Hey, listen! In order to help people avoid accidental exposure to things they don't want to read, I'm going to provide specific content warnings at the top of each chapter. Such warnings will necessarily contain spoilers. Please message me if there's something you feel should be tagged; I will do my best to be accommodating.

Content warnings for this chapter: Violence, including violence against an animal, in the context of war. Blood. Character death. Possible implied Zelink. Prologue that does not appear to match the story summary, but will eventually tie in.

It gets better, I promise.

Chapter 1

And so we end before we begin

All three of them knew there was nothing left worth fighting for.

A dry wind hissed through the once-green grass of Eldin plain, carrying the stench of gangrene and sulfur. The sun's last rays rippled across the foul pools that had collected where hooves and soldiers' boots had churned the ground into a crimson muck, a glimmer of disturbing beauty amid the charnel. Not one nation had been spared. Gorons and Zora, even Yeti and Mogma, risen as one in this desperate hour only to be cut down together. Hylians, Gerudo and Sheikah, who had fought the most bitterly among themselves, whose bones would be indistinguishable when the carrion birds were through with them. On the southern horizon, smoke billowed up from the jagged ruin of the castle to meet the bloated miasma swirling above, clouds that held no promise of rain. No matter. There was not enough rain in all the heavens to wash this land clean.

No matter who won today, Hyrule was lost. Nonetheless, they would go through the motions, one for the sake of his own pride and the other two on principle. Perhaps, Zelda thought in a moment of bitterness, staring down the demon king on the opposite ridge, there was really no difference after all. Was it not her actions, her scheming, that had brought this upon them? In her arrogance she had believed they could control the power of the gods.

In front of her, she felt Link shift in the saddle. Tension rippled through his shoulders as he grasped the hilt of the Master Sword. Ganondorf's horse reared. Another gust of putrid wind billowed through his cape—red laced with gold, blood-stained earth and dying sunlight—and his cruel laughter echoed across the battlefield.

The holy blade flashed out of its scabbard. Zelda readied a light arrow. She made a silent promise as they plunged headlong into the valley. Link would not die for her today. If one of them had a chance to live, it should be him.

Zelda had seen too many good people die in these past years. The Nohansens, the Gustavians, every other noble house who had sworn loyalty to her family. Eight different commanders of the Knights of Hyrule, the last a boy younger than her, whose only qualification was that he was brave enough. The fellow who ran the fishing pond at Lake Hylia, where she had loved to visit in the summer when she was young. That guard from Kakariko who was obsessed with Keaton, and the woman who raised hypoallergenic cuccos. The local postman, who one afternoon staggered, bleeding, into the throne room with dire news from the west—Ganondorf had purged the ranks, put his own second-in-command to the sword, and no Gerudo remained who would dare oppose their king's ambition. Noble Darunia, her father's sworn brother. King Zora and his spirited daughter Ruto. Zelda's beloved attendant Impa, the closest thing to a mother she had known. Her father, Hyrule's last king.

And Malon, the rancher who had given them the horse on whose back they were now hurtling toward their fate. She had been little more than a stranger to Zelda, though she and her father were frequently at the castle peddling milk and eggs—one of the familiar faces who passed just outside her tightly-constricted social orbit. But when she and Link came pounding on the ranch door in the dead of night after a desperate flight from fallen Hyrule Castle, Malon had embraced her like a sister. Zelda had a foggy memory of sitting, white-faced and shivering, in front of Lon Lon's hearth. Malon pushing a mug of something warm into her hand, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders, giving her the precious gifts of companionship and silence. Then the next morning, offering them all the supplies they needed, bowing and saying it was her honor to serve the queen. She must have known what she was risking by aiding them. The last time they saw her, she was sitting on top of the dovecote framed by the morning sun, hanging the blue and green banner that declared her loyalty.

Ganondorf had noticed.

Link wept openly when they found her, the first time Zelda had seen him shed tears. Until that moment he had seemed to her a stoic pillar of strength, and she had relied on him without a second thought. It shook her profoundly to see his pain, his weakness, his humanity laid bare. Only then had she recognized her own cruelty.

