared and the foodstuffs that hadn’t wound up on the floor were put away. The pair sat cross-legged on the floor facing one another, a beam of sunlight from the doorway marking a thick barrier between them. On Ghirahim’s lap was Vesan’s curved blade with its finely jeweled hilt.

There was a goal to this exercise, apparently. To summon the blade to himself. Vesan would have been lying if he said there wasn’t comfort in having a concrete goal. This was the second magical task Ghirahim had given him so far - if you didn’t count Don’t-Get-Murdered - and having succeeded at freeing the man from the statue already, he was at least somewhere in the orbit of feeling confident that he could achieve this task. Except that he didn’t have the sitar.

An hour into the exercise, Vesan had complained about the lack of his instrument. Maybe it was a little too soon to proceed without it. Couldn’t he just start out with it?

Ghirahim had very helpfully disincentivized such a shortcut by threatening to smash the instrument into so many pieces and so thoroughly that it would be indistinguishable from the desert itself. Not wishing to test the veracity of the threat, Vesan kept his complaints to himself. He just sat there and tried any way he could think of to get the blade to come to him. He’d snapped his fingers, hummed a tune, begged the sword (Ghirahim had found that attempt particularly amusing) - anything to coerce the scimitar to move. Yet it stubbornly stayed put and Vesan’s fingers itched to play.

“Well! This is going great!” Ghirahim announced, distracting Vesan from the staring contest he was currently having with his scimitar.

“I’m trying!”

“Yes, and that’s been really turning out results. Looks like just trying one’s best isn’t a foolproof plan after all, is it?”

Vesan mustered up every bit of his soul to produce the meanest, most withering glare he could and shot it at Ghirahim. If looks could kill, he was convinced Ghirahim would be dead three times over. Unfortunately, he was wholly unaffected by the power of Vesan’s glare.

“Maybe it’s an issue of motivation.” In one fluid movement, Ghirahim stood and tossed the sword onto the couch. Then, he reached down and hoisted Vesan up by his armpits.

Before the Gerudo prince could voice his complaints, he felt all the wind get knocked out of his lungs. The room around him disappeared, replaced by an endless void filled with gleaming fractures of geometic white light, so that the space was both dark and blinding as far as the eye could see. Something inside his brain felt like it’d been shaken loose, and he was dizzy and disoriented in this strange space - unable to tell up from down or left from right. Everything was spinning in his eyes - but somehow, closing them didn’t help at all. It was all he could do to grab Ghirahim’s arms as tight as he could, fearful that he would be plunged into the void and never escape.

A mere second later, though, he was being deposited unceremoniously atop a sand dune, Ghirahim looming above him. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to the teleportation. Probably.”

Vesan turned over onto his hands and knees, shuddered, and promptly emptied the contents of his stomach onto the sand.

Chapter Text

“So, what are we doing out here?” Vesan asked, sitting down in the sand with a split-open hydromelon in his lap. He tore out a chunk of the fruit and chewed on it to wash the acrid bitterness from his mouth.

“I felt it necessary to raise the stakes for you. If you can’t produce results in the safety of your own home, perhaps you’ll fare better out here. And if you can’t produce results out here, well...” Ghirahim let the thought trail off into an unspoken threat, letting it sink in for dramatic effect. Then he turned and pointed in a direction. Golden sand stretched out into the horizon, and Vesan squinted against the unrelenting sun to try to see what was being indicated. Seeing nothing, he looked back at Ghirahim, confused. “Town should be that direction.”

“What-” Vesan’s jaw dropped, sticky juices from a piece of melon pooling in his palm. “I can’t even see it from here! How far away did you drag me!”

“Guess you’ll find out.”

He flicked the piece of fruit from his hand, wiping his palm against the coarse sand. The remainder of the melon he hefted up with him as he stood so he could chuck it at Ghirahim. It didn’t connect, and he didn’t expect it to - Ghirahim dodged effortlessly - but he was actually quite pleasantly surprised to find that he’d lobbed it with sufficient force to sail past Ghirahim at all. Sarqso, Babi.

“Who-?”

“Nothing.”

If he was going to get back to town, he had a lot of ground to cover, and he could already feel his hair starting to plaster itself to his face where sweat began to bead. It would be worse at night when the chill set in - he at least had his sapphires to battle the heat, but he didn’t often worry about protecting against the cold. How did this relate to his training anyway? Wasn’t the goal to summon his-

“Heads up.”

Vesan’s attention snapped to Ghirahim. It was the wrong direction to focus on. Something wet and sticky wrapped around his left ankle. He glanced down. Wrong direction, again. Every muscle in his body seized as electricity zig-zagged a course up his leg, around his torso, and even to the tips of his fingers. He fell face-first, the earth meeting him abruptly on the way down. Black flecks took over parts of his vision, and he clenched his jaw so hard, he would have sworn his teeth cracked. One thought throbbed in time with the drumbeat smashing through his brain: Sword! Sword! Sword!

But what materialized in his hand as the electricity dissipated was not the now-familiar grip of his blade. It was not any kind of blade. No time to dwell on it. The thing holding on his ankle retracted and he heard footsteps shuffling across the sand towards him - rapidly. Twisting onto his back, he saw a lizalfos with a crackling horn charging towards him, tongue returned to its mouth. Of course, it had a blade and shield meanwhile all Vesan had managed to summon to his hand was-

-A mask.

He hadn’t even managed to summon it that far - just from his hip to his hand. It was almost too late to do anything else. No, it was too late. The lizalfos was upon him now, raising a beat-up-looking blade that barely held an edge anymore. Vesan raised up the only thing he had in response. Not as a shield this time. Instead, he'd felt strangely compelled to place the mask on his face.

The howl that tore through him would have put any self-respecting wasteland coyote to shame and had them running with their tails between their legs until they collapsed from exhaustion. It wasn’t a human sound, it was something ancient and guttural and raw. It knocked the lizalfos’s blade backward, as if the rusted thing had hit a wall mid-air. Vesan reached up, clutching his face in pain though it wasn't exactly his face that was in pain. It was his entire being. His legs scrambled wildly beneath him, kicking up dust as he writhed in agony. His back arched up as far as it could then dropped back down. Then, with a spluttering gasp, he bolted upright, still sitting in the middle of nowhere with the sun beating down on him as the pain settled and dissipated all at once.

The lizalfos hadn’t waited for his recovery. The next thing he felt was its old sword shattering across his left shoulder. Shattering. Not slicing. Not finding purchase in his flesh. Shattering.

He rocked himself forward and onto his feet, humming a stilted, nervous tune to himself. The lizalfos was throwing a bit of a tantrum at the loss of its weapon and Vesan wasn’t going to have too much more time to just stand around and wonder what was going on. He needed to act.

When he demanded a blade with his magic, this time, he felt a grip form in his left palm. He closed his hand around it and lifted it up - but it shone black in the sunlight, not silver. He didn't have time to dwell on it - on why it wasn't the sword he expected or why he recognized it. Instead, he turned his attention toward delivering a decisive slice across the monster. It’d felt so easy and inconsequential to end it. Wielding a weapon had never felt so natural.

“Of course, you still manage to find a way to get around doing real work.” Ghirahim snarled, stepping around Vesan. “You were supposed to use your power, not mine.”

“I did. But when I called for a weapon, the mask showed up instead. It’s not like you were going to help, were you?” Vesan snapped back, jabbing Ghirahim in the chest with a finger. Brow furrowing, he held his hands up, noting that the tips of his fingers looked like they’d been dipped in coal dust. He wiped his hand across his arm, but the colour didn’t transfer onto his arm, nor did his fingertips regain their normal hue. “I don’t want to think about this right now...”

“Are you going to take the mask off? Again, the goal was to make it back using magic to summon your weapon.”

“I told you. I did.” He crossed his arms. “And I succeeded. I called for my weapon, and I got it.”

Ghirahim’s mouth gaped like a fish at a market stand, but he made no reply. Instead, he threw his hands into the air and made a high-pitched keening noise.

Ignoring the dramatics, Vesan glanced back to where the monster’s corpse had been, but by now it’d disappeared, leaving only a few pieces of its former body - no, there was something else glowing amidst the mundane bits of talon and the curlicue tail. Right beside the pitted shield was something bright and amorphous. He scooped it up gently and could see his hand through it - but distorted and awash with an odd glow.

“What’s this?”

Ghirahim made no attempt to respond. He wasn’t even facing Vesan anymore.

“Stop sulking. Come over here. Look at this thing.”

He was satisfied when he heard the snap and low chimes that meant Ghirahim had moved. Now, he stood beside Vesan, staring at the thing in his hands. “Just a bit of that thing’s life essence. Put it down, your fingers will go numb. That thing was so weak, it’s worthless anyway.”

Vesan tipped his palms forward, letting the strange jelly-like essence roll off his fingertips and land below with a soft, satisfying whump. “I didn’t know there was such a thing.”

“Of course not - you would never have noticed it. I never noticed it until I was given that mask.”

“By Hylia?”

“No.” Ghirahim frowned. Vesan waited for him to elaborate. “I’m not sure exactly who gave it to me, but Hylia certainly wouldn’t give me a gift. Though I’m sure she tampered with it once she trapped me in the statue as punishment. Made it so that even if I escaped, I could be leashed to whatever hapless fool picked it up.”

“You’re not even sure she made it that way?”

“It would just be so like her. You don’t know her the way I do.”

“I don’t know her at all. But how do you know it wasn’t always like that?”

“I’ve never not been able to kill someone holding it before.”

“Ah.” Vesan nodded, following the logic. He shook out his numb fingers a little as they were beginning to buzz, then reached up to his face with a sigh to remove the mask.

His fingers, even numb, could tell the difference between the smooth, hard surface of the mask and his own supple flesh. His hand wasn't touching a mask at all.

Where is it?

“You’re still wearing it. Here.” Ghirahim grabbed Vesan’s frantic hand and guided it just in front of his ear. “There’s a seam there.”

Sure enough, when Vesan dug his fingers into that spot just a bit, he could feel something strange. He tugged at it and felt the hard edge of the mask lift away. As he removed it, he saw a figure standing at the edge of his vision but in the next instant it was gone. “Okay, that was better than putting it on...”

“It’s always easier returning back to your default state. Now. Let’s get going. And try not to resort to cheap tricks next time.”

—

Ghirahim was having a tough time deciding quite how to feel about his new Gerudo partner. At first, he would have been quite content to murder him and move on with his life - get as far away from the legend playing out before him as possible and use his regained mobility and form to make a few deals. Of course, that’d gotten fucked up by the mask - how was he supposed to know it’d bind them together?

He wanted to blame Hylia for it - it was one of her horrid little incarnations who’d decided to torture him by turning him to stone, after all - but he was beginning to wonder if it wasn’t something... more than that. He’d lost a part of himself in that first clash with the Chosen Hero, something he thought he could never get back. He’d become a sword spirit with no sword, a pitiful creature with no master.

Desperation drove him to Ganondorf - an echo of Demise - but what use had he for a broken thing like Ghirahim? As a blade, he’d failed his master once already and now he wasn’t even a blade. The rejection still stung bitterly, though. Didn’t the swordsman have a duty of care to his blade, too?

But now that mask seemed to have taken the place of his blade. A new form suitable for his new master. Oh, he loathed to think of Vesan as his master. That deluded, fragile creature, master over himself? Lord of the Surface? Dealer of Life and Power? He was a demon! A god! And now... a magical tutor to some pathetic worm that should have been so far beneath his notice that he would never have to suffer the endless parade of inane questions and sniveling little speeches about being a hero.

Yet, with the desert sun above them, watching Vesan struggle against a simple lizalfos - just one, even! - he’d felt the call of his master down to his very core. The undeniable pull of Vesan’s desperate plea.

Sword! Sword! Sword!

Without realizing it, he’d answered. The mask leapt to Vesan’s fingertips, and the moment Vesan put it on, the noise in Ghirahim’s head quieted, and he once again knew the taste of purpose. On his face, that mask had simply been a mask. A borrowed thing that gave him a bit of extra power, but never something which was truly his own. On Vesan’s face, the mask became one with the man who wore it. Its features became Vesan’s as though it were always meant to be so - in fact, Ghirahim thought the boy looked better for the golden horns protruding from his forehead. And for those matching gold-dipped fangs which decorated his newly minted scowl. And those eyes which ate the light entirely, except for tiny pinpricks of gold amidst the inky void.

Of course, the loathsome prince was still just a loathsome prince, and it was Ghirahim’s duty to put the boy in his place. Just because he’d recognized Vesan as his master did not mean he wanted the boy to actually hold power over him. He could bury that feeling. This time would be different. He was in control. He was not a tool to be used and discarded.

Well, he was in control until: I called for my weapon, and I got it.

Vesan was right.

The mask was his weapon. Ghirahim was his weapon. Whoever had given Ghirahim that mask had reforged him to new purpose and, surprisingly, he found himself thankful for the second chance.

Chapter Text

Vesan clipped the horned mask to his waist sash, noting that his fingers had finally regained their normal colouration. Good. One less thing to worry about. There was so much lately for Vesan to put out of his mind that it was getting, frankly, exhausting to deny it all. Every day some needling new truth was foisted upon him, and it was all he could do to hold onto his outline for dear life before his colours bled and stained reality red and gold and sapphire blue. So, he emptied his mind as he trudged across the desert, a second set of crunching footsteps following him just a half-step behind.

And the next time he came upon a monster - he’d never realized how littered the land around his home was with lizalfos - Ghirahim didn’t even complain when his magic called the mask back to his hand, and instinct drove him to place it over his face. The scream that tore itself from him wasn’t a horror this time. It was catharsis. It was his voice demanding to be heard and his vocal cords indulging the selfish request. Instead of struggling against the mask, he leaned into the pain of his nerves re-arranging themselves. Vesan was scoured raw and reborn anew. That was the appeal of masks, they let you become something... other.

Ghirahim didn’t complain, either, after the monsters were dispatched. Nor when Vesan failed to remove the mask. Lesson abandoned, they continued through the desert until Vesan couldn’t take it anymore. It was like trudging along at half-speed out here and his tongue was shriveling up in his jaw, not to mention the gnawing hunger growing in his stomach. With the mask, the stinging wind and sweltering heat weren’t so bad, but wearing it was tiring him out, too. He still couldn’t even see town - just an endless sea of sand, some big bones, old decrepit ruins, and the monsters that called this place home.

“Do you just want to go back?” Ghirahim asked, noticing Vesan’s dragging pace and matching the languid stride. Vesan stopped to mull it over for a moment, but ultimately shook his head. Somewhere along in the sand and the sand and the sand, Vesan had accepted the challenge and he felt like he would be giving up something precious to simply... go home.

Vesan pointed at a structure nearby. More of a small rock formation. “There’s a little shade there to rest in." He mumbled, "There’s voltfruit on the way - not much but it’ll do. Wish I hadn’t wasted the hydromelon, but it was too heavy to carry anyway. I just need a break.”

As he began to walk again, Vesan realized that he didn’t hear footsteps behind him. He turned back, expecting to see Ghirahim standing there but no. He was entirely gone. Vesan’s face pinched like he’d eaten something sour and his chest heaved with annoyance. Not that it mattered to him where Ghirahim strayed off to, but he fancied his odds less out here in the wasteland without the other. Surely he’d be back soon. He hoped.

His goal - the stone formation - stuck out from the rock beneath it like a great big jutting tooth. It was kind of like a pillar, tall and thin with a flat top. It cast a long, inviting shadow that Vesan ached greatly to sit within. It may as well have been an oasis. Staggering towards it, Vesan dug his fingers in against his cheek and peeled the mask from his face, the heat of the sun more apparent now where it burned against his skin. In a few more hours, it would be setting. The rock would do nothing to shield him from the cold except break up the cool winds a little. Why was he so sure he was strong enough to endure all this? Maybe he was losing it.

Once he reached the pillar. Vesan plunked down on the ground, setting the horned mask beside himself. Sitting was doing wonders for his aching body already.

Low chimes souned nearby and Ghirahim appeared to Vesan’s right with a large hydromelon in his lap. He watched as Ghirahim sliced into the fruit. Before Vesan could make any tired, snide comments about how Ghirahim had just gotten the melon to antagonize him, Ghirahim handed over a piece.

“I loathe to watch you tear chunks out with your hands like an animal.” Ghirahim offered. It was not an explanation, but Vesan was already digging into the most delicious fruit he’d ever eaten. He’d never been so thirsty and hungry and tired before, it was a fantastic condiment, though not one he would recommend.

Once he’d finished a piece, Ghirahim was already holding out another. “Sarqso.”

“You’re welcome, your highness.”

Vesan laughed, mood boosted by the snack. “That is to say, sarqso Lord Ghirahim.” Ghirahim handed him a third piece to replace the second rind. “You know, you don‘t need to actually call me by any kind of title - especially if you actually are some kind of lord. The whole ‘Prince’ thing doesn’t mean anything. Just some old tradition.”

“I’m offended that you’ve been harboring doubt as to my proper title. I’ll have you know, I am a Demon Lord, and I once presided over the entire surface of this world. You should wear your title with pride, Prince Vesan of the Gerudo. It’s not too late to make something of it.”

“Like what?”

“You could rule your people?”

“Lady Riju is doing a perfectly adequate job and I think she’s only going to become a better and better chief as she grows into it.”

“Then rule someone else’s people.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Fine." Ghirahim threw up his hands briefly, one holding his knife and the other, a piece of fruit, "Then rule yourself.”

“I-.” He paused, taking a contemplative bite of melon. “That’s not too bad.”

“I wasn’t serious and it’s sad that you’re considering this.”

“Shut up, it’s not bad. I would have thought someone as... well someone like you would take it more seriously. If no one else matters but yourself, why bother ruling anyone except yourself?”

Ghirahim’s knife stilled. He tipped his head back. “Hmm...” Vesan’s lip curled in disgust as Ghirahim ran his tongue along the knife. The demon lord caught his expression and laughed, the exceedingly long tongue retracting back to where it ought to have never left in the first place. “No, it’s good. I am, unsurprisingly, a wellspring of wisdom.”

“Switch knives if you’re going to keep cutting that thing or I’m going back to using my hands.”

“As you wish.” Ghirahim continued to laugh as he twirled the knife in his hand then let it vanish with his signature style before another appeared. Vesan narrowed his eyes and bit back an accusation that it was just the first knife again. Best not to push his luck.

One hydromelon and two voltfruit later, Vesan was gorged and satisfied. The cloudless blue sky above was starting to darken, bringing the temperature down to something a little more tolerable for the prince. Lumpy, inflexible rock would be his pillow tonight, unfortunately. It felt appropriate, though. He had known a lifetime of creature comforts: delicious food, a comfortable bed, fresh water, a roof over his head, a loving mother, an easy job - even the friendship of the chief. But lately, he felt like it was nice to trade some of that in for self-satisfaction, accomplishment, and freedom. Then again, he might feel differently in the morning after a full night of sleep sitting up against a rock.

“Sav’orr, Lord Ghirahim.” He yawned, getting as comfortable as he could.

“Hmm? I forget that one.”

“I don’t remember how it’s called in common Hyrulean. It’s for nighttime.”

“Good night?”

“Sure. Good night.”

“Sav’orr, Prince Vesan.”

—

Sav’orr as the sun set, Sav’otta as the sun rose. Vesan gave both greetings and received them in kind, Ghirahim received both greetings and returned them in kind. Vesan made no mention of the red cloak he’d woken up covered with, Ghirahim made no mention of the red cloak he was missing. But Vesan did offer a smile and although Ghirahim rolled his eyes and looked away, he felt like it was accepted.

Ghirahim provided breakfast again - this time stoking a small fire to roast some kind of meat - probably coyote - and oddly enough, chickaloo tree nuts. Vesan was so thrilled, the ache in his back and crick in his neck gained from sleeping sitting up against a rock were forgotten immediately.

“Wow, I thought I’d be just eating fruit again. Sarqso!”

Forget the melon, this was the most delicious meal he’d ever eaten and he gorged himself with abandon, leaving etiquette behind while Ghirahim smirked his sharp little smirk, fully satisfied with himself. Normally, Vesan might have seen fit to be annoyed at Ghirahim’s self-satisfaction, taking it as a slight against him. But when the man was providing prime cuts of roasted meat and tree nuts - tree nuts! - Vesan couldn’t find a scrap of ill-will in his body towards Ghirahim.

After a morning meal, Vesan stretched out all his aching limbs. He rolled his shoulders. Twisted his back side to side. Pressed his palms to the sky. He steeled himself mentally for the trek to come and clipped his mask to his sash. Once he got moving again, Ghirahim fell into lockstep behind him and the entire world was two sets of footsteps and so much sand that Vesan was, frankly, getting sick of it.

Hours on, he noticed a large rock formation jut over the horizon - much larger than the one whose shadow Vesan had sought refuge in the night before. It was a sight that made his heart flutter. “We’re almost there!”

“Yes. I can see that.”

Ghirahim’s snark couldn’t put a dent in Vesan’s cheer, however. He’d done it! He’d made it across the desert and found his way home! He missed the noise of home and the familiar faces and the fact that there was way more to see in town than just sand! His feet picked up their pace, but just before he could break out into a jog, a firm hand grasped his upper arm and just about yanked him to a stop. “Ow! What, Ghirahim?”

“Your mask.” Ghirahim replied coolly, either oblivious or uncaring of the fact that he’d made Vesan yank on his own shoulder hard enough to cause pain. “You haven’t seen yourself yet in it, but while the effect is stunning, I don’t think the Gerudo will take kindly to horns and fangs.”

“Horns and-” Vesan scrunched his brow, vision narrowing, and reached up to his face. Sure enough, he felt two smooth horns jutting from his forehead. He considered sticking his fingers in his mouth to check the fangs claim but decided it made more sense, for now, to try running his tongue across them. From the bottom, he felt two teeth that stood up taller than the rest - not quite pointy, but sharper than normal. A matching pair in the top row of his teeth did the same. “Oh. Good call.”

Ghirahim released his vice grip on Vesan’s upper arm, allowing him to pull the mask off and place it back on his hip before heading back to town. However, the mask wasn’t the only thing he failed to consider.

At first, he thought they’d just failed to recognize him when the guards at the town gate crossed their spears to him. He was wrong. “Sav’aaq, Prince Vesan. Who is your companion?”

“I am Lord Ghirahim.” The voe said with a low bow, making it worse.

Ghirahim, voe aren’t allowed in town.

“We’re afraid you’ll have to stay outside, Lord Ghirahim, per our law.”

“Ah... well, actually-”

“I’m afraid you are mistaken.” Ghirahim cut in, taking a step forward and holding out his hands, palms raised. “Technically, I’m neither voe nor vai. Spirits such as myself are above such simple biological distinctions.”

“Like Goron.” Vesan blurted. From the corner of his eye, he could see a flicker of rage flash in Ghirahim’s eyes, his nostrils flaring slightly and his jaw tightening.

Compare me to one of those graceless sacks of stone again and I will flay you alive and you will beg for a death that I will ensure eludes you.

Vesan had failed to account for Ghirahim’s vanity - but apparently the comparison was apt enough for the guards to lower their spears. “If I were you, I’d speak to the chief straight away before your friend winds up imprisoned.”

