Sword spirits are born of fire. They do not bleed, they do not feel. They have no kin. Conceived through the swift stroke of the hammer and the fiery flames of the furnace. Metal twisted and woven with magic to create strong yet elegant forms. The sword spirit cannot die for they never truly live. They have no will of their own, serving only the will of their master. They are born for war and nothing else.
These were the traits of all sword spirits long ago, when many roamed the surface. Some were crafted by demon hands, others made by the Goddess Hylia herself, with great magic and skill poured into every blade. They fought the first battles between the Goddess and Demise, like pieces in a game of chess. They moved only when their masters told them to. Their life or death would be of no consequence. Yet the last battles were long and bloody between the demons and the Goddess' warriors themselves.
All sword spirits were made to have these traits, but Ghirahim was different, an exception to the rules. He had a second body and this made him special. The first and only sword spirit with a demon body, with feelings and desires of his own, yet still unable to shake off the bounds between his master and himself. The demon king created the most strongest bond between sword and master, an unbreakable magic that Ghirahim had given up fighting long ago.
But after Demise was sealed away the bond did begin to lessen. Desires could roam more freely. It still lingered though throughout the years, a tingle that ran up and down Ghirahim's spine whenever he felt doubt. He never forgot his bond with his master, he was unable to and he buried any resistance deep down inside, along with any feelings that got in the way of his plans. It was better that way.
But what remained with Ghirahim the most, a thousand years after, was the memory of how it had all ended. Not his master's defeat, not even the end of the war. No, what he remembered most was the end of his kind. The last battle of the swords. The dying of the flame within them.
A battlefield without a drop of blood, yet all life there had fled. The uneven ground was littered with gem and sword fragments. What was once a handle lay amongst tiny coloured shards of green, what was left of a sword spirit's heart. Torn out and ripped into shreds. There was nothing left of their souls yet they left so much left behind. Twisted and shattered pieces of blade lay over everything. Metal glinted in the mud as the sun slowly sunk in the sky. It would almost be beautiful if it wasn't so tragic. A thousand demons and the Goddess' creatures had done this. They should have fought this battle themselves, instead their weapons had done the dying for them. Blood would be shed of course, but that would come later. For now Ghirahim stood in the middle of it all and silently grieved for his loss. There was no turning back now. He was the last one left.
And now he was the last demon as well. The rest were killed when Demise lost. All that remained of their once mighty army were some monsters whose strength and intelligence had dwindled throughout the years, each generation grew more disappointing than the last. They still feared Ghirahim so that was something at least, leading them to obey his every command. But they weren't good company, living like the beasts they were. That did not suit Ghirahim at all so he stayed distant from them for the most part.
Sometimes it felt as if he was the last being in the whole world. He looked up at the cloud filled sky and cursed Hylia for lifting her humans to safety so long ago. For leaving the land so empty and bare. Not one house had been left standing, no human structures at all, except the ancient temples scattered throughout the surface. There were other tribes of course, gorons, kikwis, parellas and various other creatures, but Ghirahim had no interactions with them. A fight with them would only bore him and they had nothing else to offer. What he wanted was a worthy opponent, to wash away all the loneliness and the memories with a sea of blood. A Hylian would at least be an interesting opponent, even though Ghirahim would obviously be more skilled. Yet it would be enjoyable to toy with one for a while. A little game before the kill, like a cat playing with a mouse. He did so enjoy that and it had been so long. He needed something to entertain himself, and he was about to get his wish.