He was innocent when she met him, halfway to adulthood, wide-eyed at the sights and sounds of the big city, and dazzled to meet a beautiful princess who said she had seen him in her dreams. He was the only one who had believed her. And she'd repaid him by drawing him into her war. Even now he never showed the least sign of resentment, though she had offered him nothing and cost him everything. Even now the selfless hero remained, though the boy was long gone.

A month or so after Lon Lon, as they sifted through the charred ruins of Kokiri Village, he had not wept. Since that day he wore courage like a mask, and the sword seemed to wield him rather than the other way round. It occurred to her that even if Link survived, the life that remained for him was one of endless isolated wandering, searching the wasteland for survivors. Too many good people. Dead, because of her.

What would she give for some way to turn back time?

Ganondorf brandished his greatsword in one hand, eight spans of ornately carved black steel as grandiose as the man himself, and Zelda banished her guilt. There would be time enough for that when the battle was over. Maybe in whatever afterlife was waiting for her.

She wished, not for the first time, that she had spent more of the previous decade training for combat. She hated the way time seemed to compress, forcing her to simply react, make decisions without thinking. Ganondorf was a hundred yards away; she blinked and he was right in front of them. Sword met sword with a jolt that rattled her teeth. Link parried with expert form, but the raw power behind the blow was enough to knock him off balance all the same. Zelda lunged and caught his hand before he completely fell out of the saddle. He slung his other arm over Epona's neck and heaved himself back up.

In those few seconds, the warlock brought his steed around and charged at them from behind. He was on them before Zelda could draw, and she cried out involuntarily as the blade came slashing down at her. She would have been dead if Epona were not so perfectly in tune with her rider, but a slight twist of Link's knees steered them out of the way at the last second. The mare needed very little encouragement to put some distance between them. On level ground she was not quite as fast as Ganondorf's mount, but here, where they could duck and weave between the hills, her nimbleness gave them an advantage.

Violet shadows cloaked the moonless sky. They crested another hill, splashed through a shallow pond, and descended into a narrow ravine. Ganondorf closed in on them again, galloping at full speed through the treacherous terrain. Zelda braced herself and took aim, but the golden glare of her magic weapon blinded her still-adjusting eyes. Hoofbeats thundered off the rocky walls; her own heartbeat pounded in her ears. When she finally took the shot, they had to turn sharply to skirt a boulder, causing it to fly wide.

They burst out of the canyon, into an open field overlooking the Zora River Gorge. About half a mile ahead, the ground dropped away in a sheer cliff. Gritting his teeth, Link urged Epona on, heading for a slight overhang where the gorge narrowed just enough that some brave fool might think his horse could make the jump.

But not fully equipped for battle and carrying two riders. Surely he wasn't going to try?

Nonetheless, she would trust him. She turned to look back and nocked another arrow. Ganondorf summoned a fistful of compressed lightning, with the other hand he raised his sword to strike again. One bolt struck the ground beside them, kicking up a shower of dirt and rocks. Another hissed past her head, ozone and prickling heat. Abruptly Link tilted his head, eyeing the Master Sword almost as if he'd heard it speak to him. Ganondorf unleashed another thunderbolt aimed straight for them, but to her astonishment, Link batted it aside. She recalled then how the Sheikah used to whisper about the power of the holy blade to deflect any spell cast in malice.

The cliff's edge rushed toward them at alarming speed. At the last second, Link brought Epona skidding to a halt and pivoted, giving Zelda a clear shot. The bowstring sang, the arrow struck true. Ganondorf roared in pain and anger, lolling to one side in his saddle as the enchanted light sent his body into uncontrollable spasms. Spurring Epona forward once more, Link swooped in and knocked him to the ground with one clean blow. His horse bolted into the hills.

They were not foolish enough to think he was defeated.

Link swung down from the saddle, signaling for her to stay on the horse. It made sense to her, from a tactical standpoint—it would give her a higher vantage point and allow for a quick escape if need be. But with every step he took away from her, she felt less safe.