He nodded, quickly stepping into town before they changed their minds. The confidence he’d worn in the desert when it was just the two of them was wearing off as he realized just how many people were staring at the pair as they walked through the center of town. Not that Ghirahim seemed bothered. His face was blank and relaxed, eyes never resting on anything for too long as though it was all so far beneath notice that his attention glided past whatever was set before him. Vesan wished he could wear a similar affectation of pure tedium. His fingers found the mask on his hip and he smoothed them across the edge, letting it bite into his skin just enough to feel a slight discomfort at the sensation.

Chin up. Stop shrinking in on yourself. We are reflections of one another, remember? Don’t be such a pitiful mirror to me when I am doing so much to elevate you by proxy.

Vesan shot him a glare but straightened out his back anyway. His instinct was to stare down at his feet, but he bit back the urge. There wasn’t much to do about the sensation that the tips of his ears felt like they must be glowing red, but he hoped it was at least not obvious.

Much better. Keep that up and you may one day have at least the outward appearance of being fit to stand near me.

Shut up.

Stone steps, chiseled from the same rock as the palace it led to, stretched up from the town square. On either side of them, glimmering water cascaded down even larger steps, reflecting a mosaic of bright blue from the ceramic laid over the stone beneath. The persistent flow of the water splashed and burbled before dropping down somewhere beneath the earth into a place Vesan could not see. The stairs lead up to Riju's palace, a yawning archway greeting the chief’s villagers. Banners billowed down on the left and right of the entrance as did a pair of royal guards. As he climbed the stairway, he kept his head held high, refusing to fall into his usual tucked in slump. He met each guard’s eyes, nodding as he maintained his feigned confidence and stepped through. He imagined they would be a little shocked to see him carry himself that way, but he didn't stick around long enough to note any changes in their expressions.

Riju sat in her throne straight again, posture slanted to the left - her right - as she held her chin up in her hand, reading over what looked to be a report. To the right - her left - Buliara straightened her posture, bringing her feet together and rapping her two-hander against the floor. Not loud enough to be rude, but enough to get Riju’s attention. The young chief’s eyes flickered upward, and she let the report rest against her lap. After a beat, recognition crossed her face and she sat up straight atop her cushioned throne.

“Vesan! I tried to check in on you, but you weren’t home!” She said, worry creeping into her voice. Her casual demeanor was a comfort, but it transitioned into a more professional, distant pose when her eyes fell on Ghirahim. “Who is this?”

Vesan took a breath, trying to keep it as inaudible as possible to keep up the illusion he was trying to maintain. Even though Riju was a trusted friend, he thought that it might be nice if she thought he was capable and worthy, too. Someone who deserved respect. “This is Lord Ghirahim, Lady Riju.” She raised an eyebrow, noting the masculine title, but did not interrupt. “He is the deity once held captive in the horned statue and, now that he’s free, he’s helping me learn to use and control my magic. Could I request that you inform the guard that he’s welcome in town? He’s uh, a spirit. Not really a voe or a vai. Technically.”

“Like a goron?”

“A bit more elevated than that.” He said quickly, before Ghirahim’s temper flared. Teasingly, he continued, “Though he did still emerge from a stone.”

Riju relaxed back against her throne, folding her hands over her lap. She nodded and offered Vesan a small smile. “No problem. Consider it done. Regardless of any of that, he’s your guest. Of course he’s welcome.”

“Sarqso.”

“I appreciate your hospitality greatly.” Ghirahim said, voice oozing with honey. Vesan glanced over to find him dipped into a low bow, one leg dipped back, one arm folded up near his chest.

Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you? Vesan thought, an eyebrow quirked up.

Would you prefer the alternative? I can re-enact our first meeting with her in your role, if you’d like.

Alarmed at the suggestion, Vesan choked a bit then quickly covered it up with a cough while Ghirahim’s laughter rang in his head. He cleared his throat and focused his attention back on Riju. “I’d also like to propose something else,” Idly, without really noticing, he ran his index finger along one of the mask’s horns. “I think it’s time for me to get out of town and start my ah, quest. The training has been helpful, and I know there’s more to learn, but-”

“Prince Vesan just spent all of yesterday and today traveling across the desert, single-handedly taking down several of its more monstrous denizens. Practical training would be more advantageous at this point than spear drills.” Ghirahim offered.

Riju blinked, leaning forward in her seat, mouth slightly agape. Buliara shifted her stance, eyes just a bit wider than usual. Vesan could not quite tell if Buliara was shocked or concerned. “That’s where you were? In the desert? Are you all right?”

Vesan winced a bit, tensing his jaw at the insinuation that he might not be alright for having spent a bit of time outside of the safety of the town’s walls. “Don’t I look alright?” He challenged, uncharacteristically. 

“Vesan, I didn’t mean-”

“I know.” He flattened his tongue to the bottom of his mouth, the sides held against his molars as he bit down just enough to feel the sharpness of his teeth. For a quiet moment, he worked out his anxiety with tooth and tongue, before speaking again. “I just wanted to let you know I’d be going.”

“Are you sure?” Riju asked, unable to hide her concern for him. It was suffocating. It was awful. He couldn’t hate her for it, so he hated himself instead.

“It may not be wise to shrug off your training, Prince Vesan. You have neither the heart nor the stamina to venture out on your own. You know nothing about the world outside of this desert.” Buliara stated plainly, her words stabbing, cutting, and rending his soul. He could not be angry at her either, though, so he was angry at himself.

“Buliara, please-”

“Wisdom was never my strong suit.” Vesan spat, cutting Riju off. His hands were shaking, and he didn’t know how to get them to stop.

“We were prepared to host your funeral the moment you were born, Prince Vesan.” Buliara continued. “Only your mother would hold you as a child. No one dared to hope that you would live - the disappointment would be too much to bear when you inevitably perished. You were too small and your breath so shallow that we struggled to tell whether you’d passed away in the night. Yet you persisted longer than any voe on record. You kept growing and living. Now, you are grown, but you are still fragile. If you leave now, untrained and unskilled, what will we tell your mother at your funeral?”

“There won’t be time for funerals when Calamity Ganon breaks free, Buliara. Princess Zelda placed her faith in me, why can’t my own people?” Buliara’s face softened and she bowed her head just a little, not quite conceding, but perhaps a little ashamed by Vesan’s accusation. Still, he felt like he needed to prove himself. To her and Riju and to anyone in the town who might mourn him before his time. Some kind of grand gesture... Something like- “I’m going to talk to Captain Teake. If you still don’t believe in me, maybe you’ll change your mind when I recover the heirloom the Yiga took.”

Buliara slammed her sword back against the stone floor and was surely ready to voice an objection when Riju held out a hand and silenced her. “You know where to find her, Vesan. Be safe.”

“I will.” He said, face softening just a little into a tense smile. He turned towards the barracks and waved goodbye. How was that?

Maybe seven out of ten. But that’s pretty good for you.

Chapter Text

Vesan climbed down the stone steps towards the barracks, looking out over the courtyard where soldiers chatted and trained. He wasn’t surprised to see Captain Teake at her post - there hadn’t been time to rest lately, not since the Yiga snuck in and stole the heirloom from the throne room. Now here he was, of all people, throwing himself into that particular problem. How would she react?

On the bright side, he’d already stood up for himself. Both to Riju and to Buliara. Even if they didn’t really believe in him (and he didn’t quite believe in himself), Riju had let him go. That was as good as giving him her blessing outright. At this point, he had to keep moving forward and either come back with that heirloom or die trying.

“Captain,” he called as he got closer to her post at the head of the yard, “May I have a word?”

“Of course,” She looked over and nodded, though her eyes didn’t stay on Vesan. Her right hand drifted just a little closer to the scimitar sheathed at her hip. Vesan struggled not to glance back at Ghirahim himself. She must have been wary of him. “Is this about training? I believe Babi is free today. “

“No, actually it’s about the Yiga-.”

“Did you spot one?”

“I’m not reporting Yiga activity. Actually, Captain, I’d like to pursue them and reclaim the heirloom.”

A pause. Above her mask, her eyes betrayed nothing. No doubt, no disbelief, no confusion. Vesan had no idea what she might’ve been thinking of. Then, “So far, we’ve determined that they’re located in the Karusa Valley, but between the town patrols and trying to locate the Yiga headquarters, the soldiers have been too exhausted to pursue our lead. We’d be glad for your help, Prince Vesan.” She said with a small nod. She turned her attention from both Vesan and Ghirahim, then, her chest puffed up, “Hey everyone, listen up! Prince Vesan will be helping us locate the chief’s heirloom! Be sure to offer him any information you can!”

The back of Vesan’s neck heated up as he felt faces turn towards him and the captain. He glanced over to the soldiers, most of them were already turning their attention back to whatever they’d been doing previously. A hand clapped down on his shoulder, and he looked back at Captain Teake. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. You’ve trained hard these past few weeks, you’re practically already part of my unit. If you have any questions, the troops will be happy to help. You and your new... friend.”

“Lord Ghirahim.” Vesan said, dumbly.

“Right.”

“Sarqso.”

“Of course.”

The next stop was across the courtyard to Babi. She’d never stopped staring over at him after the captain’s announcement. It was obvious she wanted to speak.

“Where’s your blade?” She asked once he was close enough.

“Ah... Ghirahim?”

The sound of metallic chimes preceded Ghirahim stepping forward. Vesan’s sword lay across both of the demon lord’s upturned palms, sunlight glinting over its silver blade. It looked... a little worse for wear. The edge was visibly dull and even chipped or practically gouged in some places. Some of the stones at the hilt were missing. Babi whistled, reaching out with her free hand to grab the scimitar.

“It looks about ready to break. I’m impressed.” She breathed out a small laugh as she looked it over. “I’ll see if we can get it repaired. In the meantime, get some new weapons off the rack. Make sure you pack rations before you go, too.”

“You worried about me?” Vesan asked, only half-teasingly.

Babi scoffed, her posture straightening up, arms stiffening. “Of course not. Get moving, Vesan. That helm isn’t going to retrieve itself. Take care of yourself.”

—

Ghirahim stuck to Vesan’s side, absolutely bored out of his mind with playing the role of the good sword as the boy talked with seemingly every single Gerudo soldier in the place. The place was colourless and dreadful, but when had he ever known the desert not to be? It was little wonder that the Gerudo soldiers stole glances in his direction when they thought he wasn’t looking. At least he was something worth looking at.

When Vesan finally moved over to the weapons rack, it didn’t take more than a glance to realize they would hardly serve him better than wielding twigs and branches. He felt a pang where the gem on his chest once lay hidden before it'd been shattered. He ached for his old form. Now that would have been a blade worthy of wielding. Vesan didn’t have the height or the build of his old Master, of course, but he was sure the little prince could manage it. Probably. In a few years. Who knows, maybe he wasn’t done growing yet.

“Ghirahim, could you...?” Vesan’s voice broke his train of thought, and he realized that he was holding up a long spear.

“Could I what?”

“Do what you did with my other sword? Store it? Please?”

“Is that what you take me for? Storage?” From Demon Lord, Lord of the Surface, Right Hand of Demise, and Dealer of Life and Power... to Prince’s Pack Mule. He could just scream. Instead, he disappeared the dinky little weapon with a snap of his fingers.

“I don’t,” Vesan said, defensively. “If you didn’t want to, I could have just carried it.” He watched as the prince pulled a scimitar from the rack and stuck it into the empty sheath at his waist. Then Vesan turned his attention back to the rack, studying the weapons there to make his next selection.

He thought the conversation was over at that point but heard Vesan projecting thoughts to him. It’s just that when you carry them, it seems to make them part of the mask. That sword never felt at home in my hand before being part of the mask. It’s hard to explain.

“So it’s about my mask?” He pushed, inching closer until he could see Vesan’s face in profile. The prince had so many odd little habits. Nervous tics, he supposed. Right now, he was clearly chewing on the inside of his cheek, his chin slowly sliding back and forth as ground his molars against his own flesh.

I guess.

“You’re growing quite attached to it.”

I like wearing it.

“You like feeling the power it grants you, don’t you?” He watched Vesan’s golden eyes flick toward him. The Gerudo’s jaw relaxed, no longer diligently trying to grind a hole through his cheek. At the edge of his vision, though, he noticed Vesan’s hand move over the mask, his fingertips pressed against its face. Not that he needed to look to know, he could feel - dully – the same fingertips gently pressing against his own forehead. “Can’t imagine you’ve ever had a taste of power before, not living here. There’s nothing wrong with savouring the power I’ve granted you, Prince Vesan. You’ve been given a fine gift.”

He snapped his fingers, taking the sword and sheath at Vesan’s waist away. It wouldn’t be so bad for Vesan to rely on him. Even if it meant playing the good sword and sticking ever so silently by his side. The pack mule thing still got under his skin, but that, too, he could forgive.

You act like I wasn’t the one who let you out of that statue. And like you didn’t try to kill me right away.

“That was a mere misunderstanding, must you continue to hold it against me? Since then, haven’t I made sure you were well fed?”

In the desert? Where you dragged me against my will, stranded?

“I offered to bring you back. You declined.” He pointed out. It was taking every ounce of strength not to snap at the prince right now. “I was right to bring you there, admit it. You’re stronger now for it. You’re also forgetting that I’ve now sung your praises to your chief and am now carrying your weaponry for you. A little appreciation wouldn’t be undeserved, would it?”

“No. You’re right. I do appreciate your help.” He said, even as he held out another spear. “Do you ever eat? Or drink? You didn’t in the desert, so I guess you don’t need to, but...”

Well, that was a change of gears. Ghirahim plucked the spear from Vesan’s hand and leaned away from the prince for a moment. “I do enjoy partaking in fine food and drink. I didn’t before because it would have been a waste of my time foraging around to feed two mouths when feeding one was all that was required. Why?”

“After this, I’m heading home to wash off. But after, we can visit the Hotel Oasis to unwind. Romah always lets me jump to the front of the line to make use of their spa plan. You’d probably like that, too. Then, we can go to The Noble Canteen for drinks. We can worry about the Yiga tomorrow.” Vesan knelt to pick up a shield and fitted it over his arm, looking it over.

“Aren’t you the very picture of a pampered prince? Spa and drinks? I can’t pretend I mind those sorts of plans.” He laughed. “By the way, you’ve got that on the wrong arm - unless you plan to start fighting with a sword in your right?”

“Oh.” The shield was promptly returned to the rack. Guess he preferred to go all-in on offense. That was fine. Ghirahim had never cared for shields, himself. He was never meant to be wielded alongside one. Maybe deep down, without really knowing why, Vesan shared that preference with Demise?

Chapter Text

Slipping the mask over his face was easy. Should he have found that disturbing? Distantly, he remembered the first time he‘d worn it. It was like being punched - all the air knocked out of him, tearing itself from his lungs in a deafening scream. Molten fire had run through his veins and he’d never wanted to escape from his own body more. Yet now, mere days later, wearing the mask felt like coming home. It settled over his face, snug against his skin until there was no separation between him and his mask. Wearing it was a relief. It was comfort.

Moreso than that, it was power. Ghirahim had been right about that. For someone like him, who’d never been given power before, it was intoxicating. One day, he hoped to use this power to pluck that dreaded blood-soaked moon right out of the sky. For now, he had a much more immediate use for it.

“This hideous thing must mean we’re getting close.” Ghirahim said, his foot planted squarely on the fabric-covered face of a squat little statue - one of three, all sitting side-by-side in a neat little row. It was a bit hard to tell what they were supposed to be - some kind of animal, maybe? Didn’t look like anything he’d ever seen in the desert before, but that made sense. The Yiga were outsiders, their iconography wasn’t going to look familiar to some kid who’d barely stepped foot outside of Gerudo Town.

“The weird eye mask is kind of creepy.” Vesan mumbled, his lip curled up in disgust, exposing a fang. He didn’t feel bad at all when Ghirahim tipped his foot forward, shoving the weird statue over. Who cared what it was supposed to be? It didn’t belong here.

It wasn’t long until they came across an actual Yiga clan member in the flesh. That proved they were on the right track, at least, but Vesan quickly realized these guys were in a different league than a standard lizalfos. The enemy before him used some kind of magic. Whenever he drew close, even with a spear, the red-clad bowman simply disappeared before he could land a blow.

“Ghirahim, are you just going to stand there and watch?” He asked, drawing back his spear once more. Missed again! He whipped his head around, trying to locate his enemy before they could let loose another volley of arrows.

“It’s just a single, insignificant bug, your highness. It would hardly be fair for me to cut in.”

“I can’t even get close!”

“Don’t tell me they never taught you to throw that little sprig of a weapon?”

God. He was so stupid.

Of course, that had been the solution the entire time.

Just throw the-

“Don’t you dare say anything.” Vesan hissed after finally forcing the clan member to retreat in a burst of red smoke. He held out a clawed hand towards the fallen spear, summoning it back into his grasp and stomping forward as Ghirahim laughed behind him.

There were a few more bowmen along the path - as well as more of those odd little statues - but nothing he couldn’t handle. Finally, they reached their goal. The Yiga hideout seemed to be little more than a cave hidden beneath a rocky cliff, the entrance obscured by shadows and lined with masked statues. His heart pounded in his chest. This was it. Things were just getting started now.

He didn’t know what to expect as he crept his way forward, spear clutched in both hands, ready for a fight. As his eyes adjusted from the harsh sunlight to the flickering torchlight of the entrance, though, he nearly dropped his weapon along with his jaw. Giant statues stood tall within the cavernous space, seemingly guarding several sets of stairs. Each of their faces was covered up by large swaths of white fabric decorated by a singular red eye.

“The heroines!” He cried, stumbling forward a few steps. “How could they-?”

“Focus on the task at hand, Vesan. You can clean up afterward.”

He let the spear disappear from his hand and peeled the mask from his face, unable to tear his attention away from the statues. He wandered close to one, running his hand over the stone sword plunged into the ground.

“Gerudo, an unblemished desert... ah, it cuts off...” It reminded him of the tablet in Riju’s room. “An unblemished desert flower...”

“Put your mask back on.”

He turned back around, his eyes gliding over where Ghirahim stood with a hand on his hip. Over the demon’s shoulder, Vesan could see more writing on a large tablet.

“Gerudo... there is no strife. Gerudo, like water, we flow with life.”

This seemed to force Ghirahim into action. He approached Vesan, his sharp glare doing little to pierce Vesan’s shock. Soon, though, his face filled Vesan’s entire vision, and the Gerudo had little choice but to pay attention. “Look, I get it. Old statues and tablets! How wonderful and culturally significant this must all be for you, and how awful for a gang of tacky little Sheikah offshoots to traipse in and wreck it all with their terrible decor. But,” Ghirahim reached down for Vesan’s hand, the mask still clutched between his fingers, and guided it upward, “Don’t get distracted now. If it makes you feel better, you’ve been given a golden opportunity, Prince Vesan. Take revenge on the dogs that dared to desecrate this space. Crush them under your heel. Put your mask back on.”

That’s right... He thought, more to himself than as a response to Ghirahim. I can do more than just get the helm back...

He let Ghirahim guide the mask back over his face, sighing as he adopted his second skin. Before Ghirahim could take a step back, though, he grabbed the demon lord’s shoulder. A flash of confusion passed over the other man’s eyes. “I’m going to need your help.”

“Of course, I didn’t plan to just stand by idly while you-.”

“I’d actually like you to return to the mask.”

Ghirahim didn’t reply. His eyes narrowed to slits, flicking left and right across Vesan's face, searching for some unseen answer. Vesan didn't really have one for him - he was just running on instinct and theory - but maybe Ghirahim found one because after a few moments of silence, his expression relaxed. Vesan released his shoulder and Ghirahim took a few strides backwards. Then he did something Vesan couldn’t have possibly anticipated: he dipped forward into a low bow, arm crossed over his chest, a leg stretched back - just as he had for Riju. Was that... out of respect? For Vesan?

As Ghirahim rose again, he snapped his fingers. He was gone before he’d even straightened himself back out to his full height.

In the same instant, an electric jolt pierced through Vesan, and ice water poured through his veins. His vision blurred as his surroundings dipped in and out of focus. His chest was being crushed in a vice grip, making him gasp for breath and stumble to a knee. It wasn’t quite like that first time he’d put on the mask - much less painful - but the sensation was no less intense. Once he could breathe properly again, he realized he felt more woozy than anything. Like his brain had been stuffed up with cotton, and he was floating somewhere beside himself.

Before he’d really come back to himself, he was already back to his feet and moving sluggishly towards one of the sets of stairs.

Are you alright? Ghirahim's voice cut through his mind as if it were his own.

“Just... need a moment...” Vesan replied, his voice was distorted - only half his own, though he hadn’t consciously registered that yet - and his speech was slurred.

Just a moment, then.

He heaved himself over to the base of the staircase and collapsed down on one of the lower steps. Maybe next time he would think of this before putting on the mask. Might feel a little less jarring that way... Instead of making space for Ghirahim after the fact.

Deep breaths. He told himself. In through the nose... hold... and out... In and out... 

Gradually, he relaxed back into himself. The sensation of being disconnected from his body receded little by little until he felt steady again. He could Ghirahim’s presence exerting an inescapable pressure within Vesan's very being. It was pressed right up against his soul, lingering like a fond memory and thrumming with power.

Ready yet? Ghirahim asked.

He nodded, slapping his hands to his knees. Usually, just his fingertips were painted black when he wore his mask, but now it seemed like he’d dipped his arms right up to the elbow in ink. Above that, dark tendrils branched up to his shoulders in a web of sharp lines and angles before stopping just over the bend of his arm. He didn’t stop to admire the look for long, pushing himself up to his feet.

He summoned a scimitar to his left hand but found his right hand also holding a blade - Ghirahim’s dark saber.

—

As himself, Vesan was nothing. Less than nothing. He’d been weak. A child pretending he could be strong. With the mask, he’d been granted a taste of power. Yet he’d been naive. He’d been handed a pile of sand and stone and thought he held the whole of the desert in his grasp. It was nothing compared to fighting with Ghirahim at his side. He’d never realized that his right hand was missing a blade before. Now he was complete.

Together, they tore through the Yiga hideout, blades singing down heavily guarded halls, punctuated by the chime of dark-bright fractured light as they disappeared and reappeared in lockstep with their enemies. Until, at last, the last of the cowards had turned tail and fled, their spells carrying them far out of Vesan and Ghirahim’s reach.

No, not the last of them.

“Who the heck are you? And what are you doing in my napping spot?”

It wasn’t quite the climactic final battle they’d been expecting. Just a portly-looking Yiga in a slightly fancier-looking outfit than all the rest. Nothing special.

“What exactly are you supposed to be, anyway? Some kind of demon? Oh, I get it - you’re looking to join up, aren’t you? Usually, I don’t see the Yiga hopefuls myself, but since you’ve come all this way-”

“I’m here to reclaim my people’s heirloom - the Thunder Helm.” Vesan interrupted, speaking in his and Ghirahim’s voices at once and gesturing towards the guy with his scimitar.

“Eh? Your people? But you’re a... Aren’t all the Gerudo supposed to be women? Except in the old legends... Doesn’t matter! You dare approach the one and only Master Kohga with such foolish demands?”

“Master Kohga?” Ghirahim's voice scoffed, overtaking Vesan's. He couldn't hold himself back and Vesan receded to allow Ghirahim a small measure of control. “You stand before the Prince of the Gerudo and the Demon Lord who presides over this land! Know your place, dog.”

