Chapter Text
For five years a burnished hilt black as night lances from the sand, stiller than the dead waters around it. Nestled at the pommel is a ruby gem. Dull.
Crrrunch. Crrrrunch. Sssh.
A meandering bokoblin ambles to a stop before the sand-encrusted hilt. Something about it fascinates. The bokoblin shuffles closer, tilting its lopsided head. A low rumble reverberates under its feet.
Come closer. Yes. Closer.
Stubby clawed fingers brush against the hilt, shriveling rapidly from meaty red to pale yellow. The bokoblin’s cries wither. A once dull gem shines bright crimson.
Skyloft
Five years ago, Link wandered beneath the Goddess Statue and looked with awe upon a sword that glimmered with ethereal light. Presently Link stares at the empty mantle it once proudly struck from. The air within this chamber is cool and clammy, absent of all divine strain it may have once carried. Of late he has been finding himself here, staring aimlessly at the tablets, the lifeless goddess emblem against the floor.
“Link?”
Zelda.
“Hm?” Link only half turns to acknowledge her, nodding curtly.
“Gaepora wants to speak with you. It’s about the surface colony.”
Her voice is clipped. Formal. Link inclines his head, taking one last glance at the hollowed mantle.
~
“...bird problem,” Gaepora finishes. Link’s mind, even after so long, still reaches out for a ghost sword on his back.
“What about Pipit?” Pipit was one of the few who had proven himself competent against the surface monsters. Link had taught him all he knew, then sent him to guide their slowly expanding colony. Gaepora scratches his brow.
“He tried to handle a bokoblin nest on his own and…he’s recovering.” The words are spoken as if they are fragile glass. Everyone on the island it seems, has heard the screams of Link’s deepest night terrors.
“Fledge? Karane?”
Gaepora shakes his head.
“They’re busy. You’re going to have to go down.”
Link looks up at once, his blood rushing to his ears. For the past three years he’s been penned within Skyloft for “mental anguish,” as their best doctors try in vain to navigate the corroded twists of his mind. Three years ago they decided for his recovery, it was best to ban any further visits.
“Okay,” Link says. Gaepora’s eyes soften.
“I wouldn’t ask this of you if…if it wasn’t our only option. Please be—”
“—Careful?” Link smiles. Gaepora immediately steps back with a cough, shame coloring his skin.
“Yes, you can handle yourself. I don’t doubt it. But it has been some time.”
Some time.
“You’re different, Link. And I fear for the worse.” Zelda reaches for his hand. Link slowly lowers his sword, returns to Skyloft piece by piece.
“I’m…not.”
Surrounded by piles of empty stamina potions. Bits of broken glass. Training logs ripped to splinters.
“You need help, Link,” Zelda pleads, urging him to drop the sword. Link stares at his feet. He’s expecting to see blood there, slowly eddying through the floorboards, painting his shoes crimson. His eyes turn upwards.
“I know,” Link replies after a moment, somewhat blithely. Gaapora nods in that paternal way of his.
“I’ve made preparations. You’ll be leaving with Groose by the first light, and you’ll be returning by evening fall.” His face is firm as rock, leaving no room for argument. Link carefully inhales. Exhales.
“Okay,” he says again.
Lanayru
Metallic footsteps drag over bright green grass, leaving furrows of dirt. Labored breath rattles though dry air. Ghirahim barely has the presence of mind to be ashamed of his weakened state, desperately seeking out more monsters. His feet shuffle. Shuuuushunk. Skkkkkushunk. The gem on his chest yawns open and raw, glittering freshly red.
He freezes. A strange, sizzling burn tingles over his skin.
“Ohoho! What do we have here?”
The sizzle ramps up to a painful electricity, weaving around him into chains. Ghirahim snarls. His jaw grinds uncomfortably as he chokes out,
“Un…hand…me.”
“Your master is dead, didn’t you hear?”
Ghirahim remains defiant, straining his neck to stare the accursed Thunder Dragon in the eye. His skin begins to melt under the heat.
“My master will…rise again!!!” Ghirahim rasps, writhing as a slew of barbed stings dig under his metal flesh. Lanaryu strokes his beard thoughtfully. The pain subsides, but the chains remain. Ghirahim cranes his neck.
“You dithering goddess pet! Release me now or you shall live to r—”
Ghirahim’s mouth slams shut.
“I will have to summon my brethren for this!”