Too late she sensed the subtle shift in the wind, the tremor in the earth, the hum in the aether that warned of an immense influx of magical power. A low growl rose in the demon king's throat. He lurched to his feet, clutching a writhing ball of darkness. The wind rose to a howling gale; the inky mass twisted around itself with a sound like bones breaking. Bellowing in fury, Ganondorf thrust his hands at them, and the darkness surged forward in a beam. Link threw himself in front of her, shield raised in a desperate attempt at defense, but it was no use.

Teeth-clenching agony wracked her body, but the pain was more than just physical torment. It was sorrow, despair, self-loathing and shame, the essence of her enemy's hatred pressing in on her from all sides. Gravity lost all meaning. She tumbled into the dirt, Epona's heart-wrenching scream ringing in her ears. Through the haze of pain and shock, she heard Link shouting her name. Then the horse's bulk came crashing down on her, and she knew no more.

For a few seconds, Link stood frozen in mute horror at the sight of Epona's broken body and Zelda pinned under her. The beam had merely grazed him, enough to knock him out of the way while they took the full brunt of the attack. Some protector he was.

Malon would have been heartbroken. Even now he had failed her again, just as he had failed all his friends so many times.

The crackle of electricity forced him to look up. Ganondorf stood two long strides away, leering down at him through a swirling orb of lightning, which he proceeded to hurl at Link's face. Link knocked it back at him with a slash that was mostly reflex. Battle instincts took over. He lunged in the direction Ganondorf would have to move to avoid his own magic. His left arm tingled, the sword whispering a warning. With a backhand swipe, Ganondorf turned the spell on him again. He rolled to the side, leaving the lightning to dissipate harmlessly on the ground, came up behind and struck at the back of his knee. Ganondorf hissed in pain and stumbled. Link spared the Master Sword a grim smile, never quite taking his eyes off his foe.

It spoke to him at times, though not in words. It was more of a series of impressions—the best way he could describe it was the sort of feeling a skilled dancer might awaken in her audience. From the moment he saw the sword, on the day Zelda led him to the ancient pedestal hidden in the woods near Castle Town, he had sensed its call, though the princess had warned him not to touch it. It was a sacred weapon, forged by the gods themselves to ward off evils only they could contemplate.

Zelda had brought him to the sacred grove because it was a nice spot for a picnic.

At the time, the evil they were facing had seemed like a worldly variety. Ganondorf was a bad man, to be sure, but they would gather evidence against him and convict him in a court of law. That was how justice worked, Zelda had said, and he always believed her.

Three years ago, when Ganondorf dropped his amicable ruse and kidnapped Zelda, he had ignored that warning. The desert king was no longer a mere troublemaker, he was a threat to all of Hyrule. Surely the gods would take notice of that? Though if Link were honest with himself, he would admit it had more to do with the threat to the woman who had made him feel, for the first time, like his life had a purpose. Like he was somebody. A hero.

If he were honest with himself, he still had no idea what that word meant.

Blood seeped into the linen wrappings on Ganondorf's leg—printed with interlocking red and blue lines, a symbol of Gerudo pride and unity, although hundreds of his sisters had died resisting his tyranny. Snarling, he leveled his gigantic blade at Link. They circled each other, Link's light-footed shuffle a counterpoint to Ganondorf's heavy, measured stride. Link couldn't see Zelda anymore. He tried not to wonder if she was still alive. He thought he saw an opening and risked striking first. But Ganondorf was quicker than he seemed. He deflected the jab and kicked Link in the shoulder. Link turned the momentum into a backflip and steadied himself, grimacing. He thought his collarbone might be fractured. At least it wasn't his sword arm. Ganondorf lunged, swinging with enough force to cut him in half. This was a mistake—Link sprang out of the way, and the blade buried itself several inches into the dirt. In the half second Ganondorf spent trying to wrench it free, he unleashed his signature maneuver, a whirling slash augmented by a storm of fairy fire. Ganondorf staggered back and lost his grip on the massive sword. Before he could recover, Link grabbed it and flung it off the cliff.