“Prince of Demons? Ha! Shame you won’t live to see the rise of Calamity Ganon since I’m going to put you in your place right here, right-.”

Now it was Vesan’s turn to be unable to hold himself back, not at the mention of Calamity Ganon. He launched himself forward, surprising the so-called “Master” Kohga. If that had been enough to surprise him, though, disappearing in a shower of a cascade of faceted dark-light would absolutely shock him to his core.

To call this a fight would have been an insult to every enemy he’d bested thus far. Kohga had barely managed to put up a defense for himself before Vesan had him literally underfoot, blades crossed over the Yiga clan leader’s throat.

“I’m starting to think maybe we started off on the wrong foot - my bad, your highness! One helm, coming right up!”

Chapter Text

Can we trust him?

If he pulls anything, we’ll take him down again.

The red-painted gaze of Kohga’s mask glued Vesan in place. He had the leader of the Yiga under his thumb. The Yiga who had terrorized the desert for over a hundred years, at least. The Yiga who had snuck into town and stole his people’s most precious artifact. He had the chance to cut off the head of the snake right here, right now.

Neither he nor Ghirahim stowed their swords. The foot pinning Kohga’s chest did not move by either of their efforts. Vesan could feel Ghirahim’s confusion as if it were his own - he knew Ghirahim would follow his lead, no matter which path he chose.

“You uh, you gonna let me up, Mr. Demon Prince?” The clan leader asked, a nervous laugh coming from somewhere behind the despicable mask. Vesan snarled back in response, baring his golden fangs. For just the span of a single heartbeat, he pressed down his foot. In another universe, perhaps wicked intention would have taken over then. In this one, he eased up the pressure.

Before he even realized what choice he’d made, Ghirahim’s sword vanished and Vesan belatedly followed suit. Taking it a step further, he removed his foot from Kohga’s chest and offered a hand to help the man back up. “I need the helm and for your people to remove all signs of your presence from this place.”

“Of course, no problem,” rumbled Kohga, taking Vesan’s aid and pulling himself to his feet. He patted dust and dirt from his clothing then made a show of limbering up - stretching his left arm, then his right, twisting his neck back and forth. Suddenly, with a flourish, the Yiga leader clapped his hands together. Vesan’s eyes narrowed to slits and he flexed his fingers, ready to call back his sword if Kohga pulled anything.

A heavy whump to his right caught his attention instead. Glancing over, he noticed a large stone chest had appeared nearby - close enough that it would only take a few steps to reach it, but far enough to force him to turn his back on his enemy. He saw the trick in it yet ignored his paranoia anyway. He had a trick of his own.

He turned towards it. Kohga had not yet moved. Vesan took a step forward and took a deep breath. It didn’t help. Ghirahim separating from the mask nearly sent him to his knees. He held himself together with white-knuckled determination, glad he was facing away from Kohga so the leader could not see his weakness. He forced himself forward, step by leaden step, finally allowing himself to fall to a knee before the chest, thankful for a moment of respite.

“Neat trick.” The tone of Kohga’s voice seemed displeased, his attempt to deceive Vesan foiled.

Vesan fumbled around the chest’s latch for a moment before finally getting the thing to open. He could have sang - he could have cried! There it was, unmistakably: the Gerudo Heirloom.

“Got it.” He called back to Ghirahim, wrapping his claws around the helm and hefting it up. Swaying, he attempted to bring himself back to his feet, but found that his body had been wrung empty. He had spent everything he had to house Ghirahim in the mask while they fought and only now was he realizing the price. He hugged the helm to his chest protectively. The longer he lingered here, frozen in place, the more obvious his infirmity would become. Was it already apparent? Had he dawdled too long?

The torchlight blinked out all around him. In an instant, he was thrust into a void. At first, his addled brain convinced him that perhaps he had just passed out from exhaustion and the darkness surrounding him was the kind that lived behind his eyelids. Then he noticed the void was studded with bright facets of geometric light all around him and he realized the small mercy Ghirahim had extended to him.

Vertigo, be damned - he had never been more thankful for that demon.

—

Ghirahim dropped his hand, watching out of the corner of his eye as his master vanished from sight. Looks like the kid wasn’t quite strong enough to wield him for too long. He’d have to keep that in mind for next time.

“So, there’s the helm returned, as promised. And we’ll have this place cleaned up in no time. Don’t tell me you want something else?”

“Just a moment of your time,” Ghirahim replied, turning his full attention back to the so-called Sheikah ‘Master.’ They sure didn’t make them like they used to. Affecting boredom, Ghirahim inspected his fingernails. “I’m quite frankly astonished by the way you spoke of the Calamity before. You wish to see its rise?”

“That’s the plan - the Yiga Clan are here to crush any opposition to the great Lord Ganon. It’s actually a pretty easy gig since that old Link guy isn’t around anymore. What, you want in?”

“Absolutely not. Though I suppose I can empathize. In another lifetime, I, too, once selflessly devoted my life - my very being - to reviving my lord, Demise. And I succeeded! To this very day, his all-consuming hatred darkens this world. Do you know what I got for my effort?” Ghirahim growled, absolutely seething. He clutched his face in both hands, shaking with the effort to keep control of himself. “Nothing! For all my efforts, that reborn cad rejected me! Me! His most loyal servant! His own right hand! His divine blade! Commander of his armies! Lord of the demon tribe! Cast aside like common gutter trash! That is what you get when you serve Demise - when you serve Ganondorf - when you serve Ganon!”

A hand landed on his shoulder, cooling his mounting rage just as it threatened to boil over. Slowly, he looked up from his hands at the masked buffoon before him. The fool merely nodded back, sympathetically. “Sounds pretty rough.”

“Pretty... rough...”

“The way you tell it, anyway, sounds like you got the raw end of the deal.”

Ghirahim straightened himself up, running a hand through his hair and pinning his bangs up to his forehead. He studied the man with both eyes, though the mask gave nothing away. “At least you can tell that much. I did get a raw deal.”

“But I can’t just give up, y’know. For generations, the Yiga have worshipped and revered Lord Ganon - can’t flush ten thousand years of hard work in the shadows for the sake of the Calamity down the drain. I’ve got to help guide this world to its miserable end and watch it plunge into darkness.”

“You do realize you and all your people are part of ‘this world,’ right? Besides, it won’t be happening. Prince Vesan of the Gerudo aims to destroy his lesser half and emerge victorious as the sole remaining spark of Demise in this age.” As he spread his arms wide, his hair fell back over his face and a wide grin split his face. His anger forgotten, now Ghirahim simply beamed at the thought of his new master and the expectations he had of the boy. “Don’t you see - he’s already given you a greater gift than Ganon ever would. He’s given you mercy. It is by his will alone that I haven’t taken the opportunity myself to see just how many pieces I could carve you into before you cease to resemble a person.”

The Yiga clan leader made a noise behind his mask and took a few healthy steps backward.

“Ganon wouldn’t have thanked you, anyway. He wouldn’t have appreciated your efforts. You would neither have a place in his armies nor at his side. The thing is likely hardly more than a mindless beast if prior patterns hold firm...” He waved a hand dismissively, turning his back Kohga, “Well, whether you back him or not, the Gerudo Prince will crush that thing. Just thought I’d present you the option between two sides of the same soul. You could have a real future if you side with Vesan. But if you seek to oppose him, as his right hand... what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I’m sure that pit back there behind you could fit the corpses of you and your entire clan pretty easily, and no one would ever notice you were all gone.”

With that, he snapped his fingers. It was high time he returned to the prince’s side, after all.

He reappeared in the prince’s royal hovel, glancing around to spot the prince in question, but failing to see him. Until he looked down. The boy was curled up on the floor, eyes closed, drained of colour, and shivering in a pool of what appeared to be the former contents of his stomach. Ghirahim screwed up his face in revulsion at the sight, taking a step back from his young master. At least the helm had been thankfully spared - three feet away from the boy’s prone body as if it, too, was disgusted at the thought of being in close proximity to him. The mask, however, was still glued to Vesan’s sleeping face. Ghirahim shuddered to see it mistreated in such a way.

“You had better be a more grateful master than your predecessors, or I will repay you for this.” He grimaced, pulling his cloak off and laying it across Vesan’s bed to keep it clear of the mess. He steeled himself for the task of getting the boy cleaned back up and in bed.

He was glad he sent the boy away before that Yiga buffoon had gotten to see this side of the Gerudo Prince. Would have been a much harder sell.

Chapter Text

Vesan could not remember how long he’d been wandering the desert. Perhaps he had been drifting along for an eternity, only now stumbling back onto awareness. When he turned back to seek some indication of his progress, the rolling dunes had already swallowed up each of the footsteps he expected to find. Had he even left footprints at all?

He halted in his track, looked down at himself, and saw that he was little more than a mirage: wisps of gossamer masquerading as a man. Yet through himself, he saw a footprint in the sand right where his foot ought to have been. He supposed that should have bothered him more than it did, but at the moment, his mind was as insubstantial as his body. His thoughts just wouldn't stick. Instead, he took a step forward and watched as the sand swallowed the imprint of his foot.

Like waking up, his senses slowly returned to him, one by one, as awareness overtook him. An unseen, arid breeze tickled his nose and carried a sharp, salt tang to his tongue. The atmosphere was neither cool nor hot. It was nothing like home where the afternoon sun blew down burning winds and the moon brought with it frigid gales. Here, the sky featured neither sun nor moon - just an endless field of bright stars strewn recklessly across a sea of black. How odd that this should feel like waking when he was fast asleep.

The dream offered him little else but to walk. He didn’t know where he was going, exactly, but dreams always had a way of going somewhere, right? He hadn’t dreamed in a while. Or he had and didn’t remember. Princess Zelda’s voice might have almost counted as a dream, but that’d stopped over the past couple of weeks. Now that it was gone, he found that he missed it. But she was busy fighting back Calamity. It made sense to him that she might not have time to harass him in his sleep anymore.

As he walked and mused on the dreams he hadn’t had and stranger's voices he missed, Vesan began to hum a familiar tune he’d never heard before: a requiem of grief and promise, strange and haunting.

Eons tumbled by in an instant, and then he heard something. He stopped dead, silencing his voice and straining his ears to listen. A whisper of music, hard to make out at first, beckoned him. He changed course and picked up his pace, listening for the sound. It was just as familiar and foreign as the elegy he'd been humming, but more peaceful. In the distance, obsidian pillars reverberating with music pierced the horizon.

Just as he perceived it, he was there - amongst the singing obsidian structures. They were buildings - jet black and reflecting the multitude of stars from the sky above all over. He took a few steps towards one, searching for his own reflection but there was none to be found. Or, rather, it was more like his eyes unfocused themselves when he tried to look. If he strained, he could almost make out the shape of himself. But it wasn't really the shape of himself. He quickly stopped searching, suddenly a bit... afraid.

He didn’t want to see whatever was reflected there after all. 

Better to ignore frightful things. He didn’t want his dream to become a nightmare.

Better to keep moving.

The streets of the city were littered with eerie lights; burning motes the size of his fist. Some teetered and swayed drunkenly in place, unphased by his presence. Others bolted away from him with a suddenness that left behind smudgy light trails in their wake. Just a few seemed more substantial: walking on two legs, pivoting empty faces towards him as walked by. Each seemed to emanate the same palliative song. Their wordless voices filled the city with music. If he'd had the awareness to find it eerie, maybe he wouldn't picked up the tune. But he couldn't help humming it mindlessly. It called to him. 

He continued on through the strange city, seeking... something. He didn't know what. He just chased his instinct - let it lead him to where he was supposed to be.

The buildings grew fewer towards what appeared to be the center of the obsidian city, then stopped entirely. In their wake, a chest-high platform jutted up from the ground. It, too, was dark and glassy like every other structure here seemed to be. It was expansive, taking up everything he could see in its direction, and it was ringed by three steps. Naturally, he felt inclined to climb them and once he was on top, he wasn't surprised to find a perfect reflection of the sky underfoot - but he was taken aback by how disorienting it felt to find himself standing atop the starlit sky. It made his dizzy just like Ghirahim's pocket of endless void when they teleported and he found that he couldn't look down at it for too long.

“You shouldn't be here,” came a soft voice. He snapped his attention away from the platform and towards the figure kneeling at the center of the space. Somehow, he had not noticed them despite the fact that they were probably no less than ten feet tall just kneeling there. Not only that, but they were surrounded by a multitude of those glowing orbs he'd seen back in the city proper - some hovering in place, others gently orbiting the giant. The giant leaned forward, beckoning him closer. Vesan obeyed, not stopping until their outstretched hand grazed against his cheek.

Where they touched, Vesan felt warm. It felt real. He felt real. Substantial again.

“Who are you?” Vesan asked, his voice nearly drowned out by the humming spirits floating all around the figure. It was a stupid question and he cursed himself for asking it.

They regarded him for a long moment. Even with their face hidden behind a veil, he could feel himself being studied.

“What a precious little thing... I've missed you dearly,” They whispered after a long moment of silence. Suddenly, the great figure’s body heaved as if they were sobbing - but there was no sound of a cry to accompany it. They drew back their hand, covering their veiled face. Fat drops of water dropped down behind their hands and exploded against the sky-mirror platform. This strange giant was crying! Yet when they spoke again, their voice was smooth and steady, not the voice of someone currently sobbing, "Little thing, if I begged for a thousand of your lifetimes, I could still not express the depth of my apology. My tiny, breathing thing... My precious stolen spark... Could you ever forgive me?"

The figure above him grew without moving. No - it wasn't the figure that was moving, it was him. The prince was sinking into the pool of tears and reflected starlight. He panicked, trying to reach out to the mysterious figure, but they had already turned their face away.

"Love is the beginning and end of all things," They whispered, "I have loved you from the beginning, and I will love you again at the end. But I love her, too."

Vesan sunk. To the top of his chest. To the bottom of his chin. He squeezed his eyes shut and flailed his arms up uselessly to catch himself, his feet kicking against nothing.

He sunk until he was overtaken completely.

--

 He awoke with a sputtering gasp, bolting upright and instantly regretting the dizziness that brought on.

"You're crying." The most bored voice in the world told him.

"No, I'm not." Vesan replied, wiping wet streaks from his cheeks.

Ghirahim sat at the vanity, his pale face cupped in his gloved hand, elbow firmly planted on the table. His other hand spun the horned mask idly between his index finger and the surface of the vanity. But his eyes fixed on Vesan, showing none of the boredom he affected with his pose and voice. "I'll pretend I didn't notice, then, if you're going to be so sensitive about it. Please tell me you're ready to get this day started because it's already halfway done and I'm beginning to reconsider my alliances."

Vesan looked out the window and frowned. He'd slept in way too long, but he really didn't feel very well-rested. Actually, he felt like he'd been flattened by a boulder and only halfway re-inflated. Ghirahim looked like he'd absolutely lose it if Vesan spent even another minute in bed, though, so he dragged himself up and went through the motions of readying himself.

Make the bed. Brush the hair. Get dressed. Accessorize competently. Eat breakfast.

"Mask, please." Before he'd finished asking, Ghirahim was already holding it out. "Helm?"

"On the countertop."

"How do I look?"

"Like a half-dead chuchu that sprouted a pair of legs and the most dazzling scarlet locks."

"Sarq."

"Anytime."

Half-dead chuchu with nice hair would have to do, he supposed. He really didn't have it in him to do any better. Vesan swiped the helm from the counter, tucking it under his arm, before finally greeting the day.

Eyes and whispers followed him all the way to the palace. The back of his neck prickled uncomfortably, hating the attention. It was worse when he passed by the openly gawking guards who stopped and stared, realizing too late to pick their jaws out of the dirt and compensating with salutes. Vesan was just as uncomfortable with the salutes as he was with the rest of the attention.

Chin up, don't shrink. Back straight... Chin up, don't shrink. Eyes forward... Chin up, don't shrink. Don't shrink. Don't shrink- He thought to himself.

"Mind keeping it down over there?" Ghirahim interrupted, leaning over Vesan's shoulder as they walked in tandem, “I know you need the reminder, and I empathize - truly, I do - but I think you and I can both agree that my form is absolutely perfect and, thus, need no such reminders. I can't even hear myself think."

I can't help it. I'm nervous.

"What is there to be nervous about? The judgment of these people? I thought you'd be over that by now." Vesan could hear the frown in Ghirahim's voice, even as the demon lord leaned away from his ear. Don't be dull. This is beneath you.

Vesan ignored him as they climbed the steps of the palace and stepped into the shade. As before, Riju was sitting dutifully on her throne atop a few colourful pillows. There were a pair of soldiers before her today, droning on and on with some boring-sounding reports of goings-on about the town. None of it sounded very important, and Riju looked so checked out that he really didn't feel bad for interrupting. He cleared his throat loudly, standing ramrod straight as he waited for Riju's attention to shift to him.

"We are in the middle of a very important-" The one to his right began, spinning on their heel to tell him off for his insolence. Their voice died in their throat when they saw Vesan standing there - tall and proud, silhouetted against the desert sun with a glinting helm under his arm.

"May I have a moment with the chief?"

"O-of course." The other spoke this time, taking a step in front of the one who'd tried to scold him then awkwardly crossing her arm over her chest in salute. Quickly, they both shuffled off out of the palace, whispering amongst each other once they were more or less out of earshot.

"Vesan! I'm glad to see you're back." She smiled at him and it reminded Vesan of the way Riju's mother used to smile at him when he was a child. It put him at ease, though he was not ready to abandon his decorum, nor did he want to advertise his weakness and worry her.

He approached her, holding up the Thunder Helm. In response, she stepped down from her throne and met him halfway. "The Gerudo heirloom, Chief Riju."

Instead of taking the helm from him, Riju hugged him tightly around his middle. "I'm glad you made it back safely."

He hugged her back as best he could with his hands full and smiled. "You didn't have anything to worry about - it was nothing. Lord Ghirahim really did most of the work."

Riju pulled herself away and looked around the side of Vesan, over at the demon in question. "Sarq'so to you, as well, Lord Ghirahim."

"I am ever at your service, Chief of the Gerudo."

At last, Lady Riju reached out for the helm and carefully alleviated Vesan of his burden. With great care, she placed it on the pedestal by her throne. "Maybe next time you're in town, you'll get to see me wear it."

"Hm?"

"Well, you can't save Princess Zelda from here, can you?" she asked, matter-of-factly, as she returned to her throne. "I think the world is ready for another Gerudo hero to follow in Lady Urbosa's footsteps, don't you?"

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The sun had crept high during Vesan's journey, head settling over his skin. Sand whipped up in short gusts around him as Dodie sped towards the canyon outside of the Gerudo desert, doing little to cool him. Each bump over a dune or around a rocky outcropping jarred him slightly, but he didn’t complain—he wanted to remember this. He didn't know when he'd be able to travel like this again. When he'd see his desert again. He wanted to savour the moment.

The desert rolled on behind him, endless and shimmering, beautiful and terrifying. He glanced back once, letting his gaze sweep across the sunlit dunes. He could still see the far edge of town in the distance, just barely - a shapeless mass on the horizon slowly disappearing from view. Large clouds of sand kicked up from the desert, framing the tiny town he'd once spent his days in. 

Dodie snorted ahead of him drawing his attention forward, toward to the imposing stone walls that marked the canyon ahead. As they grew larger, the sand seal began to slow. The sun was high now, beating down against the canyon walls, casting long shadows that slashed across his path. Finally, they stopped. Dodie could go no further, the sand of the desert beginning to thin out. Ahead he'd be travelling on solid ground.

Vesan hopped down from Dodie's back and ran his fingers gently through the soft fur along Dodie’s snout. Her big eyes blinked up at him and she offered a loud bark. "Sarqso, Dodie. Get home safe." He offered the seal a final pat and unhooked her reins, tucking them away. She huffed softly, then circled once in the sand—then twice—and, with a final bark, turned and sailed back off in the direction of the desert. Vesan watched her go for a while until he couldn't see her any longer. That was it, then.

No turning back now.

He lingered for just a moment longer, standing where sand met stone, soaking up the sun and the dry breeze blowing through the canyon before finally forcing himself to turn and walk forward.

At least it was cooler here, the high walls casting long shadows to break up the light streaming down from above. Still, being enclosed by all this stone made him a bit claustrophobic. It was weird not to be able to see the horizon all around him. He reached for his waist to smooth his fingers over his mask and almost panicked when he didn't find it there before he remembered he'd hung it on his bag. Perhaps it hadn't been so clever to change where he put it after all, if only because he couldn't idly fiddle with it when he needed to calm his nerves.

He walked for a while over the cracked, uneven ground, his sandals kicking up little clouds of dust as he moved along the path. As he moved, he kept an eye out for any monsters that might approach. Instead, at some point, he began to notice plumes of smoke gently rise up from up ahead. 

"Hey, Ghirahim?"

"Yes?" Came the response, Ghirahim materializing beside Vesan. 

"Did we have anything on the maps about an establishment in this area?" 

As they drew nearer, Vesan could hear faint music.

"Hmm... I think there was a stable around here somewhere."

"A stable?"

"You know, for horses."

"Right." Vesan nodded. He didn't really know what kind of beast a horse exactly was but he'd read about them once. Some kind of giant animal that went about on four legs and could be ridden around like a sand seal or something like that. The story he'd read just assumed the reader knew what a horse looked like, though, so he couldn't quite picture it. He'd find out soon enough, he supposed. The music was growing more clear and he could hear the sounds of activity - voices, pans clanging, a bark not unlike that of a sand seal's - did horses bark? "We should stop by. Maybe someone can point us in the direction of Kakariko Village a little better than our current map."

"Not a bad plan. Lead the way."

It didn't take too much effort to find the stable and once Vesan did land his eyes on the building, he was taken aback by the sight of it. It was more like a giant patchwork tent than a proper building, with wooden beams jutting out at awkward angles. Worse was the giant mishmash of planks and tarp that formed a huge head sticking out of the top of it. Big puffs of smoke occasionally emanated from its nostrils. 

The pair spoke nearly in unison.

"What is that-" "That thing is awful-"

They glanced at each other, each mirroring the same incredulous look. Ghirahim looked back at the ragtag building, squinting his eyes up at it.

"I think that's meant to be a horse."

"That's what a horse looks like?"

"Well, more or less. More on the... less side."

Vesan shook his head in disbelief before starting towards the building again.

A handful of travelers milled about the stable - mostly hylians but there were a few Gerudo settling down beneath an awning and laying out a blanket to sit on and a rito voe playing an accordian near one of the stable entrances. A dog - that must have been what he'd heard bark earlier, not the horses - padded its way toward the Gerudo, watching with interest as they pulled their lunch from their bags. No one really looked up at Vesan and Gerudo for too long, seeming to prefer keeping to themselves for now. Only one person seemed particularly interested in the newcomers and that was the voe behind the counter of the stable. Vesan quickly averted his eyes and slowed his steps.

"What now?" Ghirahim grumbled, turning towards Vesan. 

I've never spoken to a voe face to face before. Is he still looking over here?

"No."

Vesan glanced up, locked eyes with the voe, then quickly looked away again.

Liar.

"Didn't know your face could get this red," Ghirahim teased with a laugh, "I don't see what the problem is. You've spoken to me plenty."

That's different. 

"You spoke with that idiot Yiga, too."

He was wearing a mask, it doesn't count.

