The wind whistled through the tower as Byrne walked up to the top level. Cole had to take a short break and recuperate from spending so much time overlooking the return of Malladus, so Byrne was going to guard the altar and the princess's body. He found it a tedious but necessary job, which was needed to ensure that everything went perfectly.
The slanting slope of the tower was steep, but it was no challenge for Byrne. After a century of training, there were not many things that vexed him. He was too used to his intensive training for small things like that to be tiring.
He reached the last level, his clawed hand making short work of any obstacles. Light filtered through the stained glass, causing abstract patterns to appear on the floor. Byrne walked through the small opening in the glass wall and, finally, reached the altar.
"Cole."
The small horned man turned around. "You're late! Do you know how tiring this is?"
Cole hovered over to him. "Stay alert and do not touch anything! Not even the princess! Understood?"
Byrne nodded and Cole glided down the path to the interior of the tower.
Byrne had not been to the top of the tower frequently, seeing as Cole wished to take as few breaks as possible. He looked around with interest. There was barely any sunlight at all; the dark energy of the Demon King surrounded the place, centering itself on the Zelda's body.
The princess's, he reminded himself. Cole had berated him after he had used her name. Don't use her name! He had yelled, You might form an attachment.
Byrne had scoffed. He hadn't been attached to anything besides his training and clawed hand for more than a century. The time for caring for others was gone. The time for caring for himself had started when the spirits rejected him the power he desired.
Byrne walked up to the altar to get a better look at the progress of Malladus's resurrection. Zelda had been laid on the marble altar; her hair was fanned around her face and the hem of her dress was fraying, as if the evil energy was causing it to ruin.
Byrne snorted. Human's clothes would have been affected by something as simple as evil aura. He wondered why the energy didn't mar her skin or hair.
Her hair looked silky soft and somehow still managed to remain looking golden and with a certain sheen to it. If it had not been for the occasional twitch or jerk, Byrne thought she might have been dead. He immediately sneered at himself for his thought.
Only humans would assume a conclusion like that so fast. Byrne was more than a mere human; he was faster, stronger, smarter, anything that they were not. He was better. And one day, he would be better than the very spirits.
He wanted to touch her hair. To see if he still remembered what human hair felt like. To see if they were still as fragile.
His smaller hand reached out for her hair. Cole had told him not to touch anything.
Byrne wanted to touch everything.
His hand went to feel the texture of her hair, slowly stroking it. It was just as he thought, silky and smooth. It flowed through his fingers as he felt it.
He untangled his hand from her river of hair and went to feel the material of her dress. It was as soft as her hair and just as impractical. The thin material would have left her shivering had her soul been present and Byrne could see the faint sign of goosebumps.
The metal shoulder pads she wore were plated with gold and intricate designs had been engraved into both of them. His hand slowly trailed up to her face. It seemed peaceful enough despite the occasional twitch.
His hand lay to rest on the skin of her cheek and slowly rubbed it in a circular motion. It felt softer than anything he had felt before. He wondered if his felt just as soft.
He checked. It didn't. It was rough yet it held something that reminded his of hers.
Ridiculous, he thought, she's a human. I'm not. We are different. Nothing is the same.
That is what Cole had taught him. That demons and humans, were not, could not and should not be the same. Demons were by far superior.
His hand went back to her face. It traced her dry lips and felt how different they were from her cheek. It was cracked in some places and the colour was darker. He spotted a few faint freckles on the bridge of her nose. They had most likely formed when she had snuck away from Cole whenever she could. She would have gone outside. She was that sort of person.
His hand went to touch hers. It was rougher than he expected it to be. He expected it to be soft, just like the rest of her. True, it was softer than his was but he had had a century to build up the calluses on his palms. She had a few calluses but more than the average woman.
Women were told to leave the fighting up to men. He vaguely remembered hearing that the princess was offering archery and fencing lessons to people of any gender. Cole had laughed.
"It won't do them any good in the end!" the little man had sneered.
Before, Byrne had wondered if she had taken up her own offer of training. These calluses confirmed his musings. Her fingertips were still soft, he noticed, and her palms were warm. Her nails were short, neat and well manicured.
He stepped back. It had felt good to disobey Cole for once. He had thought she was pretty when he first saw her, when her eyes were filled with fear. He had felt a secret thrill.
She had been scared of him. Byrne felt powerful when he had realized that.
His hand had been going forwards of its own accord, back to her face.
He snatched it back and turned around. It was best not to look at her.
Nothing good would come out of forming an attachment to someone as pretty as the princess.