Ganondorf was unperturbed. With casual languor, he unfastened his cape and tossed it aside. The crest blazed on the back of his hand, casting a soft yellow glow over his jet-black armor. That was Link's fault too. He hadn't expected to be transported to another world after he drew the sword. When he found the mythic golden triangles shining at the heart of that realm, he had treated them as another item for his arsenal. One more tool to defeat the darkness. But the Triforce, that ancient relic of the creator goddesses that ironically had been Ganondorf's true aim all along, had shattered in his hands. Back then he hadn't understood how it worked. Courage had been enough for him to rally the Hylian army and rescue Zelda. Afterwards, startled by the crest of Wisdom on her own hand, the princess had done some research and learned a bit of ancient lore about the Triforce: unless the heart of the one who touched it was in perfect balance, they could only claim one of the three forces. The others would be given to those chosen by the gods. They were left to wonder where Power had gone. When the Hylians took Ganondorf to Arbiter's Grounds, to face justice of a final and rather grisly sort, they found out.

Zelda no longer believed courts and laws would save them from evil.

Now he could see that Ganondorf had been carrying another sword beneath the cape, a sliver of sharpened moonlight with a fluted hilt. The one they had tried to use at his execution. In spite of everything, Link had to admit it was a rather poetic touch.

It was also much lighter than his first weapon. Ganondorf went on the attack again, with fluid agility that belied his hulking stature, and Link realized with a sinking feeling that his opponent had not been taking him seriously until now. The sword was a luminous blur. He found himself retreating. Ganondorf overreached slightly; he ducked under his arm and tried to counter. Not fast enough. Their blades locked together. For a few long moments, the air was sharp and still, blood and sweat and the hiss of grinding metal. Link pushed back with all the strength he could muster, ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder, but Ganondorf shoved him off balance, knocked his shield out of his hand, and slammed the heel of his palm into his chest. Link went down hard. His head struck the ground, and for a moment his vision went dark. Blinking and gasping, he tried to sit up, but Ganondorf planted a foot on his torso.

Suddenly death was staring down at him, and courage was only a word. There was a difference, after all, between not having much left to live for and being ready to die. Ganondorf raised the sword to plunge it into his heart.

At the last second there was a twang and a soft crunch. Ganondorf stopped short, eyes white-rimmed in shock. Gingerly, he reached up to touch the tip of the glowing arrow protruding from his forehead. He dropped to his knees, then fell face-down. The figure behind him lowered her bow with solemn satisfaction.

Zelda.

Vigor flowed back into him. The pain of his wounds seemed to melt away, and he leaped to his feet. She smiled at him, unsteadily at first, warmer and stronger as he ran toward her. She was alive. There was still hope in the world. At least he had not failed in this.

Her fingertips barely brushed his, when a surge of dark energy knocked him back. His mouth fell open in disbelief. Ganondorf stood, grinning like a maniac, and snapped off the arrow shaft. His shadow fell over the princess as he turned, gripped her by the shoulder with a strange sort of gentleness. Link threw himself forward headlong, determined to put his sword, his body, anything between Zelda and the demon king, but the ground was sinking sand and he was running underwater, too slow too far too late—

Ganondorf jabbed the arrowhead into Zelda's abdomen. A high-pitched cry escaped her lips as she doubled over, clutching at the wound. He grabbed her by the throat, lifted her off the ground, and twisted. There was a sickening crack. Zelda went limp.

And hope died with her.

Ganondorf had expected to feel something when he snapped her neck.

The act itself was vaguely satisfying, the hero's anguished scream as he let her body drop to the ground more so. And yet, it was a fine wine poured out on hot coals. He made himself laugh, for Link's benefit.

It provoked the intended response. The youth lunged at him, a mad flurry of deadly steel, his usual tempered battle cries replaced by rough shouts and curses. But as quick and powerful as his strikes were, they were all predictable. Ganondorf was almost bored as he parried and sidestepped. Grief always made people sloppy. A weakness of less disciplined minds.

Link was quite fast, though. Ganondorf had to give up quite a bit of ground waiting for him to tire. No matter. Soon he would be done with his childish fit, and then he would put him out of his misery. All in all, a disappointing showing for the one who had touched the golden power. It was frustrating at times, being so far above others. Nothing excited him anymore.