"Seriously, Vesan? This is the greatest challenge you've faced so far? Talking to a man?" Ghirahim shook his head, then offered, in mock-earnest, "Do you want me to go talk to him for you?"

"No!" Vesan hissed aloud, clutching the strap of his seal bag. "Just... give me a second."

"Then hurry up and get it over with."

Muttering under his breath, Vesan forced himself to cross the last few steps to the counter. He raised his eyes up, meeting the puzzled gaze of the manager. Vesan straighted out his posture, standing as stiff as a plank. "S-sav'aaq. I was- I mean-" Vesan coughed lightly and cleared his throat, "I was uh, wondering if you might know the best way to get to Kakariko Village from here."

"Ah," The voe relaxed a bit, arms resting across the counter, "That's a bit of a trek. You’ll want to stick to the road northeast. Cross the bridges, then follow the road east from there. Follow the river past the split in the mountains, then head north towards the Dueling Peaks stable. Keep north and the road will lead you straight there."

"Right. Sarq'so," Vesan replied with a curt nod, "I appreciate it."

"No trouble. If you have a horse, it'll make the trip a lot quicker."

"Oh, where should I um, get one. A horse."

"You'll probably spot a few wild horses off the road when you're heading out towards Kakariko Village. You just have to tame one."

"Tame... one?"

"Sure," the voe nodded, "Some people can slowly approach one and calm it down enough to ride... but plenty of people sneak up on a wild horse, hop on, and soothe the horse back down. Just need to hold on tight so you don't get bucked off. Then once you've tamed one, you can board them at a stable like this one - we'll even give you some riding gear."

"Ah. R-right." 

"Anything else I can help you with?"

"N-no. Sarqso. Again."

"Any time."

Vesan took a few stiff steps away from the counter, Ghirahim close behind. "So," Ghirahim began, "Are you going to-?"

"Don't ask me if I'm going to tame a horse."

Ghirahim chuckled. "Alright, I'll take that as a no on the horse."

Chapter Text

The pair didn’t dwell around the stable too long. One awkward social interaction was enough for Vesan and he was itching to get away from the place. Was it likely that the stable manager was secretly judging him for the conversation? Probably not. But Vesan wanted to get as far away as possible and never, ever return anyway. 

So, they quickly regrouped and headed back out on their journey, the music fading to nothing as they walked. The path narrowed as they moved deeper into the canyon, the cliffs pressing in on either side. Occasionally, a gust of wind would whistle through the rocks, carrying a comfortable chill and the scent of earth and dry grass. 

The path bent gently with the curve of the canyon, winding through stone corridors and natural archways.  Vesan kept his eyes on the ground in front of him, sandals crunching softly on gravel. Behind him Ghirahim’s footsteps remained in lockstep with his own. Honestly, Vesan was surprised Ghirahim was bothering to follow on foot. He figured his travel companion would have made himself scarce once they left the stable. Were the self-proclaimed deity’s legs getting as tired as the gerudo prince’s? He chanced a look back at the demon lord who coolly met his gaze.

“Keeping tabs on me, your highness ?” Ghirahim asked, a sharp smirk slicing through silence. He spread his arms out from his sides in a methodical, fluid motion, his fingers splayed wide. The tails of his cloak flowed out from his lithe frame in the breeze as he walked. “I’m still right here. Ever your obedient servant.”

Vesan rolled his eyes and flicked his hand towards Ghirahim. “You don’t need to follow behind me.”

Ghirahim laughed, sharp and musical. The sound ended abruptly, replaced by a shimmer of sound to Vesan’s right. His smug face slid into view a moment later, just past Vesan’s shoulder, too close and far too pleased with himself. “If you wished to admire me at close range, you need only say so. I’m more than happy to accommodate.”

“I guess even looking at you is better than all this rock.”

“I’ll take that as your way of telling me how thrilled you are to have such an ideal travel companion as I.” A pause. “Though next time you choose to pay me such a compliment, watch that tone. A less gracious demon lord might take offense.”

“One demon lord is plenty…” Vesan mumbled, adjusting course to avoid a stone column in the path ahead. The path was staring to widen now, and Vesan noticed quite a few wooden bridges and walkways built against the cliffsides. At times he even noticed shapes moving around up there or heard odd sounds echo down from somewhere above.

Overhead, the sky was softening to a warm gold and the breezes were bringing cooler air. He wondered if they’d need to set up camp soon - he had hoped they’d get to rest on softer ground, at least. Even with all the dry grass around, Vesan didnt enjoy the though of having to lay down out here. 

“It’s incredible to me,” Ghirahim began, drawing Vesan’s attention again, “How someone with such a sharp tongue can tremble in fear when faced with something as simple as conversing with a man. To be frank, I don’t know whether to be offended or flattered by your attitude with me.”

Heat rose to Vesan’s cheeks at the allusion to his conversation at the stable. “It’s different with you, okay?”

Ghirahim quirked an eyebrow, amused but quiet as if silently asking Vesan to elaborate. Vesan offered a non-commital shrug, hoping Ghirahim would take the hint that he didn't really want to delve into the topic further. It didn't work. Vesan's silence simply forced Ghirahim to speak first. “Well?"

“You’re not- Well, you weren’t a stranger. Kind of. I mean you were sort of a stranger, but you weren’t. I mean, when we met you were a statue.” He paused his rambling for a moment. Then, after a beat, "And then you were the homicidal maniac trying to murder me, so there wasn’t a lot of time for, you know, the usual social anxiety.”

“If you make it a habit to befriend everyone who tries to kill you, I fear this time’s spirit maiden is doomed.”

“Point is. You weren’t a stranger. Actually,” Vesan’s voice grew quieter, a bit more hesitant. Now the heat that covered his face like a second mask was from a different,  more present embarrassment. “I guess even before that you kind of weren’t a stranger. You knew me, too. In a way. Well, in a way I’m still not entirely comfortable with... Sure you were mad at me about things I’d never done, but I guess we were already familiar with one another to start with. I mean. I trusted you from the start, right? Looking back I think it was like I knew I could. Rely on you. That is.”

Ghirahim hummed low in his throat, the sound thoughtful, almost pleased. “Of course I’d recognize my former master in you immediately. I was his right hand! Gracelessly discarded for a millenia or not, there will always be a thread of fate binding us together. I, your most faithful sword, and you, the only creature on the surface of this world worthy of wielding such a sublime tool. Even if your physical form is smaller and more pathetic than ever, the soul remembers.”

Vesan looked away. “Yeah. I’ve been trying not to think about that part too much. The… soul part,” He grimaced a bit, turning back towards Ghirahim, “ Demise? Calamity? I don’t want to be anything like that. I dont want to become something awful.”

“Well,” Ghirahim threw an arm over Vesan’s shoulder, knocking him off balance a little, “Good thing you’re a hero this time.”

—

The sun was setting by the time Vesan laid eyes on the first of the long wooden bridges the duo would need to cross to exit the Gerudo Highlands. It'd been a long day of walking broken up by an occasional skirmish with the stray bokoblin or moblin. Surprisingly he hadn't even needed to bring out his mask for them. Sure, for the first encounter he'd done so out of an abundance of caution, but he quickly realized that his training was paying off. 

At least a little.

Ghirahim still had a few snippy comments about his combat prowess - how slow he reacted, how poor his sword stand was. 

But it was still progress.

Yet any bit of confidence he'd earned on the way to the bridge disapated the moment he drew close to the first one. 

The bridge was wide, built with uneven planks that, to Vesan's eye, seemed haphazardly slapped together with no ropes or rails on either side to keep a traveler from stumbling right off the edge. Worse, the planks creaked with the wind, even without weight. Watered churned far below, rushing past to form the first river the gerudo prince had ever laid eyes on, but hopefully not one he would end up falling into. 

Slowly, cautiously he stepped toward the first few planks of where the bridge, lips pressed thin as he took in the scale of the crossing. His fingers of one hand curled around the strap of his pack, the other hand he held out as if to keep himself balanced. He took one small test step forward. Barely even a step. More of a toe tap against that first planks. Slowly he added pressure, bearing more of his weight against the wood. The bridge groaned in protest, dipping ever so very slightly. Quickly, he yanked his foot back, his heart leaping to his throat. 

“Don’t you dare say anything Ghirahim.”

He heard a dark chuckle from the demon lord beside him but otherwise, Ghirahim obeyed.

After a long moment of contemplation, Vesan took the largest breath he could muster up, focused his gaze up toward the horizon, and stepped forward. The planks creaked a little under his weight, sagging minutely. It was hardly anything with worrying about, yet Vesan’s stomach dropped and sweat pricked along the back of his next. He took in another deep breath, held it, then booked it across the rest of the bridge until he was back on solid ground again. 

Behind him, Ghirahim began to slowly clap as he casually sauntered his way across the bridge. Vesan shot him a glare and he stopped, holding up his hands a little in an imitation of surrender. “A masterclass in controlled panic.”

Vesan grumbled under his breath and started walking again. The second bridge was easier. He’d already made it past one and nothing collapsed. Such an important road through the Gerudo Highlands must surely be sturdy and well-maintained.

Nothing to worry about.

Just as he was getting more confident, a hand clamped down over his shoulder, stopping him dead in his tracks right in the center of a bridge.

“What are you-”

“Lower your voice,” Ghirahim hissed, dragging Vesan down into a crouch alongside himself. He pointed toward the next 'island' amidst the bridges and Vesan traced a line from the outstretched finger to a giant mound. He tilted his head a little, squinting his eyes in the dying light. At first, it just looked like a huge rock or maybe a small hill.

Then it shifted.

Something enormous exhaled, a deep, rumbling breath that echoed faintly off the canyon walls. What seemed to be a hand the size of Vesan’s entire body rose up from the ground and rested atop the mound's bloated frame. Without much light to go by, it was hard to see any detail beyond its notable size, but it appeared to be lying completely still, fast asleep. That was lucky. Vesan could probably sneak right by it if he was careful and gave the thing a wide berth.

At least that’s what he thought until Ghirahim pressed a spear into his hands.

“You’re joking.” He hissed.

“You’re going to have to fight worse things than a mere hinox going forward. This is practical training. Welcome to Hyrule.”

Chapter Text

Fighting a hinox was harder than it looked and it already looked impossible to start with. Vesan thought he might’ve been able to sneak up on it and at least get a good hit in on its vitals - if he was lucky even take it out before it got up. He didn’t expect his spear tip to skid off the lumbering beast's throat, barely drawing a thin line of blood across its hide. 

The hinox’s singular bulbous eye snapped open, rolling around in its socket to search for the source of the pain that had woken it. Its gaze fell heavy on Vesan, sending him scrambling backwards. The beast raised its meaty arm, its hand blotting out the sky. Vesan needed to move now. 

Fate had other plans.

His foot caught on a patch of loose gravel, and he went down. Hard. His shoulder slammed into the rock and the back of his head cracked against the ground with a sharp thud. All of the breath was knocked from him in one fell swoop and his vision swam, dark creeping in at the edges. He blinked up just in time to see a shadow falling over him, the hinox’s palm wide enough to crush his entire body. 

If there was a training day for ‘what to do if a giant monster is about to smash you like an insect,’ Vesan had missed it. His heart raced. His stomach turned. Could he get the mask on in time? Why hadn’t he put it on to begin with? Could it even help him weather this kind of impact? He’d gotten too confident after those fights with the other monsters along the canyon pass. He’d thought he could handle this on his own - by his own power. His own power? That was a joke. 

He kicked at the ground, searching for enough purchase to propel him away from the incoming impact. As he moved - making next to no progress - he summoned the mask to his hand. He wasn’t going to make it.

He wasn’t going to-

A sharp, crystalline chime split the air followed by the swirl of fabric. A silhouette blocked his view. He could barely register Ghirahim’s presence over him when the great hand fell, slamming into the demon lord with the thunderous whump, plunging Vesan’s senses into darkness. His heart pounded in his ears. Ghirahim grunted above him, the sheer weight of the blow driving his body down against Vesan’s. It wasn’t the full force - not even close - but it was still enough to make his ribs scream. He hissed through his teeth, blinking past a haze of pain.

In a blink, the crushing weight vanished and ground fell away completely. A familiar sickening lurch of vertigo tugged at Vesan’s senses. Then, suddenly, he found himself on solid ground again. The air snapped cool and clean around them. Now they were several paces away, safely out of arm's reach of the rising hinox. 

Vesan slowly pulled himself up to his feet, still dizzy, ribs throbbing.

“Mask,” Ghirahim rasped, voice low and sharp, his jaw tight, “Now.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

–

“What were you thinking?” 

The hinox had barely fallen - its body still dissipating into sour-smelling smoke - when Ghirahim rounded on Vesan. He stormed toward Vesan in a blur of swirling fabric and fury, all of his usual elegance stripped away by anger, and loomed over Vesan. 

Vesan knew Ghirahim would be mad, but not like this. Not seething. Not barely contained rage.

His grip tightened around his spear and he found found himself retreating a half step. He tugged the spear up toward his chest protectively - not to wield it against him, but to place something, anything, between them. He knew Ghirahim wouldn't - couldn't - harm him, yet his mind flashed back to their violent first meeting. 

Ghirahim's hand snapped toward Vesan.

Vesan flinched away, too slow. A vice-like grip snapped shut around his chin, forcing his gaze up.

Their eyes locked, Ghirahim's dark eyes pinning Vesan in place. 

“So you’ll shy away from me but offer yourself up to a Hinox like a sacrificial lamb?” He let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking Vesan's face a little.

“I didn't mean to-”

“You just laid there!” Ghirahim snarled, face contorting with rage. His grip tightened, yanking Vesan’s head up another fraction. Even with the protection of his mask, it hurt. He had no doubt this kind of pressure could have cracked a few of his teeth or broken his jaw. Wearing it, he just felt points of pain forming beneath Ghirahim's fingertips.

Then, just as suddenly, Ghirahim let go. Vesan stumbled back, barely catching his footing.

“I have half a mind to drag you back to town,” the demon lord spat, “Let you stew there in your own failure as you await the coming apocalypse. Knowing you were too weak to do anything about”

Vesan swallowed hard. He found himself unable to say a word in his defense. There was no defense. He'd just laid there. 

Ghirahim stared him down, his too-dark eyes raking over Vesan’s face, searching for… something. A retort. An excuse. Regret.

Vesan looked away.

“Do you understand me?”

Vesan said nothing.

“You were almost crushed! You didn't even ask for help! You didn't even put on the mask!”

Vesan opened his mouth. Then closed it. He loosened his grip on the spear then tightened it again. His silence felt louder than the fight. Ghirahim's words swirled around in his head and he just couldn't find the words to respond.

His chest burned. Not just from the bruises, but from the shame curling inward like a dying flame. He didn’t need Ghirahim to drag him back to town - he wanted to sink into the ground right here and now and never come out. Ghirahim's disappointment in Vesan hurt more than anything else.

Finally, barely more audible than a whisper, Vesan spoke.

“I'm sorry.”

He glanced back up at Ghirahim. His expression was cold. Unreadable. The outward rage had been abandoned. Instead his face was totally blank.

Ghirahim turned on his heel without another word and started across the next set of bridges, leaving Vesan to scramble after him this time. 

For once, it was Vesan following. 

Vesan falling in lockstep with Ghirahim. 

A half pace behind.

They didn’t walk too far past the bridges, just enough to get a good distance away from the ledge. Ghirahim led Vesan a little off the well-trod path, to a small area with a few trees. 

“We'll rest here for the night.”

“Ghirahim-”

The demon disappeared. He hadn't returned to the mask. Just… went somewhere else. Vesan glanced around, hoping to spot Ghirahim. Nothing. 

Ignoring the lump in his throat, Vesan settled down in the grass and set down the spear he'd still been holding onto, then got to work unpacking a blanket to lie down on and something to eat. Finally, he pulled off the mask.

A wave of pain rolled over him. His ribs. His face. Even the soreness of his legs. It all hit him at once without the mask to dull it. He sucked in a breath through his teeth and immediately regretted it. The ache in his ribs flared sharp and bright. Carefully, he laid himself down, groaning.

A soft chime stirred the air.

He glanced up, still laying on the ground. Ghirahim had returned and was kneeling on the ground nearby, doing something. He heard some things knocking together fully as Ghirahim arranged objects on the ground.

Vesan only realized what Ghirahim was doing when the fire roared to life, warmth washing over Vesan's face and chest. He wanted to thank Ghirahim but kept his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth, afraid breaking the silence would send Ghirahim off somewhere again. 

Vesan closed his eyes.

The silence between them stretched as wide as the chasm they'd just crossed, and neither of them reached across it.

Chapter Text

The fire burned bright, casting a flickering golden-orange glow across the makeshift campsite. Ghirahim sat motionless beside it, legs folded beneath him. Every so often, he tossed a branch onto the flames, sending up a burst of sparks that flew upward and twisted through the night air. The wood snapping and hissing as it burned and blackened.

Vesan lay a few feet away, half curled on top of the blanket. His chest rose and fell in a shallow, uneven rhythm as he slept. The robe he wore hung open across his torso, revealing the dark, angry bruises blooming across his ribs—and another, purpling at the line of his jaw.

Ghirahim’s eyes narrowed.

The marks were a reminder of exactly what this boy was: not Demise. The comparison was laughable. Demise had been untouchable—a force of nature, divine and eternal. He didn’t bruise. He didn’t bleed. Ghirahim had never once needed to worry for him. Demise would have shattered him for the indignity and he would have been right to do so. 

This was ridiculous. 

He had no patience for delicacy. For this constant pull of concern tugging at his core. Yet the moment that monster’s hand came down, all he could think about was how absurd - how unacceptable - it would be for this to end here. For his new master to be snuffed out like a candle. The moment he’d had to throw himself in the way to keep Vesan alive, Ghirahim realized just how in over their heads they were.

Why had this dreadful little incarnation of Zelda chosen him ? This pathetic, sniveling little gerudo? Was it some thread of fate spun wrong? Desperation? A mistake?

Whatever the reason, it was cruel.

She was going to get this stupid, fragile child killed.

And for what?

For a moment, Ghirahim let himself wonder— what if he ran?

Not just him. The boy, too. Take Vesan and leave. Slip beyond the cliffs and vanish into some forgotten, nameless place. Far from Hyrule. Far from Calamity. Let this cycle burn itself out like all the others. Ghirahim had done it before. Slipped through cracks in time, stayed quiet, watched the world rebuild and collapse again and again.

He could do it again.

They could disappear.

Live. Or at least, not die .

But the thought faded just as quickly as it came. Vesan wouldn’t run. Not from this. He might falter, might freeze, might fall apart, but he would get back up and walk straight toward the fire. That was why Ghirahim had accepted him. His stupidity had a bit of charm to it. When he wasn’t nearly getting crushed to death by a damn hinox.

Ghirahim’s hands tightened around his knees.

He looked at the boy again, hair undone and spilling across the blanket like a trail of blood, gold chains twisted out of place. The bruises on his chest looked hideous in the firelight, a stark contrast against bronze skin. Skin that, before Zelda’s call, had likely never borne so much as a scratch from a blade. The boy didn’t have a single scar . What would he look like in a few days? A few weeks? 

He tossed another branch on the fire. 

They would slay calamity.

There was no other option. That was the only way out of this. The boy wouldn’t die—not if Ghirahim had anything to say about it.

He would see Zelda freed. Save this pathetic, unworthy kingdom. 

And then?

Then he would wrap his fingers around her fragile throat and make her pay for putting her hope in someone so unbearably breakable. He would conjure a death for her worse than the last hundred years she’d suffered with only Calamity’s dark malice to keep her company.

He would never forgive her.

If he failed, he would never forgive himself .

–

The sun crept slowly over the cliffs, bleeding pale gold and rose into the morning sky and illuminating the ruins above. The fire still burned - small, but steady and quietly crackling. Just enough heat for Ghirahim to sear some meat - some large bird he’d hunted just before first light. The scent drifted into the cool morning air.

Vesan stirred nearby.

Ghirahim glanced over and watched the boy blink awake, slow and groggy. Vesan sucked in air through his teeth as he sat up, one arm wrapped around his chest like he was trying to hold the pain in. Sleep had done little for him. Red locks spilled over his face, partially hiding the sapphire diadem now hanging crooked across his forehead.

“Good morning.” Ghirahim offered. 

Vesan’s golden eyes flicked up at Ghirahim, nervous. Good. The boy should be nervous. But Ghirahim had already decided to forgive his idiocy. The anger hadn’t exactly been productive and there were better people to direct his rage towards. 

Ghirahim plucked the meat away from the fire and, with a snap of his fingers, teleported to the boy’s side. “I have no idea why you packed nothing but honeyed fruits and a few scraps of salted meat. Here. Eat.”

Vesan hesitated—then nodded. Ghirahim watched as he accepted the food, slow and unsure, like he expected to be scolded for eating.

“Thank you.” The boy mumbled.

Ghirahim made a quiet, dismissive sound. “You should be. I had to gut that thing in the dark. My gloves are still stained.”

Vesan didn’t laugh. Didn’t smile. Didn’t roll his eyes or bite back with a snippy little comment. But his shoulders eased slightly, the tightness in his posture loosening just enough to be noticeable. Not that Ghirahim particularly minded a bit of contrition, but he appreciated that the boy was relaxing again. It would be much more productive for the pair if things went back to normal.

“And I’m sorry,” Vesan said quietly, but with more strength than before, “For freezing up. I’ll get better. At fighting. And, you know, not getting ahead of myself.”

Ghirahim tilted his head, studying him. His gaze lingered on the bruise along Vesan’s jaw—his own doing. The very faintest flicker of guilt passed through him briefly. He shrugged it off.

“You’d better,” Ghirahim scoffed, “You’re not dying in these goddess-damned wilds.”

Lacking anything better to do while Vesan ate his breakfast, Ghirahim reached over and grabbed the hideous bag the boy insisted on carrying around and started rooting around in it. There was barely anything of use in here, just food and mostly blank maps. Near the bottom, he found what he was looking for - a scant handful of healing potions. Probably not worth wasting resources on a few bruises. 

Frustrated, he closed the bag again. “Are you finished yet?”

“Almost.” Vesan said, chewing a little faster and stuffing the rest of the meat into his mouth. After a few minutes, he spoke again, “Okay. Finished. Can you pass me back my bag? I need my brush. I’m sure I look awful.”

Ghirahim nodded. Despite the boy’s many faults, his self-awareness of his appearance was not one of them. “You do.”

He flipped the bag open again, digging through until he found the fine silver brush. He twirled it once between his fingers, then snapped with his other hand, disappearing in a shimmer of light and reappearing behind Vesan before the boy could react.

Vesan flinched. “What are you-”

“You look like a stiff wind is going to send you reeling.” Ghirahim said, already busying himself with detangling the thin golden chains of Vesan’s diadem from the red mess of the boy’s hair so he could get to work.

Ghirahim was efficient, but thorough. The brush glided through crimson strands with precision, ensuring that he wouldn’t miss a single strand. When the hair was free of tangles and lay in a shining, orderly sheet down Vesan’s back, he reached for the diadem again.

He re-affixed it with care, adjusting the sapphire so it sat perfectly at the center of Vesan’s brow. Then he swept the hair back - not into a simple ponytail, but something far more structured. He twisted sections of it up and back, weaving the length into a coiled knot that sat high at the back of Vesan’s head, like a crown worn low. A few sections on either side were left loose to frame his face. 