Two others swirl into existence, stirring cyclones of sand and dirt. Golden light blazes outwards. The water dragon, whom Ghirahim is greatly acquainted with, and the fire dragon, whom he knows very little of. They both glare down at him.
“What is this sniveling creature still doing here?!” The water dragon shrieks, lashing her tail. Her neck bends to leer at him, showing needled teeth.
“Yes. Why haven’t you killed him?” The fire dragon adds. Ghirahim tries to call his magic, but his reserves are as desolate as the sea around them. The thunder dragon’s eyes glint with mirth.
“I think death would be too easy a punishment, don’t you agree? For all the torment he has wrought.”
Ghirahim seethes. The outrage! The flagrant disrespect! His lips remain glued shut.
“Hm…what did you have in mind?” The water dragon muses, a sinister edge to her smile. The thunder dragon runs his claws down his unkempt beard.
“We could put him through the Hero’s trials,” the fire dragon suggests, crossing his arms. “Seal his wicked magic.”
The other two dragons look at eachother. They begin guffawing.
“That is a brilliant idea! Yes! Make him suffer what the Hero did!”
Once their irksome giggling subsides, they all fix their scaly gazes on Ghirahim.
~
The first thing Ghirahim does is discard the hat. To humiliate him further, they’ve dressed him up in a mockery of Link’s attire, though mercifully his tunic is white, not that horrid green. They’ve allowed him one weapon. Ghirahim furiously paces the field of grass around Skyview temple, swinging his sword into anything that stands still enough.
Each time he tries to leave, a golden barrier blooms.
After several frenzied attempts to break it, Ghirahim slowly pivots to examine the stairs before him.
“Do they think me some simpleton?!” He hisses, flinging a pebble at the mechanism over the door. It pings. Glows red. The door rattles open, shaking loose clouds of dust. Ghirahim scoffs. He saunters in, intending to complete whatever infernal task they have set for him in splendid time.
The stairs sink down into deep shadow. The smell of cool, musky air rises to his nose. Ghirahim sniffs and stomps down.
~
The monsters attack him, their eyes glowing goddess blue, and it irritates Ghirahim to no end. The creatures are dealt with easily.
“Pah. They think this is a trial?”
He swats a skulltula aside with a flick of his wrist, yawning as he strides past. A new chamber opens, one in the center of a circular room, walls rising close to the ceiling. Ghirahim kicks down the door and makes short work of the stalfos. A chest emerges from pure light, an obnoxious flair of the goddess.
“Well, if there is one thing you and I agree on your majesty, it’s exquisite presentation,” he mutters, reaching back to flick his non-existent cloak. Ghirahim’s expression sours even further. The chest contains a insectoid contraption he recalls seeing Link fly about, buzzing like a metal gadfly.
The rest of the temple goes by smoothly. Though the loss of his magic stings when he must crawl through narrow tunnels, swim through ice cold cave water, and cut through webbing, Ghirahim prides himself on his excellent agility. Finally, he makes it to a set of familiar double doors. A rush of irritation floods through him.
“What could they possibly pit me against in here? Another Link? Myself?” He scoffs. “Those wretched snakes must be giggling to themselves, how pitiful!”
Ghirahim finds his arm unwilling to lift. An emotion he hasn’t felt since being bound to Demise comes stirring from deep underneath his metal chest. He’s…nervous. Whatever awaits him here will be nothing but a bitter reminder of failure.
“Pah!”
He shoves open the door.
Click click click.
Ghirahim’s strides echo alone in the dull chamber, coated in a fine layer of dust. A few of the pots scattered around the perimeter have beetle carcasses beside them. He inhales the molder, tapping his fingers against his hilt with increasing speed.
“Out with you!”
Silence.
A loose brick in the ceiling allows a ray of light to peer inside, illuminating thousands of dust particles swirling in the air. Ghirahim slowly paces the room. He kicks a jar spitefully, sending it smashing against the wall. It shatters more quietly than it should. It seems the whole temple, without the goddess’s purpose, has begun to show its true age. Once resplendent paint faded to gray, tiles cracked, weeds sprouting between them. Ghirahim’s unease grows. He tries to break out, but the golden barrier fences him in.
“MY PATIENCE IS WEARING THIN!” Ghirahim spits. “ENOUGH OF THIS—TEASING!”
“Enough of this—teasing!” A faint voice replies.
“Who said that?!”
“Who said that?”
Ghirahim slashes his sword behind him, meeting nothing.
“A game then?” he chuckles. “I take pleasure in games.”