His head throbbed, and he recalled that there was still half an arrow inside his skull. Power didn't heal his wounds so much as let him choose not to be affected by them. Fear was a choice. Mortality was a choice. Pain was… a triviality he could choose to ignore. He didn't need the Triforce for that. The harsh winds of war had long since stripped him of such self-indulgent frailty. He was the desert now, relentless shifting sands; he would not be quenched by their petty tears, he would swallow whole civilizations and leave no trace.

Against all odds, Link found a way around his defenses, driving the point of the sword through his armor and nicking his side. He was reckless, though, and Ganondorf made him pay for it with a deep cut down his leg. Link tried that duck-and-roll maneuver again, but he was ready and forced him back with a flourish of the pretty little sword.

He hated the thing, and the pompous sycophants who made it. The way they peered down their noses and whispered behind their hands, or cowered and gnashed their teeth and called him a demon, as if they were not the ones who brought their wars to his homeland and made his people pay the price, hoarded wealth and prosperity while they starved and burned in the sun, then invented false histories to justify it all. As if they were not a nation of lying, thieving, murdering, raping scum. They prated of divine deliverance while they chained him to a rock like an animal and ran him through. But the so-called holy weapon, like its makers, was too weak to finish the job. He had pulled it from his own body, and now it would serve his purposes. If the Hylians wanted a demon, he would give them one, and he would make them kneel in worship.

That brief fantasy distracted him so that he fell for Link's feint. The Master Sword bit into his shoulder, burning and slick, and he realized, belatedly, that neither that wound nor the one in his side would stop bleeding, no matter how much he willed then to. Interesting. Perhaps some of the tales were true.

Link was slowing down now, and clearly favoring his right leg. But as his frenzied rage subsided, a deadly determination took its place. Perhaps, Ganondorf thought with something almost like pride, he had taught his young enemy a lesson today. Now at last he understood what it was to be empty. Can you stand, boy, he thought, without all those quaint notions of honor and destiny to prop you up?

He took another swing at Link, who tried to dodge, only to topple over backwards. He had tripped over Zelda's corpse. Ganondorf threw back his head and laughed at the look on his face when he realized it.

He was still laughing as Link gently smoothed Zelda's hair, then levered himself to his feet, gripping his sword in a trembling fist. A bestial growl rose in his throat, and a crimson aura flared around the blade. Then he charged, faster than he'd ever moved before. By the time Ganondorf moved to defend himself, he was caught in a hurricane of burning steel. Fire blinded him, pain forced its way in from every direction. Link vaulted into the air with sudden, impossible grace and came down on him like a falling star, glory and vengeance and despair.

Ganondorf screamed when the sword pierced his ribcage.

Link jerked the blade out of him, and he collapsed. He felt the prickling grass under his back, the warm rush of his own blood spilling over his stomach, the cold trickle of sweat down his temple, all dwarfed by bitter agony that would no longer be denied.

Link had fallen silent. Surely he must have some righteous soliloquy. Some parting taunt. Ganondorf almost wished he hadn't killed Zelda. She would have had something elegant to say. He forced his eyes open, tried to give Link one last defiant glare, but he wasn't looking. He seemed more dazed and exhausted than triumphant. Blood and dirt matted his hair. He hadn't even bothered to clean his blade yet. Well. If he was going to just stand there…

Ganondorf's fingers twitched, closing around the glowing sword. Summoning the last of his strength, he lashed out, felt the soft resistance of rending flesh.

The Hero of Time made a strange, wet choking sound. Ruby red blossomed from his throat, staining the green tunic. The Master Sword slipped from his hand, stuck in the dirt with a soft thunk. As the world narrowed to a tunnel, the last thing Ganondorf saw was those clear blue eyes staring back at him, blue like a sapphire, blue like Hyrule's pure waters, blue like the endless desert sky. There was no fear or sorrow in them, on the contrary, Link looked relieved. One last paroxysm of hatred seized him—how dare he be glad to die? For a moment the sign of the Triforce flickered on his hand. But it was not enough. It had never been enough.

The light faded. The hero fell. Ganondorf never heard his body hit the ground.