“There,” He said, teleporting around the front of the gerudo prince to admire his work, “The very picture of a dignified prince. Straighten out your clothes and you’ll be presentable enough to travel at my side again.”

Vesan rolled his eyes - finally showing signs of returning to his usual self, thankfully - and slowly pulled himself to his feet, wincing the entire way up. Once upright, he stood still for a long moment, staring down at the blanket and his bag.

Just… stood there.

It took Ghirahim a moment to realize he wasn’t hesitating - he just physically couldn’t bend back down to gather his belongings.

“You could just ask for help. Didn’t I just yell at you last night for, among other things, not asking for help?”

“I can get it.”

“Yes. Clearly. That’s why you’re just standing there. Well. Pick it up. We don’t have all day.”

Vesan bent over just a fraction, then stopped. Ghirahim watched him struggle for a bit before losing patience. He stepped forward and swept up the blanket and bag in a single movement. He shoved the blanket inside then slung the horrible bag over his own shoulder. With how pathetic Vesan was acting right now, he probably wouldn’t be able to handle that, either. 

“There. A heroic rescue,” he said dryly. “Again.”

Vesan mumbled something that might’ve been thanks, but Ghirahim was already turning away.

“Come on, let’s go already.”

He turned on his heel, not waiting for Vesan to follow, and stepped back onto the path. Soon enough he heard a shuffle of footsteps as the boy rushed to catch up so as not to get left behind.

The campsite disappeared behind them, swallowed up by a gentle green horizon. The cliffs that had once loomed tight around them now softened and stretched wide, opening into rolling slopes of grass dotted with pale wildflowers. The stone gave way to packed earth and patches of clover.

They walked in silence for a while, side-by-side. Not the brittle, burning silence of the night before, but something more comfortable and familiar.

Chapter Text

After the previous day’s journey - nothing but rocks and cliffsides and the endless echo of his own footsteps filling the canyon - the sight of Hyrule Field opening up before Vesan was staggering. This was like nothing he'd ever seen before; all endless open space. The land sprawled and stretched in every direction lush and verdant. Even greener than the span of canyon he'd just finished traveling through with its hardy grasses and smattering of trees here and there. Here, it felt like there were as many blades of grass as there were grains of sand in the desert.

Even the air smelled different here. It was cooler. Wetter. Rich and heavy with the scent of fertile earth. He stopped just to close his eyes and breathe it in, the breeze tickling his nose. He breathed it in deep, filling his lungs with it. He opened his eyes again, a smile pulling at his lips. He looked over at Ghirahim, the smile turning into a grin.

Ghirahim's mouth quirked into a wry little smile of his own as he caught Vesan's eye. Vesan turned his gaze away again.

Even more astounding than the green and rolling hills were the sights he saw along the horizon. Mountains loomed far off in the distance like jagged teeth biting into the sky. One in particular put all the others to shame. It was more fierce than its siblings, its peak glowing angry red and spewing thick black smoke. It was as beautiful as it was intimidating.

He continued scanning the horizon, eyes wide with wonder, the grin still plastered across his face. He was soaking in the sights of this incredible new world like a sponge. He wanted to fill his eyes, his lungs, his entire soul with Hyrule.

Then he saw it.

Hyrule Castle.

It sat like a dagger on the land, surrounded by a thick, churning miasma of violet malice. Even from this distance, he could see the way it oozed and twisted around the castle’s sharp spires, thick and alive and horrible.

Pressure spiked behind Vesan's eyes, rapidly blooming into the worst headache of his life. His grin warped into a grimace and his stomach twisted itself in knots then tried to unravel itself. Queasiness settled over him.

From the edge of his vision, he saw Ghirahim move. The demon lord's face came into view, speaking words Vesan could not register. All sound had faded to nothing. It was all drowned out by the pounding of his heart thud, thud, thudding in his own ears. Distantly, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

This wasn't anxiety. He knew anxiety like an old friend. He knew how to recognize anxiety. He could manage anxiety.

This was something else building up in his chest, somewhere deep under his skin, well past his aching ribs. It ripped every nerve ending in his body, made him growl and grimace and grind his teeth together. 

Anger.

Not frustration. Not fear. Sudden and alien rage.

It rampaged through his brain, sharp and white and uncontrollable. Like he was standing at the epicenter of a sandstorm. His eyes narrowed into a glare as his eyes remained locked onto the castle on the horizon.

He wanted to burn it to the ground. To crush whatever it was that lay inside. Reduce it to rubble and reduce the rubble to dust. Was it the castle itself that he wanted to blot out? The spires and battlements and throne rotting unused somewhere deep inside? Or was it the writhing, oily miasma coiled around it like a serpent, ancient and evil and wrong, that inspired malice in his heart?

He didn’t know what he was angry at, only that the rage came from somewhere deeper than thought. Deeper than sense. It was primal. A fury that didn’t feel like his own, and yet it lived inside him, unmistakable and impossible to ignore.

The hand on his shoulder pulled him to the side, twisting him away from the sight of the castle. His gaze was forcefully torn away and the spell broke. He greedily sucked in a breath like he was coming up for air, gasping desperately. The sounds of nature rushed back to him just as suddenly. Trilling insects and lilting bird song and the whisper of the wind as it moved through the grass.

And Ghirahim.

“Vesan? Hello?”

He blinked and flicked his eyes toward the mask spirit. Worry was carved into Ghirahim’s face, a rare crease at the center of his brow. 

“I’m alright,” Vesan said, his voice low, doubtful of his words even as he was saying them. He licked his lips, mouth dry, as he tried to steady himself. He reached up to rub his temple as his headache slowly faded. “Sorry.”

He watched as Ghirahim's eyes narrowed. Before the demon could call Vesan on it, he relented with a shaky sigh.

“Ok, I'm not fine. I'm not sure what happened there. That castle,” He paused, resisting the urge to glance back, the hairs at the back of his neck prickling at the thought, “Looking at it… I was overcome with… I don't know. I just want to tear it apart brick by brick until there's nothing left.”

His eyes flitted across Ghirahim's sharp features, waiting for his reaction. The demon lord’s expression softened. “Oh,” His hand dropped from Vesan's shoulder and he ran his hand through his hair, pinning it up over his forehead, “Was that it?”

“What do you mean, 'was that it'?” Vesan snapped. He pushed past Ghirahim and started to walk down the path again. “I've never felt such an intense fury in my entire life!”

Ghirahim appeared in front of him, blocking the path. His arms were splayed wide, the tails of his cloak fluttering. “And isn't it natural to want to crush one's enemy?”

Vesan veered around Ghirahim. “Not for me. I don't want to feel like that.”

The demon lord appeared just ahead again, his head now on his hip, head cocked to the side. “Do you believe that Demise - no, sorry - Calamity will spare you his rage? Show you mercy? No. He will rend you limb from limb and swallow what remains whole, Vesan. Don't be such a child. Think of it as righteous indignation, if you must.”

Vesan laughed bitterly, stepping around Ghirahim again. This time he heard Ghirahim turn on his heel and follow along beside him. “Ghirahim, it wasn't that. It wasn't righteous indignation. It was pure wrath. I don't even know what it was aimed at.”

“Do you want to save the princess?”

“Of course I do.”

“And your people?”

“Ghirahim, what kind of question is that?”

“Are you still worried about being like Demise?” He didn't wait for an answer this time. “I'll say it a thousand times if I need to, you are nothing like Demise. Or Ganondorf. Or Calamity. Or whatever name he's called, whatever form he comes in. Not in any age across time. Not just because you're weak. Weakness can be overcome. But Demise doesn't save people.”

Ghirahim put a hand on Vesan's shoulder. The gerudo stopped, eyes cast downward. “You don't know what I felt.”

“Rest assured, I don't care about whatever you felt. It isn't relevant. Whatever cruel joke of fate brought you screaming into this world as ‘Vesan’ and gave you a piece of Demise's soul but not his malice has made it so that you aren't - couldn't - be like him. These are just echoes of feelings. Nothing more.”

Vesan stood there for a while, studying the gravel and dirt at his feet as though it were the most interesting thing in the world. To his credit, Ghorahim waited very patiently, not saying another word. Turning his face back upward to Ghirahim, he nodded. “You're right.”

“Of course I am.”

“And if I ever start becoming like him, you'll kill me.” He started walking again. “I mean it. Do whatever you need to do. I never want to become a monster.”

“Vesan-”

“Promise.”

“Fine!” Ghirahim said, voice high and exasperated, “Though it would be an absolute waste at that point to be rid of you right when things are finally getting good, I suppose I never did get my revenge for the way your past lives spurned my loyalty. Killing you will be a little treat.”

Vesan smiled just the teensiest bit, clapping a hand on Ghirahim's shoulder. “Thanks.”

“Oh, of course. It's my greatest pleasure to serve you, my master. Death pacts are my favourite.”

–

After days of travel, the novelty of Hyrule Fields was starting to wear off.

Sure, Vesan still enjoyed the fresh, cool air and the potent smell of the earth, but the thunderstorms that rolled through were horrifying, thunder booming high up in the clouds in a way that Vesan never knew they could. Lightning crashing down even seemingly mere feet from where he stood, sending his heart leaping into his throat. Once while he had been scrambling for cover, lightning struck the tree he'd been heading towards, cracking and splintering its trunk and toppling it towards Vesan, sending him barreling in the opposite direction. 

And its rolling hills were crawling with all sorts of monsters. Bokoblins and moblins were easy enough foes but travel too late and he would be beset upon by their skeletal cousins - and keese. He really hated keese. One had swooped down at him that first night and tangled itself in his hair, flapping and biting at him while he flailed blindly and Ghirahim had just laughed. 

He wished Ghirahim would choke on that laughter.

Vesan only veered off the path once. He'd mustered up all of his courage and flagged down a hylian voe travelling the opposite way and asked whether there was a stable nearby. He could have hugged the voe when he confirmed that yes, there was a stable nearby.

If by “nearby” they mean hours off the road and through several unnecessary combats.

But it had been worth it. He'd cooked a decent meal with scavenger herbs and hunted meat in the cooking pot, drawn up freshwater to cleanse himself of the dirt and grime of travell, and passed out on the softest bed they had on offer the moment his head had touched that pillow. 

He would never disdain a stable again. Ever. No matter how awful the giant horse head was. He now understood how refreshing it was to see that eyesore in the distance - to hear the sounds of people and music, smell food roasting over an open flame. There was nothing in this world so beautiful as a stable to a traveler.

Unfortunately, his time with the stable was cut short by the arrival of morning and he'd begrudgingly backtracked down the road and toward the Dueling Peaks. 

He didn't make it far before he was stopped cold by the ruins of some small outpost. They weren't the first ruins he's seen; Hyrule was lousy with crumbling stone and destroyed wagons left to decay in the elements. They weren't even the largest ruins he'd seen. That honor went to the crumbling walls of the cliffside he'd been following for days that seemed to lead up to some kind of important place up above on the Great Plateau. 

No, these were the first ones he'd been forced to pass through on his journey.

The ruins were flanked by large banners that flapped in the wind. High stone walls stood cracked and crumbling along the paved road, ivy creeping up their sides. 

There were other things, too. 

Giant husks or shells fashioned from stone or metal, like odd statues. He thought the first one he saw was merely ornamental, in fact. Then he saw one with its legs still attached, frozen in time with its long clawed limbs climbing over a fountain. 

He shuddered and moved on from the eerie ruins, not wanting to dwell too much longer.

By nightfall, he was past broken mountain and was rewarded with another stable, this time, blissfully, actually on his path. He swiped an apple from a crate as he arrived, closing his eyes briefly as he savoured the first bite. His mood was so great that he even smiled and waved to the voe at the counter as he stepped inside to order a bed, halving his remaining rupees.

As he luxuriated in the soft bed, finishing the apple and snuggling in under the plush covers, he smiled to himself. Worth every rupee, he thought. He tucked his arm over his pack, now bursting with herbs and mushrooms and a few odd monster parts that weren't too disgusting to pick up, and settled his hand over the mask that Ghirahim was currently resting within.

This was it. His final stop on the way to Kakariko.

He was almost, almost there. 

Chapter Text

Even from outside of Kakariko Village, Vesan could feel a faint thrum of magic. It sent gooseflesh up his arms and down the length of his spine, the energy licking over him in gentle waves. The air vibrated with the satisfying buzz of a plucked string, still droning on long after being played.

His heart picked up its pace ever so slightly with a giddy kind of excitement.

Maybe here, in a place where the magic lived in the air itself, he could finally learn something about himself. His own magic. If he focused hard enough he could almost feel it now, buried deep, deep under his skin like a dying heartbeat. He couldn’t remember how he’d used it as a child. Maybe some things just came easier when you were young. Before all the doubt and fear. Before you learned to build walls around the parts that made you different.

He couldn’t wait to dive right in, forgetting to temper his expectations.

But first.

He was convinced he looked the very picture of a world weary traveler. Vesan’s feet slowed to a stop and he frowned down at himself, brushing off a bit of dust and straightening the sash around his waist. He wanted to look his best, despite the circumstances, and represent the gerudo - and himself - well.

“Ghirahim.”

“Hmm?” Ghirahim hummed coolly, head tilting the barest degree to show he was listening.

Vesan stepped off to the side, pressing close to the cliff face where the light was a little softer. He waved Ghirahim over with a sharp flick of his fingers. When Ghirahim didn’t move fast enough, he beckoned again, more insistently. “Look at me. How do I look?”

Ghirahim choked back a laugh, dark eyes glinting with amusement. He stepped close and reached up, flicking the gem at Vesan’s forehead. It bounced gently against Vesan’s forehead, catching him off-guard and eliciting a scowl. Ghirahim laughed again.

“You look fine. Just ever so slightly askew. They'll probably find it charming.”

“Remind me to buy a mirror. You're useless.”

“Your vanity continues to be one of your sole redeeming traits.” Ghirahim teased, a cocky little smirk never leaving his face. Finally, then, he made himself useful, reaching up to fiddle with the chains of gold circling Vesan's head. For a moment, Vesan wondered if Ghirahim was just wiggling them around to appease his ego - but if anyone valued appearances, it was Ghirahim. 

“Yours, too.”

Once the matter of Vesan's appearance was settled, he hurried back over to the road with Ghirahim keeping perfect pace.

The entrance to Kakariko Village was nestled between two steep stone walls, the path gently narrowing as it passed beneath a large archway hewn from sturdy wooden beams. Short drapes of red cloth and flapping blue with odd symbols banners were tied onto the beams firmly. He recognized one symbol immediately and with a grimace, though he’d only ever encountered the Sheikah eye upside-down and plastered all over the Yiga's little hide-out in the desert. At the apex of the archway, a metal eye glinted in the sunlight.

Vesan passed through the archway just to be greeted with a second archway, identical to the first. Then, finally, he passed under a quiet canopy of fluttering charms. The slips of red wood were strung like dew on a spider's web across rope lines, swaying overhead in the breeze. They hung above the road in long, delicate arcs, clicking softly against one another. With each one Vesan passed, he felt the thrum of magic in the air grow stronger and realized the wooden tags were the source of the magic.

There were more than just a few at the threshold of the village, too. The charms continued deeper into Kakariko, strung between wooden posts, trees, and rooftops—threaded throughout the village like veins of quiet energy. They swayed gently in the breeze, their soft clacks and creaks rising into a gentle chorus of sound, punctuated by the cluck-clucking of some sort of animal and the rushing of a waterfall.

“This place reeks of the Goddess magic,” Ghirahim sneered, disdain plainly etched across his features, “Her dogs truly do have run of the place these days. I miss the days when there was only one of them to-” 

Vesan elbowed him, probably hurting himself more in the process.

Surprisingly, Ghirahim stumbled aside. 

No.

Not surprisingly. Ghirhahim had seemingly opted to answer violence with dramatics.

The demon lord's eyes widened, his hand draped across his chest as though he'd been mortally wounded. “Do you favour Hylia now over your most loyal weapon, master? Enough to stoop to assault?”

“Be respectful.” Vesan admonished even as a smile threatened to light up his face. 

“I would never dream of being anything but.”

A few villagers paused in their tasks as the pair wound their way down into the heart of Kakariko. To be fair, they were probably quite a sight, Vesan thought. They were both strange in their own ways: the impossibly rare lone Gerudo voe produced by the desert and a voe who appeared not to belong to any known tribe at all. Vesan and Ghirahim were exceptionally one-of-a-kind.

Vesam squared his shoulders, affecting the effortless confidence with which Ghirahim walked. The unfamiliarity was actually oddly empowering. The looks he drew were borne mostly of curiousity and at worst, a bit of suspicion. They weren’t pitying or judging. He met them with a smile and a not of the head, delighting when the Sheikah returned his greeting, their stances relaxing. 

You're enjoying this. Ghirahim's voice slid into his mind, a lilt of amusement toying at the edge of his tone - and just a hint of surprise.

I am. Vesan admitted. He was only just beginning to realize that out here he could be someone else entirely. He could reshape himself however he wanted.

His train of thought was interrupted, however, by a noise nearby. He stopped and glanced over and noticed someone approaching from the left, half-hidden by the rise of a hill. 

A girl emerged a moment later. She wasn't Sheikah - that much was apparent from her blind head of hair. She wore a soft blue, a bit faded at the edges, and two braids hung down in front of each ear. 

She was crossing in front of Vesan, on her way towards a set of stairs on the opposite side of the pathway, when she glanced over at Vesan and did a visible double-take.

“Oh!” she said, her booted feet skidding to a halt. Her blue eyes were wide and unblinking. “You’re Gerudo, right?”

“I am…” He affirmed, instinctively shrinking back just a little before he caught himself. 

“You’re a guy!” she blurted out. Her tone wasn’t rude - just blunt in the way a child was. Like she hadn’t quite learned to filter her thoughts yet before they just tumbled out of her mouth.

“I am.” He nodded.

She smiled then, her whole face lighting up. “Wow. Sorry, I didn't even know there were boy Gerudo. It's nice to meet you. I'm Linkle!”

She stuck out a gloved hand still smiling.

He hesitated a beat before shaking it. “Prince Vesan. And this is Lord Ghirahim.” He gestured over to Ghirahim and noticed that the demon was sneering, his distaste plainly obvious.

At least it was obvious to Vesan.

Linkle just gasped and quickly dropped into an awkward curtsy, looking a bit like she was going to tip over. “A pleasure to meet you, your highness.”

“Oh uh, y-you don't need to do that.” 

Linkle snapped back up to standing. “I guess two important people like you guys must be here to see Granny Impa, right? I was just on my way there, too! Come on, it's just right here.”

She started walking, not even bothering to wait for an answer and Vesan found himself matching her pace without thinking. Granny Impa?

She led him to an archway barely ten feet from where they’d met, giving the Sheikah guard stationed to the right before starting up the steps

Ahead, Lady Impa's home was perched atop a hill, waterfalls pouring down the cliffs behind it. The house had a sloped wooden roof, the boards aged but meticulously kept. Blue pennants fluttered from the eaves, and long white-and-red banners criss-crossed over the entrance.

Linkle barely paused. She stepped up to the doorway and knocked twice before stepping right inside leaving Vesan no choice but to barge right in with her. 

“Hey Granny Impa, sorry to barge in - I brought company!” She gestured to Vesan and Ghirahim.

A small woman knelt atop a low pile of pillows directly ahead. Her robes were plain, but the hat she wore was enormous—tall, wide, and topped with a strange pointed spike. A brass Sheikah eye gleamed above her in the soft lantern light.

Impa’s gaze turned to Vesan. She didn’t speak right away. Just stared. Her frame was thin and her face lined with age, but there was nothing fragile about her. Vesan had the distinct impression that she could level him with a glance if she wanted to.

“Chief Riju sent word you’d be visiting,” she said at last. “Prince Vesan and Lord Ghirahim, was it?”

“Oh um, y-yes ma'am.” His voice cracked slightly and he winced at the sound of it. He tried to recover. “We were told to visit you… We're on a mission to free the Divine Beasts and, um, to rescue Princess Zelda… From the Calamity.”

Linkle snapped her head around, her eyes wide. Her mouth opened slightly, but whatever she meant to say didn’t make it out. Impa’s voice cut in instead.

“Chief Riju says you claimed it was the Princess herself who called upon you. That you heard her voice.”

“That's right… I did hear her.”

The silence that filled the room was palpable, thick enough to choke on. Impa studied Vesan and sweat pricked at the back of his neck. It wasn’t a curious look - it was measured. Skeptical.

“You should return to the desert,” she said. Her voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. “Whatever it was you think you heard—it wasn’t Zelda. I won’t entertain delusions, not even as a courtesy to Chief Riju. Go home.”

“You impudent dog-” Ghirahim started, taking a step forward, a blade materializing in his hand.

“*Ghirahim!” Vesan’s gasped. His hand snapped out and grabbed Ghirahim’s arm before he could take another step. Ghirahim obeyed, but his blade did not lower.

Vesan wasn't the only one to react. 

“Not another step!” Linkle’s voice rang out, clear and sudden. Her crossbows were no longer neatly stowed at her hips. They were drawn and aimed. At Ghirahim. And Vesan.

Vesan held his hands up towards Linkle. They were shaking. A bead of sweat formed at his brow and slowly he placed himself between Linkle and Ghirahim, her bow following him. 

“Ghirahim, put your sword away. Please.” He pleaded. 

“And be respectful?” His voice dripped with venom. “I think I've tolerated these insignificant insects long enough, Vesan. If they refuse to know their place, it's only right for someone of my standing to teach them by crushing them into the dirt where they belong.”

Linkle’s grip on her crossbows didn’t falter, though she adjusted slightly, aiming more for Ghirahim than Vesan, reassessing the threat. “Drop the sword.”

Vesan shifted, too, doing his best to keep his body between the two. Not that it would make a difference if a fight broke out. Linkle's arrows would never pierce Ghirahim's skin - and if Ghirahim wanted to, he would just disappear and reappear by Linkle in the span of a heartbeat. 

“Enough. All of you.” Impa's voice tore through the room. All eyes turned to her. She turned her face to Ghirahim. “I apologize for the insult against your prince. Be mindful, however, that your actions reflect upon him, too. Control yourself.”

Ghirahim stared at her for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. Then, the sabre vanished from his hand. He stepped back with a stiff bow - not out of respect, though. It was theatrical. Mocking. “Forgive me, I don't handle insults against my master well. There are limits to even my patience, it seems.”

Linkle, in turn, slowly lowered her crossbows. Not fully holstered, but no longer aimed.

Vesan let out a breath of relief, tension easing out of his shoulders.

“You believe the Princess spoke to you,” she said. “Fine. Then you’ll have your chance to prove it.”

Vesan started by explaining when he'd begun to hear Zelda's voice. His face was alight with shame as he explained that at first, he'd ignored her. For years he'd ignored her. He hadn't understood who she was or what she wanted. It was only when she grew more insistent and when Vah Naboris rose that he finally listened.

He described the vision he'd had - the image of the blonde girl breathed in light burned into his memory, her harp-voice calling to him for help before being joined by four other long-suffering instrument-voices. He knew it sounded unbelievable and crazy. But it was real.

Impa did not seem moved. “An… interesting dream.”