“I take pleasure in games too.”
Ghirahim whips around to face his own shadow, stretching spindle-thin, streaking across the wall. He watches as a black creature claws out of the silhouette. Large red eyes peel open with a metallic laugh just like his.
“I prefer to be indulged with my full title— Lord Ghirahim, but I’m not fussy.”
The creature steps towards him. Ghirahim’s lip curls in disgust.
“What is this mockery?”
“Mockery? I am as much as you as you are me!” The shadow laughs.
“Silence! I am the true demon lord, you are a mere plaything!” Ghirahim points his sword at it. “I’ll deal with you swiftly, as all abominations should be!”
“You call me an abomination? Look at yourself first! Demon Lord? Don’t make me giggle! You rescinded that power long ago to be Demise’s sniveling whelp.”
The shadow bursts into diamonds and slams down behind him. Ghirahim jumps clear by a hair, rattled.
“I became more powerful than any demon could ever dream of!” He dodges another slice, returning the attack with his own. A shower of sparks scatters at the contact.
“And what do you have now?” The shadow cackles and appears beside him. Ghirahim grunts at a leg slamming into his ribs, hurtling him against the wall. His vision doubles. Visions of plunging behind Link dance behind his eyes, sending him tumbling with a snap of his hand, giddy with aggression.
“Shut y—” Ghirahim’s throat creaks. His imitation shoves him further up by the neck.
“Shut my what? My mouth? Your most favorite part?”
Ghirahim tries kicking his heel against the shadow’s chest, but he doesn’t budge.
“This—this isn’t correct, you serpents! I spared the brat!”
The hand tightens.
“But I’m you, and you’re me. And you’ve failed.”
Ghirahim claws at the arm, but his attacks bounce off. The red eyes seem to grow larger. He kicks out with the last of his breath. His heel connects with where his diamond once was with a brittle crunch. The shadow grunts and releases him. Ghirahim rushes to the center of the room, collecting his sword with a snarl. The shadow teleports— but this time he’s ready.
Their swords slam with increasing violence, ripping through the air so fast the metal vibrates.
“Rusty!”
Ghirahim’s sword flies out of his grip. Stars explode in his eyes as the shadow’s hand whips across his face.
~
Link finishes off the last of the guays with a sigh. Groose is busy frantically washing his hair, screeching all the while.
“It’s gone, Groose,” he tries.
“I can still smell it!” Groose splashes more water over his head. “I can’t meet Zelda stinking like…like…bird!”
“She’ll like you no matter what,” Link grumbles. He glances at skyview temple over his shoulder, frowning when he sees the door is open.
“Groose?”
“Yeah Link?”
“Do you know if anyone went in the temple?”
Groose frowns, peering over his shoulder with his mouth half open.
“I think Pipit led a scavenging party in there last week?” He scratches his brow. “Yeah.”
“They forgot to close the door,” Link says. “I’m going to close it.”
Groose’s expression turns wary.
“I don’t know Link…”
“I’ll be fine,” he replies firmly.
Striding up to the temple doors sends him back five years so strongly it seems that one foot lands in the present, while the other foot steps in the past. Link keeps his features neutral despite the flickering bodies he sees in every crevice. The door mechanism is dull purple, splayed open as it has been since he left it. His neck prickles.
“Whoa, spooky…” Groose mumbles.
Link jumps.
“Groose! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”
He sheepishly rubs his neck.
“Sorry, but you know what the docs said about these places.”
Link inhales carefully and nods. They both shove the doors closed, their brittle creaking thudding into a deep silence that stirs his heart.
~
Ghirahim drops to the floor sharply and lashes out with his leg, knocking his doppelgänger flat.
“Making me resort to such churlish movements—” he scrambles for his sword and dashes over. The shadow is already standing again with a sickening grin.
“You’re still a worthless jester!”
“You’re nothing!” Ghirahim snarls, finally breaking past his own guard, jamming his blade through the shadow’s chest. The red eyes blink in confusion. He steps back a few paces, sword sticking out his back.
“Impossible…”
The shadow erupts into purple fog. Ghirahim picks his sword up and tries to summon an ounce of victory, but his breath beats hollow. The doors to the spring open five years too late. Ghirahim stalks up the stone path, flicking his sword through the water with a growl.
“What now, worms?!”
But he knows what’s next. After all, he was a large part of it. A golden light blooms before him.
“You will now complete the trial of Eldin.”
Ghirahim grinds his teeth as the divine light takes him away.