Vesan's shoulders slumped and he visibly deflated. “It wasn’t just a dream. It was Princess Zelda…” He closed his eyes, face downcast. He felt like a foolish child. Of course she wouldn't believe such a ridiculous story.

“Unfortunately there's no way to prove that. Hyrule's only hope is that the hero's soul will be reborn in time to save us from Calamity.”

If he couldn't convince her, would he be able to convince anyone? Everyone would look down on him for his quest. He wasn't the hero.

Still.

Zelda needed him.

“Ghirahim,” He said, holding out his hands, “My sitar.”

Without a word, Ghirahim plucked the instrument from thin air and placed it into Vesan's hands. The Gerudo prince took it and sat, setting it across his lap. 

He needed to make her understand. 

Music filled the room as his fingers danced across the strings. He didn’t start with a full melody. Just a slow, quiet progression of notes. His fingers moved with care, but his face was drawn in concentration. He wasn’t only playing for Impa. He was searching, too. He needed to find that second dying heartbeat in his chest - the pulse of his own magic.

The song came together little by little. It called out into the void. And he was answered.

The high voice of the harp. The twang of guitar strings. A cymbal's crash. The vibraphone and an accordion. Five voices rose with his own. A chorus woven through the buzzing hum of his sitar, each crying out for help.

Vesan…

Zelda's voice unfurled itself from the song and the lanterns in the room glowed brighter. This time, it wasn't only him that could hear her. Impa's eyes widened.

Finally his hands stilled. He felt drained. Like he'd poured everything inside him into that performance just for the chance to summon Zelda's voice. He was exhausted enough for his precious sitar to fall from his grasp.

Suddenly, the room pitched sideways. He narrowed his eyes in confusion. Then, the floor rushed up to meet his head and he saw nothing at all.

Chapter Text

Vesan woke up drowning.

His limbs moved on instinct: kicking through the dark, fingers splayed wide, and desperately searching for something solid to hold onto. He couldn’t tell if he was moving at all, the field of darkness gave him no indication of where he was. 

He didn’t know how he got here. Where was here? 

The last thing he remembered was-

Conflicting memories clashed in his head, stuck together like wet pages in a book. Which was real? Both felt real. Both definitely happened. So which happened last?

It didn't matter. Neither memory could guide him out of the suffocating darkness. His only hope was to try to keep moving. He kicked and clawed, thrashing around as fiercely as he could with the hope that he could get out of wherever he was if he just kept going.  

A drop of something plopped against his shoulder blade and rolled down his arm. It was cold and wet. More importantly it was something. He could move towards something. He twisted himself around, towards the source. Another drop landed on his forehead. Then, against his jaw. He clawed his way toward what he imagined was "up" until finally his hand broke through the darkness into somewhere he couldn't see. He reached out and brought his hand back down onto a smooth surface. Quickly, he brought his other hand up and out, latching onto it and dragging himself up. 

Vesan's head broke through the surface and he gasped for air, his trembling arms resting on slick obsidian. Above, millions of stars blinked into place across the bruise-blue sky. An orb of light the size of his fist lazily danced across his vision, floating up towards the large figure currently leaning over him.

A teardrop thumped against his cheek. 

He brushed it away with the back of his hand and looked up.

The figure knelt above him, their face mostly hidden beneath their pale veil. Though from this angle, Vesan could see part of their face. It looked like a mask. Dark, glossy, and entirely featureless. A tear rolled down its surface and dropped down, this time just barely missing Vesan as they leaned back and tilted their hidden face down towards him.

"You're back." 

"Back where?" 

The figure didn't answer straight away. Instead, slowly, they stretched out two left arms toward him. One hand hovered close, open and waiting, as if offering to help him up. The other held steady to the side, prepared to catch him if he fell. Their palms were huge - practically the size of dinnerplates - and the skin was more like dark glass than flesh. When he reached out to take the offered hand, he felt like a child, his hand dwarfed by the giant's. Yet despite their size, or maybe because of it, their touch was gentle. Their fingers wrapped carefully around his hand as if they were afraid to break him.

"This is where souls rest before returning to the living." They said, once Vesan was back on solid ground. They pulled back their hands then slowly stretched all four outward. The glowing orbs which drifted idly around them stirred in response, circling the figure's arms in wide arcs, their light trailing behind them in long, shimmering wisps. One in particular, pale blue and gently pulsing with light, orbited closer and closer to their arm as it traveled out before finally resting in their palm. The giant drew this hand forward, bringing it closer for Vesan to see.

The light flickered, then glowed brighter. Wisps curled off it like smoke, coalescing into the silhouette of a person. It sat cradled in the giant's palm, wreathed in blue flame - just distinct enough for Vesan to realize they were a Hylian but not quite enough for him to make out their facial features. "I tend to the souls here as they heal and forget and I see them off when they are ready to enter the world anew."

"Then why am I here... Am I dead?"

"You..." They shuddered, a sudden sob wracking their body. The Hylian spirit floated up and away from their palm, maintaining its form even as it resumed aimlessly floating around the giant with all the other orbs. "You are not supposed to be here."

Vesan frowned. He took that to mean he wasn't dead at least , which was preferable to the alternative, but it didn't really answer his question either. The odd caretaker of souls didn't seem too keen on being straightforward. "Well, if I'm not supposed to be here, how do I go back, then?" He asked, before quickly adding, "Without sinking into the ground." 

They shook their head. "Most souls return through the mirror." They responded, gesturing towards the ground. "That's why I sent you that way before. I apologize if it was unpleasant."

"It... wasn't that bad." Vesan lied. "I just wouldn't prefer it. It's uncomfortable."

The figure leaned down bracing itself with two of its arms. "I'm sorry, little thing. There are few who yet breathe that have ever crossed my path, I'm unfamiliar with the living. I only know that to live is to suffer, but I have no measure for degrees of suffering." They sighed mournfully, reaching out and gently tracing a finger across Vesan's jaw. "I am sorry that you must suffer."

"It really wasn't so bad... You don't need to apologize. It's alright." 

"No. I must apologize. If I apologized for all of eternity it would still not be enough..." They whispered, their body shuddering through another sob. "My duty is to watch over the souls. To help them rest and forget. My duty is to bear their suffering and to remember all that they were so that they do not have to. I bear witness to all who have ever lived and died. I will bear witness to all who will ever live and who will ever die. But you...

"I plucked the still-burning flame of your soul from its source with my own hand. I shaped it and made something new. I created a life against its will - against order - and made something doomed to suffer. I made you live. For that, I am sorry."

Vesan was speechless. This wasn't just some strange giant or a simple caretaker. He was more-or-less standing in front of a deity. 

Not just a deity.

His own maker. 

His maker was kneeling before him and begging his forgiveness for making him at all. They were sorry to have made him. Their guilt was palpable. What was he supposed to do with that?

He swallowed hard. His voice, when he finally worked up the nerve to speak, sounded small and quiet. "So why did you make me...?"

"You were the answer to a desperate prayer." They replied.

Vesan felt immediate relief wash over him. He'd been bracing for something worse. He didn't want to have been a mistake or a whim. He wanted to be wanted, not a regret. He wanted-

"I am only known to the dead and forgotten by the living." They continued. "There are none who pray to me. Yet the one who bears Hylia's soul cast her plea to any who would listen and begged for someone to aid her long-suffering people."

Vesan's heart climbed into his throat.

"Perhaps if her Chosen's soul were not lost, I could have spared you..."

"Oh." His breath left him all at once and he deflated, heart sinking. "You made me for Princess Zelda."

The words were like ash in his mouth.

Maybe he should have felt like this was all part of some great destiny and he was cast as a valiant hero, but instead he felt like a puppet. Even worse, he wasn't even the first choice. He was a shabby replacement for someone better. 

"So... that's it? You couldn't find the real hero so you made me? For Princess Zelda?" His voice trembled, but it wasn't with sadness. Instead he coughed out a humourless laugh, akin to one of Ghirahim's, hollow and sharp. His voice rose. "You should be sorry. Do you know what I'm up against out there? I can't do anything and now I know why. I'm just some half-baked replacement made out of inferior parts being puppeted along someone else's destiny."

Vesan brushed a hand up across his forehead, his fingers finding his diadem. He wrapped his hand around the gem and tore it off, the delicate gold chains tearing apart. He tossed it to the ground. It clattered loudly and skidded across the cool obsidian glass. It spun wildly before eventually coming to a stop. 

"I don't want to suffer. I don't want to fight against something that almost ended Hyrule. I don't want to be a substitute hero. I don't want someone to apologize for making me!" He stopped, still staring at the diadem. "I want to win. I want to be strong for once... for my people to look at me with pride. I want to matter because I chose to, not because someone else needed me to exist."

The silence that followed Vesan's outburst was heavy. He tried to take the opportunity to calm himself and gather his disjointed thoughts and conflicting feelings. It took ages for the figure to finally break it.

"I've made you suffer yet again." They stated, sitting up. Their head tilting the side, veils shifting. They folded their many hands in their lap. "When I made you, I did so out of love for Hylia. I wanted to ease her suffering. You were her hope. But you still had a choice. I never bound you to her, nor did I bind you to anyone else's destiny. Out of love for you,  I made you free."

"But she called to me."

"It's true, you share a thread of fate - an ancient curse. Even I am powerless to remove it. But you answered it of your own volition. You resolved to save your people on your own. You chose to become a hero."

The words hung between them for a moment. 

They didn't fully ease him, but their words made him feel slightly better regardless. Better enough for guilt to start creeping in. He needed some time to process everything. Time somewhere that wasn't here.

He still didn't know how to leave, though.

"Perhaps you should try waking up." The figure said, as if sensing his worry. "You aren't dead, but you may be asleep."

That's right. Before he's awakened somewhere under the obsidian surface, he'd fallen... 

He must have been asleep.

"Before you go," They began again, drawing Vesan's attention. They reached a hand into the folds of their robe into some unseen pocket and produced a long, slender ney flute as dark as midnight and etched with delicate spirals of starlight. A band of gold wrapped around it just below the round, flat mouthpiece at the end. "A small token. I hope that it will serve you well."

Vesan took it carefully and nodded. "Thank you."

They nodded then sat back, watching and waiting as Vesan willed himself awake. 

Chapter Text

“You’re awake.” 

The words reached him before anything else: before sight, before thought, and even before the splitting headache that quickly began to creep its way across his brain. Vesan furrowed his brow against the now throbbing ache behind his eyes and wished he was still asleep just so he wouldn’t have to feel it.

“I’m awake.” 

He turned his head towards Ghirahim’s voice and cracked an eye open. The room was lit with the warm glow of a lantern, thankfully not too harsh on his bleary eyes, and he could see Ghirahim leaning against a wall nearby. His arms were loosely crossed and Vesan might have mistaken his posture as relaxed were it not for the dark glint of a blade in his hand. 

“My head is killing me.” Vesan groaned, reaching up to grind his knuckles against his temple. 

Ghirahim chuckled dryly, pushing himself off the wall. “I’m tempted to finish the job myself.” The sword disappeared from his hand as he approached the bed Vesan was resting in. With an over-dramatic sigh, he hooked his hand under Vesan’s shoulder. “Come on. Up. We still have a healing elixir in your bag.”

He guided Vesan upright into a seating position. Vesan groaned, the shift in posture making his head throb with renewed vigor. As he moved, he felt something slide off his chest under the blanket and land with a dull thump in his lap. “What’s this…?” He mumbled, pulling the covers back. A long, black flute lay across his thighs.

Ghirahim barely glanced over. With a snap of his fingers, Vesan’s seal bag appeared on the bed next to him and Vesan briefly wondered why he’d been carrying it this entire time. “What? Some kind of flute? Where’d you get that?” 

Vesan turned the flute around in his hands, the lantern light glinting off the gold band wrapped under the mouthpiece. It looked like it had been carved out of the night sky, little pinpricks of lights forming miniature galaxies across the deep black instrument. Something familiar tugged at his memory. He narrowed his eyes, trying to focus through his pounding headache.

“I think I got it from my dream.”

“Well, it clearly wasn’t just a dream.” Ghirahim reached over and plucked the flute from Vesan’s hand, replacing it with the elixir before he could complain. Not that he would have. Vesan was all too eager to practically inhale the bottle’s contents. The worst of the pain immediately began to ease.

It was easier to think, then. Easier to remember. It was actually unbelievable that he could have forgotten. He set the emptied bottle down beside him. “It was-” He began, only to be interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Ghirahim’s attention had shifted away immediately. He dropped the flute back onto the bed and spun on his heel, sabre rematerializing in his grip. This time, he kept the point angled towards the floor - not immediately threatening but ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

Vesan leaned to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of the stairwell past Ghirahim. He recognized Linkle immediately. The other figure was also a vai - a Sheikah judging by the large eye painted on her forehead, her pale white hair, and her distinctive robes and attire. She carried a wooden tray with a few bowls and plates.

“Stop pointing that at us!” Linkle complained as soon as she spotted Ghirahim’s blade. She didn’t draw her bows, but she did put herself in between Ghirahim and the now startled Sheikah vai. 

Ghirahim didn’t lower the blade any further than it already was. His posture remained taut. Vesan didn’t bother to argue with him about it or make some perfunctory plea to put it away. 

Linkle didn’t let herself be cowed by it. She stepped up into the room, the fingers of her left hand twitching near her bow, her right hand reaching out protectively across the Sheikah. “We brought some food - and medicine. Looks like you probably already took something - that bruise looks like it’s healing up a bit.”

“We packed a couple of elixirs when we left Gerudo Town,” Vesan offered with a polite smile, “But I appreciate it. Sorry to be a burden.”

“Oh um, i-it’s not a burden.” The Sheikah vai chimed in. She shrunk back the moment Vesan met her gaze, quickly averting her eyes. He immediately looked away, too, her shyness contagious. 

An awkward silence stretched between them.

Mercifully, Linkle was the first to break it. “Paya’s just a little shy around guys.” 

Ghirahim snorted, shoulders dropping a little as he relaxed his posture. He shifted and pointed his sword over at the bed. “So is Vesan.”

“Hey!”

Both vai laughed - Linkle loud and bright and Paya more of quiet giggle that snuck out before she could catch it. 

Vesan could admit that his embarrassment was a small price to pay to ease the tension in the room, but that didn't keep his face from heating up. He was quick to try to explain. “There aren’t any voe in Gerudo Town, I’m just not used to it. And the classes aren’t any help.”

“Classes?” Linkle asked, walking towards the bed. Ghirahim stepped aside to let her pass, seemingly no longer interested in his guard dog routine - or maybe sufficiently satisfied that neither vai was aiming to assassinate Vesan at the moment. Paya followed after Linkle, giving Ghirahim a noticeably wide berth. The blonde sat on the edge of the bed as if it were the most natural thing to do, forcing Vesan to quickly pull his knees up to his chest to make space.

“They’re um, about how to meet voe and talk to them.” He explained, “I guess in places like this, you have plenty of practice since there are voe all over the place, but back home I’m the only one. Voe are banned in town. Except me, of course. Oh. And Ghirahim. He doesn't really count, though. He’s a spirit.”

“It sounds nice… having classes.” Paya chimed in, holding the tray out for him. It looked a bit too awkward to try balancing atop his knees, so he crossed his legs as he sat, placing it on his lap.

He glanced down at it, taking a moment to appreciate the dishes he'd been offered. Steam curled up from the bowl of steaming vegetable soup in the center, the pale broth dotted with flecks of carrot and chunks of pumpkin. Beside the bowl was a small plate, neatly arranged with thin slices of fresh apple and a piece of crusty bread. There was also a neatly wrapped package on the right side of the tray - probably the medicine.

“It’s mostly embarrassing,” he admitted after a pause. He picked up the spoon and swished it around in the soup a bit. “They spend the whole time giving advice on how to smile, or where to put your hands, or how to make conversation without offending someone. It doesn't help much in practice. And the uh, romance parts were especially awkward.”

Linkle leaned a little closer. “Wait, they have kissing classes or something?”

Vesan nearly choked. “No, it's not like that. It's more like etiquette, conversational stuff, and what you’d do in certain situations. Like what to do if you meet a voe you like.”

“So, what would you do?” Linkle pressed.

Vesan froze, spoon halfway to his mouth. “I... well, I’d probably panic,” he admitted, the tips of his ears hot. “I’d forget everything I learned and then probably apologize and leave.”

She laughed, leaning back a bit. “It can’t be that bad.”

Ghirahim and Vesan replied in unison. “It is.”

“He’s getting better, though.” Ghirahim continued, surprising Vesan. “It’s a shame - it was much more amusing watching him stumble through those first few conversations. His highness is incredible - his face can turn the same hue as his hair.”

Vesan stabbed his spoon through a chunk of potato, willing the heat away from his cheeks. For a bit he just focused on getting the meal into his stomach, letting the others continue to converse without contributing more than a few words here and there. 

Despite Ghirahim’s determination to tease Vesan at every opportunity, it was nice to get the chance to sit around and engage in idle chatter. He wondered at what point he could call Linkle and Paya friends. They all really barely knew one another - and Paya was still avoiding directly looking at Vesan - but they seemed nice and got along well. 

If he was going to be a hero for any reason, he’d be happy to fight for friends like these.

–

It wasn’t until the next day, after Vesan and Ghirahim had gotten settled into the inn instead of stealing Paya’s bed, that Vesan realized why she struggled to look at him. Linkle’d had to tell him when she visited in the morning, holding a neatly folded stack of clothing.

It was his clothing she had an issue with, it turned out. Or rather, lack of.

Vesan was used to wearing his robes open, much of his chest exposed. By desert terms, he was practically overdressed. The robe’s long sleeves covered his arms practically down to his wrists, after all. But out here where the weather was temperate and mild, it was more normal to wear something that covered the whole torso. 

So Linkle had brought him travel attire: A simple red tunic, a hooded cape, leather boots, and pants that were much more constricting than his usual sirwal. It wasn’t quite as comfortable as his old clothing, but it wasn't as bad as he thought it’d be, either. Ok. The footwear was every bit as bad as he thought. But otherwise it was fine. And at least he wouldn’t make anyone else uncomfortable.

“There! You could practically be mistaken for a Hylian now!” Linkle exclaimed with a grin. Then, noticing how Vesan balked at the thought, quickly added, “I mean, you’re obviously a Gerudo, though. Just a figure of speech.”

Vesan tugged awkwardly at the hem of the tunic, trying to adjust it so it felt a little less stiff across his shoulders. “Well, at least I’ll be glad for the boots and hood when it rains. I’ll have to get used to the shoes, though. My feet feel so heavy… I feel like I’ll trip if I get into a fight.” He kicked at the dirt a little, sending up a tiny puff of dirt and dust. “Sarq’so - I really appreciate the clothing.”

“No problem! Now c’mon - Granny said she’s going to tell you everything she knows about Calamity Ganon, Mr. Hero.” She spun around, leading Vesan back to Lady Impa’s home. “I’m kind of jealous that you’re the hero. Link - Zelda’s knight and the well, other hero - was my great-granduncle. That’s why I’m usually travelling around helping people and fighting monsters.”

“I knew I didn’t like you for a reason…” Ghirahim sneered, his lip curling in disgust. 

“Do you like anyone?”

“Of course I do - but I’m extremely selective. Obnoxious children such as yourself aren’t worth my consideration.”

Linkle turned back and stuck out her tongue at him over her shoulder before bounding ahead down the path, Ghirahim’s disdain bouncing harmlessly off her.

Vesan shook his head slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself. He adjusted the straps of his bag across his shoulders and hurried to catch up with her.

The walk back to Lady Impa’s home wasn’t long, but the closer they got, the heavier Vesan’s steps seemed to feel. The weight of the conversation to come wasn’t something he was looking forward to, especially since he hadn’t exactly told them he shared part of the same soul Calamity Ganon had. 

The thought gnawed at him with every step, sinking deeper into the pit of his stomach. The truth about what he was could never come out. They would think he was a monster and cast him out - or worse.

The trio climbed up past the archway to Lady Impa’s house and Vesan took a deep breath.

It was time to learn a little more about his legacy.

Chapter Text

The conversation with Lady Impa had left Vesan with more problems than solutions.

She’d told him a story passed down across generations of Sheikah - all about how an ancient hero with a legendary sword and a divine princess defeated the evil Calamity Ganon time and time again throughout the ages. In fact, the tapestry behind her even illustrated Ganon’s latest great defeat at the hands of the hero, the princess, and a massive army of Sheikah Guardians and the four Divine Beasts. She told him, too, about how one hundred years ago they’d used the same tactics again and failed. 

Hearing about Ganon’s endless defeats was disheartening. Not because he wanted Calamity to win… he just didn’t want to be doomed to share a destiny with someone fated to fight and claw and struggle, only to fall short time and time again. So when Impa had outlined Link and Zelda and all the Champion’s defeat, part of him felt a hollow, petty satisfaction that Ganon hadn’t been defeated that time… for once. At least if Ganon had won once, then Vesan could carve out a different ending for himself, even if his life had sprouted from the same rotten root.

It was a nasty, selfish thought - one he wouldn’t dare speak aloud to anyone except maybe Ghirahim. He hated himself for feeling even a modicum of satisfaction when so many people had lost their lives battling the Calamity.

Yet it still gave him hope where the rest of Impa’s story hadn’t: Vesan wasn’t a hero. He didn’t have a legendary evil-sealing sword - nor could he use it even if he had it. And Zelda’s waning power was struggling to keep Calamity at bay. Most of the story wasn’t exactly relevant to his situation: but clearly his magic had left an impression on Lady Impa.

If he could learn to harness his power, he might be able to secure an edge over Calamity.

She suggested meditation and had given him access to books and scrolls with Sheikah secrets, hoping their philosophy and spiritual teachings could guide him in the right direction as it had for their monks in the past. They weren’t the most… thrilling reading material: less manuals of mastering the occult and more treatises on discipline, balance, service, and developing a spiritual connection with the Goddess Hylia. But he still took her up on the offer.

The scrolls spoke in riddles more than instructions. Lines like “the hand obeys the mind, the mind obeys the breath” and “stillness carves the path to revelation” had sounded profound at first, but after hours of silent sitting, they began to feel like someone had just jotted down random thoughts and passed it off as wisdom.

Ghirahim had tolerated this for a while with increasing boredom and irritation before declaring that Vesan wouldn’t find his magic “buried in a pile of dusty riddles.” His idea was to spar - if Vesan to win, he would have to instinctually rely on his magic.

That was how Vesan found himself on a grassy cliff overlooking Kakariko Village, Ghirahim’s sword slicing past his ear close enough for him to feel the air against his skin.

He jerked back instinctively, boots sliding awkwardly on the uneven grass, but managed to wrench his scimitar up to a clumsy block. The blades met with a sharp clash, the force of it jolting through his arms and rattling his shoulders. He stumbled a half-step back, teeth gritted, before shifting his stance and driving his sword forward to strike back.

Ghirahim’s blade snapped up to parry, the sound of their swords ringing into the cool, evening air. “You’re telegraphing your moves.” The parry flowed effortlessly into a counterstrike - a sharp slice towards Vesan’s exposed right side. The Gerudo twisted, bringing his scimitar up just in time to catch the strike. He knew Ghirahim was pulling his punches, but even still the blow rattled him and forced him off balance. “You heard that old hag - you’re going to need to rely on more than your sword to take on these ‘Divine Beasts.’ At some point you’re going to need to figure out how to use your magic.”

“This is stupid.” Vesan hissed the words under his breath, grinding his feet down to ground his footing. His arms ached and sweat stung his eyes but Ghirahim, infuriatingly, barely looked like he was putting in any effort. He was just toying with him. Vesan was at the limit of his patience. He was ready to be done with this exercise in futility.

The demon lord’s next strike came fast - it started out high and came crashing down diagonally towards Vesan’s shoulder. Instead of bringing his sword up to block, Vesan brought up his free arm, aiming to block the strike with his own flesh and bone. If Ghirahim followed through, that arm wouldn’t stand a chance. The sword would cleave right through and bury itself deep in Vesan’s shoulder.

But Ghirahim’s blade stopped short, the sharp edge suspended no more than an inch from Vesan’s forearm, close enough that he could feel the cool whisper of the steel against his skin.

It hovered there only for the briefest moment before Ghirahim yanked the sword back, stepping away with a hiss. “Aren’t you clever? I should be beaming with pride: you’re learning to weaponize your enemy’s weaknesses under my loving tutelage.” His blade flicked back up faster than Vesan could react, drawing a clean, shallow line of red across Vesan’s forearm. 

Vesan gasped, sucking in air through his teeth, and shot a glare at Ghirahim. Beads of blood were slowly pooling along the line like tiny stinging rubies. 

“What? A few scratches won’t kill you. And I’d be a negligent teacher if I didn’t punish you at least a little bit for bad behaviour.”

“A few cuts aren’t going to make me suddenly start doing magic either.” The Gerudo growled, tossing his scimitar to the ground. Rather than seeming frustrated by Vesan’s admittedly childish outburst, the corners of his Ghirahim’s lips were turned up just a bit into an amused smile. He met Vesan’s glare with a smile, staring him down for a moment.

“I take it you’re done with sparring for now, Prince Vesan?” Ghirahim broke eye contact first, bending down to retrieve the abandoned sword. He stood again, twirling the weapon a few times before banishing it. “You know I’m not exactly bursting with ideas as to how you’re going to learn magic. It’s like trying to teach someone how to breathe.”

“Well I can do some magic with the sitar-”

Ghirahim shot him a withering look. “Vesan, please be serious. You can’t just stop everything in the middle of a fight to have a seat and play that thing.”

“Then the flute! I’m sure that’s why I got it from that… dream deity.”

“The one you claim made you?”

Vesan frowned, wiping his thumb over the cut on his arm and watching as the blood beaded up again. They’d already gone over this the other night after they’d settled into the inn room. Ghirahim was just as skeptical now as he’d been then - not that Vesan was making it up, but maybe of the nameless deity. “I didn’t claim it, they did. And I don’t think they’re a liar.”

“Well excuse me for being a little doubtful of their supposed identity,” Ghirahim said, the flute appearing in his hand. He turned it slowly once in his fingers, studying it momentarily, then walked over and held it out. “I’ve just never heard of a deity who sits around babysitting souls.”

“They weren’t babysitting souls. They were- It was more like they help the dead heal from their suffering, or something.” He replied, then added, “This really stings, Ghirahim.”

Ghirahim rolled his eyes but ignores Vesan’s whining. His eyes flicked down to the obsidian flute in his outstretched hand, then back up to Vesan - studying him just as he had studied the flute. “I suppose this is the second gift you received from your so-called Maker, other than your life itself. It would be a shame if you lost something so precious.”

Vesan tilted his head a little and opened his mouth to speak, but the words died in his throat as Ghirahim twisted his torso and threw the flute off the cliff.

The flute arced through the air, the gold band glinting in the sunlight as it spiraled downward and vanished below the cliff’s edge. 

Vesan immediately scrambled after it, stumbling over loose gravel and as he sprinted for the edge as if he could somehow still manage to catch it despite. He collapsed to his knees at the edge and searched the air, trying to spot the instrument.

There. Hurtling towards the water the nearby falls poured into, falling fast, end over end… there was the flute. If it fell in, the gift from the god who made him would be washed away forever.

“No-!” The word ripped out of him, sharp and panicked, his heart pounding against his chest. His hand flung out reflexively, palm open, reaching for something he couldn’t touch.

The air shuddered around him. Below, the shadows on the water twisted and swelled, spiraling in on themselves. A dark shape surged upwards, fingers stretched wide- 

A hand.

It rose from the water as if dragged into the world from beneath the surface, palm outstretched in a mirror of Vesan’s own hand reaching down. Vesan watched in awe as the flute dropped into its waiting grasp, safe and sound. His outstretched arm trembled and slowly, he curled his fingers closed. The hand below did the same.

“You know,” Ghirahim began, stepping closer to Vesan. There was an edge of excitement in his voice, almost giddy. “I would have retrieved it for you - but this is so much better! I was expecting a tantrum and maybe a bit of melodrama, but actual results? You have no idea how ecstatic this makes me!”

Vesan tore his eyes away from the water and looked up at Ghirahim. “Go get it.” 

“Hm? Oh yes. Just a moment.” He raised a hand as if to snap.

“No,” Vesan said sharply, narrowing his eyes at Ghirahim. The demon paused, his grin melting into a look of confusion. “Jump down there and get it. Then bring it back to me.”

Ghirahim let his hand drop slowly to his side, head tilting slightly as a crooked smile tugged at his lips. “Well, aren’t we a bold little prince today? But who am I to argue with my master?”

Without waiting for a response, he turned, walked to the cliff’s edge with unhurried grace, and leapt.

–

Vesan was still buzzing from the revelation of his magic by the time Ghirahim returned. He had shifted around to face the path while he sat and waited, his guilt driving him to draft apologies in his head for going too far.

Water dripped from Ghirahim’s cloak, each step sending little droplets flying off into the dirt. His hair clung to his cheekbones in messy strands. Somehow, he still managed to look elegant even after his dive. Not only that, he looked completely unbothered. Worse, he looked pleased.

“Did you miss me?” he asked, tone light, as though he hadn’t just swan-dived into a river at Vesan’s command.

Vesan pressed his lips together and said nothing. Of the many apologies he'd rehearsed in his mind, not a single one survived the smug look on Ghirahim’s face. Instead, he clicked his tongue against his teeth and held out his hand expectantly.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Ghirahim said, placing the flute delicately into Vesan’s hand as though he hadn’t been the one to hurl it off the cliff in the first place. “Look, I even kept it dry for you. No harm, no foul. You should be thanking me.”

Vesan’s fingers curled tightly around the flute. Part of him still wanted to snap at Ghirahim or maybe have him jump down again so he could wash that smirk off his face… But it was hard to argue with results.

“I don’t know what that was,” he muttered instead, eyes fixed on the instrument in his hand. “Or how I did it.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“It will be.” Ghirahim offered, beginning to wring the water out of his cloak. “Eventually. I have the utmost faith. Now, shall we continue sparring now that you've unlocked your magical potential?"

Vesan stared up and Ghirahim before letting out the biggest, most dramatic sigh he could muster. "Fine, help me up. Let's go again."

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Before, when he’d sparred with Ghirahim, the frustration had nearly broken him. No matter how hard he tried, it felt like he was swinging in circles - like he was just flailing hopelessly against Ghirahim's blade and falling short every time. He’d wanted to sit down right there in the dirt, throw his sword away, and maybe have a tantrum for good measure. But now... now that he’d finally used his magic for the first time, something had changed. A desperate kind of hope had taken root in his chest. It felt like spotting water on the horizon after days in the desert. He refused to believe it could be a mirage. He wouldn't allow it.

By now, Vesan’s breath came ragged, his chest heaving as he tried to force enough air into his burning lungs to propel him into his next strike. Sweat clung to his skin, sticky beneath his clothes, and strands of hair had plastered themselves across his face. Even the hilt of his sword felt like it would slip out from his sweat slicked palm at any moment. Ghirahim noticed, too, his gaze snapping to Vesan's hand as the sword slipped down another fraction.

Vesan adjusted quickly, forcing his numb fingers to tighten around the hilt before it could fall.

"Do you need a moment?" 

Vesan shook his head, breathing too hard to bother with trying to form words. Ghirahim gave him a moment anyway, remaining as still as a statue, his blade at the ready. 

The Gerudo let the sword dip slightly, just for a second, and closed his eyes. 

Come on magic... 

He reached inward, searching for whatever thread of magic he'd managed to grasp before without even trying. So far he hadn't been able to find it again since catching the flute, but he needed to figure this out now. There was only so long that Princess Zelda could wait for him to get his act together. 

Vesan squeezed his eyes together even tighter, a dull throb of pain blooming behind them. He imagined the pain like a forcefield trying to keep him out, so he pushed into it, breathing through ache until he broke through to the other side. His eyes snapped open, the throb in his skull pounding in time with his heartbeat. Despite it, he felt relief wash over him as he held his sword back up. Shadow coiled at his fingertips, curling like smoke along his wrist and winding around the hilt of his blade. He willed the strands of shadow to become more solid. Then, with little more than a thought, he commanded the shadows to wind their way down his forearm and up across the hilt, binding him to his sword.

Across from him, Ghirahim stirred. "Oh," The demon breathed, a delighted grin creeping across the his face. He tilted his head slightly as he eyes Vesan, his gaze sharp and filled with barely concealed glee, "There you are. Don't stop with just that. Show me what you can do."

The shadows surged in response, coiling up the length of his scimitar like hungry snakes, quick to close the gap between them and his enemy. The Gerudo narrowed his eyes at Ghirahim, body angling lower ever so slightly, muscles drawing taut. Like a spring. If he was in the mindset to process his own actions, he might’ve realized it wasn’t really the shadows that were eager. But it was all him. At this moment, there was nothing he wanted more but to wind himself up tight and then strike with everything he had in him.

All at once, Vesan exploded into action. The first blow was clumsy - just sheer force and speed, but no form. He recovered quickly, pivoting into a second strike, then a third.  From there, he didn’t let up. He hammered Ghirahim with blow after blow, as fast as his body would allow. With each swing, the shadows snapped forward, lashing at Ghirahim with more and more force and dexterity, cutting off any attempt to retaliate.

For the first time, Ghirahim was forced to take a step back.

The demon laughed. It wasn't a mocking laugh. Or just a generally amused one. It was more like manic delight. It burst from behind his teeth like a thrill he just couldn't contain. “That’s it,” Ghirahim goaded, grinning wide enough to bare teeth. Vesan's scimitar crashed into Ghirahim's blade, the scream of metal on metal reverberating in the air. “Don't even think about holding back. Where's the rest of that magic?"

"I'm trying!" Vesan snapped back, his lip curling up into a snarl. He yanked his sword back, chest heaving from the relentless pace he'd been trying to keep thus far. He paced around Ghirahim, circling him like a predator testing its footing. His blade hung loose at his side, still tethered to his arm with shadow. Vesan poured more shadow over it as he paced, sharpening it into a weapon of its own, the scimitar forming the core.

Ghirahim watched him in silence, eyes tracking every step. He let the silence stretch. Let Vesan breathe and stretch his magic. Then, in a blink, Ghirahim snapped forward, closing the distance between them, sabre aiming a clean slash across Vesan's unguarded chest. Vesan's instinct and training kicked in immediately, but "immediate" wasn't quick enough to bring his blade up in time. Instead, the shadows surged up his arm and across his torso, cushioning him from the worst of the blow that knocked him clear off his feet and sent him rolling across the dirt. 

He hit the ground hard. Actually, he hit the ground a hard a couple of times, bouncing once or twice before skidding to a stop in a cloud of dust. For a second he just lay there, coughing and dazed. His vision swam at the edged and his right shoulder was definitely hurt, but he barely registered it over the deep, radiating ache in his ribs where the strike had found its mark. Clearly, Ghirahim wasn’t holding back quite like he had been before. Guess he trusted Vesan to protect himself more now.

Vesan didn’t waste too much time lying around. He grit his teeth and forced himself upright. His diadem had slipped low, hanging crooked across his brow and threatening to block his vision. Strands of hair clung to his face and tumbled down over his shoulders, sweat-slick and dust-streaked. He shoved the loose locks of hair back with his free hand, wincing as the muscles in his chest shifted. Every part of him protested - his ribs, his shoulder, his muscles. He tasted copper and his headache was starting to come back with a vengeance. He wasn't going to call it quits just yet, though. 

He made his way back up to his feet and took a step forward. A jolt of pain shot up his body, threatening to make his knees buckle. So Vesan dragged the shadows further across his body, wrapping them around his legs like makeshift braces to keep him upright.

The fuzziness at the edges of his vision wasn't going away, turning the corners of his world soft and blurry leaving him with a clear view of only what was directly ahead of him. 

Ghirahim.

Vesan's whole world was the pain, the magic, and Ghirahim.

"Well?" Ghirahim demanded, his cloak billowing as readied another strike.

Propelled more by magic than his own magic, Vesan roared back into action, falling onto Ghirahim with another volley of rapid-fire strikes, pain be damned. Ghirahim laughed again with all the musicality of crashing cymbals, the sound goading Vesan to keep fighting, coaxing more and more violence from Vesan's ragged body. His eyes, as ink-dark as Vesan's magic, were locked onto the Gerudo Prince with such unwavering attention that it felt almost devotional. Pure rapture was etched into Ghirahim's sharp features. 

Vesan's body was only going to hold up for so long, though - and if he gave Ghirahim another chance to land a good hit, he knew he wasn't going to get back up any time soon. If at all. He had to pour everything he had into one decisive blow to end this. He just needed to time it right.

Switching tactics, Vesan allowed Ghirahim to take the offensive and hoping that he could block a few strikes while he laid the groundwork for his counterattack.

Their blades clashed once.

Twice.

Each hit jarred through his bones, but he held fast, pushing back just hard enough to keep Ghirahim from fully overwhelming him.

The next time their blades met, Vesan shifted. Shadows surged from his weapon, swallowing Ghirahim’s sabre in a sudden coil of darkness. The tendrils wrapped tight, locking both Ghirahim's sword in place. Then, Vesan pulled his right hand away from his body, dragging a mass of dark magic with it. He thrust it forward. The magic exploded forward, a web of dark vines crawling over one another in a wild, frenzied surge. It struck Ghirahim square in the chest. Hard enough to lift him off his feet and send him crashing backwards, the sabre torn from his grip.

What Vesan would have given to see Ghirahim's face then.

Unfortunately, that was the last of what he had in him.

His vision blinked out the moment the strike connected, the shadows scattering into nothing. His knees buckled beneath him uselessly and he collapsed face-first into the dirt, both blades clattering down into the dirt beside him.

--

Ghirahim hit the ground hard enough to feel it.

He stayed where he landed for a few moments, blinking up at the sky as the dust settled around him. His sword was gone from his grip, stolen from his grasp by his novice master.

Laughter burst out from him once again, his whole body shaking with it. 

"Oh, finally,” Ghirahim gasped, pushing himself upright once the laughter subsided. His hair was a mess, his cloak twisted halfway off his shoulders. Not that he cared. Instead, he drew his attention across the clearing, to Vesan, who was currently lying face down in the dirt. He chuckled a bit again. "We need to work on that dreadful habit of yours, Vesan. This is hardly the time for a nap."

He snapped his fingers and vanished, reappearing a moment later at the sleeping Gerudo’s side. Dropping into a crouch, he reached out and rolled Vesan onto his back.

“Eugh. What a mess…” Ghirahim grimaced, immediately beginning to brush away the dirt caked onto the sweat and blood streaked across Vesan’s face.

“You,” he muttered, “are a disaster.”

Vesan's resting face wasn't exactly peaceful. His features were scrunched up with pain and his breathing was still ragged. Now that Ghirahim was coming down from the euphoria of their little sparring match, he wondered if he pushed the boy just a teeny, tiny bit too far...

Well. If he had, it had still been worth it to see that wild look on his face and watch him come into his power. Even now, he couldn't wait for next time.

Next time, he'd make him put on the mask.

Ghirahim shuddered at the thought, closing his eyes for a moment as he imagined the boy with his fangs and horns, wreathed in darkness. Practically a real demon, just as Demise was.

He smoothed a finger over Vesan's brow. "Well. A little more pathetic looking than Demise, but you have plenty of charm to make up for it."

Ghirahim shifted a bit, humming cheerfully as he hooked one hand under Vesan's neck and the other under his knees before standing up with the boy in tow. Rather than walk back to the inn parading his infirm master in front of the village of Hylia's Sheikah worms, Ghirahim opted to teleport back to their room.

Slowly, he laid Vesan down in his bed, resting his head gently on the pillow. Once Vesan was settled, he took the jug of water from the nightstand and a cloth and got to work tidying his master up as he rested. He even made sure to remove his jewelry and the ties in his hair, arranging his belongings on the night stand. "Well, aren't I the most devoted servant a prince could as for?" Ghirahim asked the air, drawing Vesan's blanket up around his shoulders. "I'll even go get you medicine from your favourite little Sheikah pup. No need to thank me. You just wait here and rest up, alright? Alright. Good."

Ghirahim patted Vesan's chest twice - lightly - before getting up and leaving the Gerudo to rest up.

Chapter Text

Perhaps after Vesan defeated Demise’s latest Calamity, Ghirahim would be granted a selfish wish.

It wouldn’t be much to ask. Hardly a favor at all.

He simply wished to be allowed to return to Kakariko one day and raze this irksome blemish of a village from the Surface. Along with each and every one of its residents. He imagined the quaint little houses splintering and crackling, engulfed in flame, the wooden walls and arched collapsing in on themselves and crumbling to the dirt. He’d burn the fields, too, and salt the earth so that nothing would ever grow here again. In their final, gasping moments, they would kneel at his feet and weep deliciously and he would show them that he was not a creature of mercy.

It would be an act of charity, he would argue, who would truly mind the annihilation of the Sheikah? Sure, the other Hylians might balk at first. They might whine. But he would remind them that while the rest of Hyrule suffered, the Sheikah stayed snug in their cozy little village, protected under a web of protective charms, tucked safely in a crack of the mountain. They were better off without these selfish little rats.

Ghirahim would pretend he was doing it out of Good - because Vesan was Good - but truthfully, he just despised this place. 

The air made his skin itch. It made his bones itch. His soul . 

Inside the inn, the sensation was dull enough for him to ignore. But out here, in the open, the oppressive web of goddess magic crawled over him - up his arms and back down his legs… from his palms to the soles of his feet. It wasn’t strong enough to hurt. But it lodged in the hollow of his chest. A deep, relentless irritation.

He exhaled slowly, as if that might ease his discomfort. It didn’t. The charms clacked innocently in the breeze overhead and his lip curled in silent disgust but kept walking. The villagers, perhaps sensing his disdain, gave him a wide berth as he moved through the village. Wider than when he was safely tucked away by Vesan’s side, the prince a buffer between them.

Finally, he reached the door to the chief’s house. Ghirahim didn’t bother with ceremony. He rapped his knuckles once against the worn wooden door - more out of habit than respect - then pushed the door open without waiting for an answer.

The scent hit him first. Herbs. Old wood. Ash from incense long burned out. A cloying blend that set his teeth on edge. Made his gorge rise. Magic clung to the space, faint but present - woven through the walls, laced beneath the floorboards, threaded through the air like a net meant to trap and tangle demons just like him.

He snorted. 

Not just like him. Inferior to him. 

A little pip of noise drew Ghirahim’s attention. The source was the lesser Impa - the young, shy one with the less offensive face. She stared at Ghirahim with wide eyes, her hands trembling around the pillow she held. She was frozen in place, wearing her fear plainly on her face - incapable of hiding it. Ghirahim thought that maybe of all the Sheikah, she might have been the best one, actually. She was good at being afraid.

Her gaze flicked past him, brow knitting in confusion. She was looking for Vesan.

“It’s just me today,” Ghirahim said, voice smooth, the smile on his lips a little too sharp to be kind. “Vesan has turned in a bit early today - growing princes need their beauty sleep.”

The Sheikah whose name Ghirahim had never bothered to commit to memory swallowed thickly, as if swallowing her tongue. She squeezed the floor pillow she held with her little fists in a way that reminded him just a little of his master. Graciously, Ghirahim allowed her plenty of time to steel her nerves enough to speak, but she didn’t, so he continued.

“Actually, I would like some of those little healing salves you keep. Something for pain, too.”

Concern apparently outweighing anxiety, the girl decided to speak this time. “O-of course.” Her voice was barely audible. Then a little louder, “I could bring-”

“No need.” He cut in, his eyes narrowing at her eagerness. He was changing his mind about her. She was probably the worst Sheikah. None of the others were so interested in Vesan. “I’m more than capable of taking care of my own master. Just bring the supplies to me.” 

She gave a shaky nod and turned away obediently, jamming the pillow in her hands onto the shelf before retreating to another shelf. She fumbled with the objects there, glass bottles and little ceramic jars clinking as she moved. 

“Is he cut?” 

“Hm?” 

“Um, c-cut. Does he um… n-need bandages?”

“Oh no, just a few scratches. I was very gentle with him.”

She paused, her fingers caught mid-air over a tall, straight sided glass jar with a flat wooden lid. “A broken bone?”

“Of course not.”

“Just… pain?”

Ghirahim’s expression was quickly growing dimmer. “Does it need to be so specific ? Just pain. Just give me something to fix him.”

The girl wrung her hands together, glancing back at Ghirahim. “I should come look... Just to make sure-”

Ghirahim’s first instinct was to snap at her, irritation bouncing around his ribcage, but he held his tongue. She wasn’t a threat. Probably wasn’t even capable of deception. No - if she had worked up the audacity to speak up, it was probably necessary.

The demon exhaled slowly, smoothing his expression into something that almost passed for polite. “Fine.” He relented, his voice flat. He spun on his heel, shoving the door back open. “Hurry up.”

–

Vesan lay right where Ghirahim had left him—half-buried in the nest of blankets, hair damp with sweat, face ashen and pale. His breath came steady but shallow, his rest fitful. Ghirahim wondered whether Vesan was simply dreaming, or if he had slipped away in sleep to that supposed realm of the dead he so often spoke of.

Without another word, Ghirahim snapped out of sight, reappearing at Vesan’s side. He dampened a cloth and carefully dabbed the sweat from Vesan’s brow, his touch light, precise.

The girl lingered just inside the doorway, frozen as if waiting for permission to move. After a few moments the weight of the girl’s presence grated on him. He didn’t look at her, didn’t stop what he was doing. He just spoke, the edge in his voice as sharp as his blade. “Well?”

He heard the shuffle of her feet, the word spurring her to action. Once by the bed, she dipped her hand into a pocket and retrieved a small bottle. She unstoppered it with a pop and waited for Ghirahim to move aside before tipping the contents into Vesan’s mouth.

“What happened to him…?”

“Just a friendly bout of sparring. He pushed himself too hard with his magic.”

Her face twitched toward Ghirahim slightly, her mouth dropping open into a soft ‘o’ of shock. “He was able to…” She trailed off, focusing her attention back to Vesan, apparently wanting to hold a conversation with Ghirahim just as much as he wanted to hold one with her. Instead, the Sheikah carefully untangled Vesan’s limbs from the blanket, inspecting his body for damage. 

Ghirahim watched for a moment, jaw tight. The longer she lingered, the more his irritation simmered… slow at first, then rising in him like a tide of bile. Did she honestly believe her fumbling little hands could accomplish what he could not? All she had done was give him a little medicine and ogle him stupidly. Ghirahim could have done that .

“Are you quite finished?” He hissed, shifting closer, the space between them shrinking like a noose tightening. . He had half a mind to draw his blade on her, only the thought of Vesan’s disapproval stilling his hand. It was unfortunate that Vesan had grown fond of these people - of this useless girl. He settled for words. “Or do you plan to fawn over him all evening? You aren’t even doing anything.”

She shrunk a bit under his withering gaze, but to his surprise, she didn’t scurry away like the vermin she was. She stayed rooted to the spot, trembling but defiant.

Defiant in the pitiful way that insects sometimes lift their little stingers before the boot comes down.

“H-he’s overused his magic… Like before, um i-in front of Lady Impa. Maybe, a little worse this time….” she said, glancing down at Vesan. Her brows furrowed, creases painting worry across her features. In spite of himself, he found that her worry was contagious. She risked a glance at Ghirahim. “I’ve heard stories um, about a guardian spirit of this village somewhere nearby. She um, she might have the kind of magic that can help him…”

His eyes narrowed, mind already turning, seizing the thread of her suggestion. A guardian spirit. He loathed the idea that he needed yet another hand to tend to Vesan, but he could tell the Gerudo was still in pain, despite the medicine the Sheikah had fed him. 

A small pang of something stuck into his heart, unwelcome and sharp.

If he didn’t know any better, he have mistaken it for guilt .

“Fine,” he spat, “If there’s even a scrap of truth to your village folklore, then stop stammering and tell me where to start looking.”

Chapter Text

Gone were the days of simple torture. Ghirahim, once so practiced at prying secrets free under threat of pointed steel, now found himself forced to resort to the most dreadful method of all: asking politely.

He detested it - almost as much as he detested that worthless Sheikah girl he’d left behind to tend to Vesan. To think he almost considered her the least objectionable amongst her people! Yet none of them sent him off to chase a fairytale; that honour belonged to her alone. She couldn't even manage to offer him a direction to go by. 

The humiliation prickled beneath his skin, restless as a nest of ants, as he skulked around the village, forced to lower himself and speak with villagers who flinched from his gaze, refusing to meet his eye or lend the smallest scrap of help. He layered on the charm, affecting friendliness each time he approached someone. It changed nothing. Their discomfort around him was palpable. On any other day - even earlier this very day - he might have relished it, might have admired the sharpness of their fear and taken comfort in the reminder that he was still something to dread.

But today he needed them.

He needed them and yet each one wriggled out of his grasp, excusing themselves from his presence with shriveled voices to retreat to their houses one after another. As if they could see into his heart and knew how he detested them. It was karmic.

Ghirahim clenched his teeth, nearly grinding them together, a muscle twitching in his jaw. If only his mask worked both ways. If only he could slip on Vesan’s features, become the mild-mannered, soft-spoken prince whose demeanor inspired more pity than fear. They wouldn’t have recoiled from him .

For the first time, Ghirahim thought that Vesan’s tender nature might not be a weakness to be overcome, but a strength. Something to be protected - that he shouldn’t be allowed to lose.

Dusk crept across Kakariko Village, swallowing the last tatters of sunlight as they bled away behind the cliffs. Lanterns blinked to life along the street, glowing soft and gold, yet only serving to emphasize the pools of darkness where the light couldn’t reach. The shadows grew long and hungry, stretching out lazily to consume the dying light. 

Ghirahim found his thoughts circling Vesan again, reminded by the shadows of the prince’s newfound magic. Vesan’s shadows had been more ravenous than any in Kakariko, ravenous and alive in a way that made Ghirahim ache to witness them. They were raw and wild and eager to lash out in a way Vesan was absolutely not. 

A shudder worked its way up his spine as he wandered through the village, the memory of the fight numbing his usual discomfort borne of the wards and charms, drowning out the hint of goddess magic in the air. Thinking about it, Ghirahim could almost feel it again: that dizzying sense of euphoria, sharp and electrifying, as Vesan fought him. He’d pushed for Vesan to show him more, to bring his ecstasy to greater heights, to fight harder- all else be damned. This magic, too, was Vesan’s strength and Ghirahim was more familiar, more comfortable, more thrilled with this type of strength - this power.  

Maybe he’d pushed too far. But wasn’t that what Vesan needed? 

To stop holding back. 

To stop being afraid of what was his by right.

But Vesan was more fragile than his old master - fragile in ways Demise could never have been. Or Ganondorf. Or this latest Calamity, whatever it was. This incarnation didn’t need a sword; he needed a mask. 

The thought left a bitter aftertaste to his reverie. Guilt wormed its way back in, burrowing so deep in Ghirahim’s chest that he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to pry it back out. Had he been so busy thinking of himself as a sword spirit that he forgot he wasn’t one anymore? Was he wrong to encourage Vesan to fight on his own two feet?

Ghirahim stalked down the path, trying to shove his thoughts into a tiny corner in the back of his mind. The hush of evening pressed in, broken only by the faint clatter of shutters closing as families settled into their homes. Anyone worth speaking to had already slipped away into bedtime routines, tending their hearths and crawling to their beds, leaving Ghirahim to pace through the silent village alone.

No wait. 

There was someone left.

Ghirahim spotted his next victim, his pace picking up. It was a man with a soldier’s posture, older, with juts of ragged white hair bristling from his cheeks and beneath his chin. Ghirahim recognized him; he’d seen him often enough standing guard outside Impa’s home.

He measured the distance between them as he stalked his prey, eyes narrowing. Then - snap - he rematerialized a few paces ahead of the man, cutting off his path with a predatory ease.

“You,” Ghirahim began, frowning at the man’s startled expression before catching himself. He dripped a bit of honey into his voice, twisting his expression into a smile. “I’ve seen you in front of Chief Impa’s home, right? I was wondering if you could help me.”

The man - Vesan probably knew his name - recovered from the initial surprise quickly. He was well-trained. He sized Ghirahim up, eyes cataloguing the demon, as if collecting every immaculate detail and filing it away somewhere in the back of his head. Ghirahim almost felt flattered by the attention, except that it didn’t exactly feel like the man was appreciating him. More like studying him. Like a bug.

Regardless, as the man he neither reached for his blade - nor did he run off elsewhere - Ghirahim considered this a rousing success.

“How can I help you?” the man asked at last, his tone polite yet guarded - wary of him, but not so wary that he felt the need to act on it.

Ghirahim’s smile widened, though the effort of holding it made his jaw ache. “Well, I’m sure you’re already familiar with who I serve. His highness, the Prince of the Gerudo?” Ghirahim paused, waiting for acknowledgement which came in the form of a curt nod, “Right. Alas, unfortunately my master has taken ill. Nothing too serious, of course, but I hate to see him bear even a moment of pain. I’ve heard there’s a guardian spirit here who might be able to provide some assistance, if only I can find them….”

“I’m sorry to hear that - I hope Prince Vesan recovers soon,” the man frowned, his tone appropriately tinged with sympathy and concern. It felt genuine; the man’s guarded stance had eased just ever so very slightly as he spoke. “Is he… often ill?”

Ghirahim hadn’t expected the follow up question - it caught him off guard. He bristled, eyes narrowing slightly. Just tell me what I want to know, dog. “Perhaps something in the air here disagrees with him.” 

“Sorry, I mean no offense. It was just something I heard from Lady Paya. She worries for him.”

“Well, isn’t Lady Paya a considerate host. In fact, as it happens, she’s the one who’d mentioned the story of the guardian spirit. Just not where…” He trailed off, hoping to lure the man back to the point of the conversation.

“Did she? Well, actually they say the guardian spirit dwells up behind the hills, above the village.” The man nodded towards a direction and Ghirahim hungrily followed the movement, staring out towards the indicated darkness. “I hope if you find her, she can help Prince Vesan with his… illness.”

“Perfect! Thank you very much, ah-” Ghirahim tilted his head a bit, apologetically, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I recall your name. If you remind me, I’ll be sure not to forget again.”

“Dorian.”

“ Dorian. ” Ghirahim repeated, committing it to memory. He let silence stretch between them just long enough to be uncomfortable - watching Dorian the same way a cat would watch something small and twitching in the grass. The man held his gaze for a moment but was the first to look away. Nervous. “Thank you.”

Instinct told Ghirahim he should keep an eye on this one.

–

He would curse the name Dorian by morning. And Paya, too.

A night wasted searching the hills for some magic spring and all he’d come up empty handed. If there was some spirit or deity out here, it seemed to have no intention of revealing itself to him. More likely, these backwater fools had no idea what they were talking about in the first place and he’d just been swept up by folklore and superstition. 

Ghirahim returned to the inn with the fresh sting of failure stabbing holes into his pride. Vesan still lay in his bed, lost in his slumber, pale and unmoving. And Paya was still there, knelt beside him, her head propped up on the mattress, arms folded beneath her like a makeshift pillow.

The sight twisted like a knife in Ghirahim’s chest - rage, resentment, something he didn’t care to name. He reached back and gripped the door hard, swinging his arm back and slamming it shut, the sound cracking through the stillness of the room like a whip.

Paya jerked upright with a sharp breath, eyes wide. She pressed a hand to her chest and looked around, disoriented. When she spotted Ghirahim, she jumped and fear flickered across her face - but it melted away all at once and was replaced with something else: concern. She looked back at the bed where Vesan still slept, oblivious to the noise and mounting tension in the room. 

“Did you… find her?”

Ghirahim spat out a humourless laugh. He was long past the point of civility. “Find her?” He echoed, taking on a mocking tone, “No, of course not. Your so-called guardian was remarkably absent from the hills of this village - just like that apparent spring you told me about. I have to wonder… did you mistake the bedtime stories of that doddering old hag for truth? Or was it your intent to send me on a wild goose chase?”

Paya flinched as if he’d struck her, the color draining from her already pale cheeks. Her mouth dropped open as if she meant to speak, but her words seemed to fail her. Paya gawped a moment then averted her eyes. 

“I-I didn’t- The stories… the guardian spirit-” The words tumbled out, half imperceptible. 

“Get out.” 

“I-” 

“ Now. While I’m still being polite.”

She stood quickly, clumsily, nearly tripping over herself as she all but fled the room, the door thudding shut behind her. Silence settled in her wake.

Ghirahim crossed to the bed in a few impatient strides, casting a cool, appraising glance down at Vesan. Not much had changed, except that Paya had tended to Vesan’s swordhand while Ghirahim had been away, wrapping it in neat layers of cloth. Ghirahim lifted the prince’s hand, turning it in his own to inspect the work. The faint scent of crushed herbs and something sharply medicinal rose from the bandages. He lifted the end by Vesan’s wrist, peeking beneath. The skin beneath was raw and red, but there was nothing too dire. Vesan’s palm was calloused enough to bear it. Ghirahim set the boy’s hand back down at his side and sighed.

There was nothing to do now but wait.

Time crawled forward, achingly slow.

Ghirahim paced, then stilled, then circled the small room once more. Sunlight poured in through the window, painting a wide band of gold across the scuffed wooden floor. It inched its way across the room, marking the slow passage of hours with each shift of its angle.

Eventually, the restlessness dulled into resignation. Ghirahim sat at the foot of the bed, picking at a loose thread in the coverlet, watching the play of light on the linens and the faint movement of dust motes trailing lazily through the air. The soft murmur of the village filtered in - footsteps on gravel, distant voices, the clucking of cuccos - indifferent to the sleeping prince and his mask spirit.

Ghirahim hated waiting. The idle hours gnawed at him, scraping his nerves raw. He had never been made for stillness, never learned the art of patience; action suited him, even if it meant violence or chaos. Yet, for once, he didn’t feel like complaining about it. The waiting felt like penance. 

He was so far resigned to wait, that the sudden insistent banging on the door startled him, cutting through his thoughts like a blade. His irritation sparked instantly, roaring to life like a tinder on dry brush. For a moment he just glared at the door until another round of knocking started up, followed by someone whispering something then: “Hey, come on, Ghirahim! Open up!”

Without bothering to disguise his annoyance, Ghirahim vanished from the bedside and reappeared at the door, the light around him sparkling and darkening like cut gems. He yanked it open with a force that rattled the hinges, cold eyes sweeping over the pair of girls waiting on the other side. One, Paya, instantly shrunk back, making herself small against the wall. The other, Linkle, met his glare head-on, her bright blue eyes sparking with defiance.

She was covered in filth; mud caked thick on her boots and drying in crumbling patches across her tunic. Strands of hair clung to her brow haphazardly and the sharp tang of earth wafted in with her, yet she didn’t show the slightest sign of embarrassment for it. Instead, she squeezed herself past Ghirahim and waltzed right into the inn room.

“Sorry…” Paya mumbled, withering again as Ghirahim’s glare settled on her, heavy and oppressive, before flicking over to Linkle instead. 

“Can I help you?” He asked, vanishing and reappearing squarely in Linkle’s path, cutting her off before she could take another step towards the bed.

She snorted. “You can’t even help yourself . But I can help you .” There was an easy bravado in her voice that begged to be crushed, but Ghirahim restrained himself. He watched as she reached into a pouch at her hip then triumphantly pulled out a bottle.

A glowing bottle. 

A bottle filled with-

Ghirahim snatched it from her grasp, holding it high and ignoring her shouted protests as she tried to grab it back from him. He ignored her, studying the contents in utter disbelief. Inside, a fairy drifted aimlessly, its delicate light spinning slow circles in the glass - not unlike the dust motes he’d watched swirling around by the light of the window mere moments before the girls’ arrival. 

Realization sank through him like a stone. She’d found the town’s guardian. It must have been a Great Fairy. 

She’d succeeded where he had failed. 

“Give it back! Do you have any idea how much that cost to get?” 

Still ignoring Linkle’s incessant complaints, Ghirahim spun on his heel and took two long strides to the bed. He leaned close before uncorking the bottle with a sharp twist. The fairy seized the opportunity, instantly escaping the confines of its glass prison. Yet instead of leaving, it was drawn to Vesan, circling him and scattering its magic over the prince’s still form. Ghirahim watched in silence as the fairy’s glow soaked into Vesan’s skin and vanished.

Instantly, it seemed that Vesan’s pain had eased, his breath relaxed and his body no longer shuddering. Then, slowly, Vesan’s red lashes fluttered, his eyes rocking back and forth beneath his lids before they parted, revealing his golden-amber eyes. Colour flushed back into his cheeks. 

Ghirahim stood rooted there, caught between relief and that slow, sinking ache of having been outdone.

Linkle pushed past him yet again and Ghirahim couldn’t even feel indignant about it. 

“Prince Vesan! How are you feeling?”

Confusion flashed across Vesan’s face as he blinked against the light, propping himself up slowly. He glanced first at Ghirahim, then at Linkle, before his gaze dropped to the tangled blanket in his lap. Color crept up his cheeks, blooming scarlet beneath his sun-kissed skin as he seemed to register his predicament - caught off-guard in his bed disheveled and unpresentable; not a single gem or jewel adorning him, his long tresses of red hair completely loose and wild around his shoulders.

Recognizing his duty, Ghirahim cleared his throat, drawing an annoyed look from Linkle. He placed a hand on each of her shoulders. “Well, thank you very much for stopping by, your generosity is so very much appreciated. Alas, while I am positively overwhelmed with gratitude, I would like to request just a brief audience with his highness in private, I’m sure you understand.” He steered her out of the room as he spoke and once both feet were safely past the threshold - and before she could finish rounding on him, her mouth already opening, eyes flashing with protest - he swung the door shut between them, silencing any objections.

“Did you bandage my hand…?” 

Ghirahim turned his head, watching as Vesan unraveled the bandages from his swordhand, revealing newly uninjured, perfectly healthy skin. 

“I guess I should catch you up.”

Chapter Text

Until he'd met Ghirahim, Vesan had never known that someone could wield a comb with the same grace and finesse as a blade. Was there anyone else in all of history that knew this secret talent of Ghirahim's? Somehow he doubted that Ghirahim had ever lavished anyone else with this particular brand of attention. Maybe it was only the lingering warmth of the fairy’s healing or Vesan’s elation at having finally started to use magic that was warping his emotions, but he felt, against his better judgement, just a little special under that attention.

Not only that, but the more Ghirahim griped about the previous night's hardships - of having to mingle with the Sheikah and being made to skulk through the damp, dingy outskirts of the village - the more it made Vesan smile. Not because it was humorous to imagine Ghirahim having to put up with things he hated 

“Oh, is my agony pleasing to you, Vesan?”

Ghirahim must have noticed his expression. Vesan inclined his head just a bit, peering up through a loose curtain of hair at his companion and let his smile deepen, “Of course it is.”

The demon rolled his eyes and let out a melodramatic sigh, combing through a tangle in Vesan's hair with just a bit more force than necessary. Vesan winced a little, his head yanked slightly to the side, but laughed, drawing Ghirahim's attention. “Well, aren't you in a good mood. I'm glad my pain can bring you such endless joy.”

“Why wouldn't I be happy? You went out and suffered for my sake. And all of your own accord.”

Ghirahim didn’t reply right away. His brows knit together so subtly that anyone but Vesan might have missed the change in his expression. Then his lip twitched just a bit, as if he wanted to say something but had immediately changed his mind. His hand stilled in Vesan's hair.

Vesan's own smile faltered. “What's wrong?”

The shadow that had passed over Ghirahim's features vanished instantly. He swatted Vesan's head lightly with the comb, lips curled into a signature smirk. “Aside from the state of your dress? Hand me your gem. Your beloved friends are probably dying of boredom in that hall as we speak - if they haven't just given up and wandered off back to their hovels, that is.”

The prince made no move to fetch the diadem. Instead, he twisted around and stared up into Ghirahim's dark eyes. “No, you were going to say something. What is it?” Ghirahim's expression didn’t change. As he opened his mouth - likely to try and shrug off Vesan's question or make some sort of joke - Vesan interrupted him, “I can keep them waiting as long as it takes for you to give me a serious answer.”

The smirk shifted into a scowl. “You're insufferable.”

Vesan said nothing.

“You're acting like a petulant child, Vesan.”

Silence.

Ghirahim glared at Vesan, meeting his silence for a long stretch before finally throwing his hands in the air and stepping to the side to retrieve the diadem himself. “Fine! I'll admit it.” He glanced over at the door, hesitating for just a moment before continuing, his lips unmoving. I failed you yesterday. I pushed you past the brink of what you could handle. And when I tried with all my power to find a single measly Great Fairy, I failed. That's what's wrong.

“That's it?”

“What do you mean ‘that's it,’” he hissed, aloud this time, his expression showing his rage plainly on his face though it obviously wasn't directed at Vesan. In fact, his gaze wasn't directed at him either. Instead, he chose to glare at the wall, his teeth bared.

Vesan was surprised by Ghirahim's feelings. He hadn't expected Ghirahim to have regretted any part of the spar nor to be truly bothered by something as little as not finding a fairy. Worry and shame and guilt and self-loathing were such Vesan emotions to have and they didn't suit Ghirahim at all. He hoped he wasn't rubbing off on the demon…

I am supposed to be your right hand! Ghirahim continued, the thoughts projected into Vesan's mind as clearly as if they had been spoken aloud. The storm of emotions raged across his features even more strongly, his sharp features twisting with pain. Vesan heard something crack - a small sound - but wasn't sure what it was. Before he could think to find out, Ghirahim's voice once more invaded his mind. I am supposed to protect you! If I can't do even this much-

“Ghirahim.”

“What!”

“I'm left-handed.”

Ghirahim froze, his expression shifting into something between indignation and disbelief. It was an improvement over the anger and shame and hurt…

Vesan let him stew for a beat before continuing: “Since I'm left-handed, isn't it normal if my right hand is a little… clumsy? In the end, didn't Linkle bring that fairy because of you? And isn't it because of your efforts that I finally found my magic?” Vesan lifted his left hand to emphasize his point, wisps of ink dark shadow coalescing around his fingertips. “But I like that you feel guilty over me, so feel free to continue.”

Ghirahim frowned at Vesan, his near black eyes narrowing as they scrutinized Vesan. It made the back of his neck prickle to be studied so intensely and his bravado was starting to slip away a bit, but he forced himself not to shrink back or look away. If Ghirahim was feeling unsure, Vesan had to remain steady and strong. He had to prove that he was alright. Ghirahim hadn't failed him.

The tactic seemed to work. Ghirahim's shoulders relaxed, drooping slightly. He pushed a pale hand up, brushing his even paler hair back from his face with a sigh. In doing so, he seemed to remember that he'd been holding something in his other hand. He lifted it and uncurled his fingers.

Small shards of blue tumbled from his palm as he revealed the twisted and damaged diadem he'd picked up moments before. Vesan's stomach dropped and Ghirahim's expression darkened once more.

“It's fine.” Vesan blurted immediately, perhaps a bit too quickly. He was sounding a little less confident and controlled and maybe a bit too… desperate. Too pleading. Too placating. 

Ghirahim looked up at Vesan, then back at the broken diadem in his hand. A dry, humourless laugh escaped the demon's throat. “Failures on top of failures.”

“It's not that big of a deal.”

“Oh please. You don't need to coddle me.” Ghirahim walked over to the desk, dumping the broken jewelry there with little ceremony. Despite himself, Vesan's eyes lingered on the twisted pile of gold and sapphire rubble. The metal could probably be repaired - Isha could do it no problem. And a new gem affixed… But he would have to wait. Who knows when he'd be back to his hometown…

He sighed, looking over at Ghirahim and directing his thoughts towards him. Well, what's the alternative? What's done is done. I don't want all my possessions to end up broken - and you're acting shockingly fragile right now.

That earned him a snort of laughter from the demon. “Me? Fragile?” He crossed his arms, his back straightening, shoulders pushed back proudly as he looked back at Vesan again. “This was just a momentary lapse in decorum. I'm already past it.”

“Is it so wrong for me to want to care for my sword?”

“Your mask.” Ghirahim corrected, a strange look on his face. Vesan couldn't quite place it. “I haven't been a sword in ages.”

Vesan nodded slowly, unsure if the difference in terms actually mattered. Regardless of which word Ghirahim used to describe himself by, in a fight Ghirahim still manifested Vesan's right-hand blade, right? Perhaps it was some sort of mask spirit pride that was only coming out now that Ghirahim had exposed too much of his weakness. “Either way, you're my responsibility.”

At that, the demon rolled his eyes and began collecting the rest of Vesan's jewelry and a change of clothing, proving - perhaps unintentionally, but likely not - that Ghirahim was just as responsible for Vesan. 

The Gerudo prince stood, taking each item Ghirahim handed him and putting it on. With each gold ring and bracelet, he felt more whole - though the absence of the diadem at his forehead meant it was no longer possible for him to be complete. He shrugged on his desert cloak, pushing his longing for the broken jewelry out of his mind. As he'd said before: what's done is done. There was no use missing something he couldn't have back.

Once fully dressed, he glanced over at the vanity mirror, brushing a lock of loose hair behind his ear. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do. Without needing a cue, Ghirahim stepped over to the door and pulled it open. As he did, a jumble of blonde hair and bright blue fabric tumbled through the doorway, surprising Vesan.

"Uh... you ok, Linkle...?"

"I'm so sorry, Vesan!” Paya cried out from the hall, her hands flying up over her mouth, cheeks reddening from embarrassment. “I told her not to lean on the door…!"