The start of this story takes place before the events of Skyward Sword. After the first few chapters, it will proceed during the events that take place.
Amana is an original character and not part of the Zelda character, therefore she is copyrighted to me.
Zelda characters and official game events belong to Nintendo.

Chapter Three: The Demon Lord

Sleep became her sanctuary, however reckless. An escape from her pain, from her hunger – and her fear.

Amana lost track of time. After her defeat, the red-skinned monsters took her through Faron Woods. The time passed in a haze. Vaguely, she recalled the sun vanishing beneath the horizon and rising again. By that time, they reached a humongous structure. Made of stone with large steps leading up to the entrance and statues on either side, it looked almost like a place of worship. Some form of temple.

Now, she sat against a wall in the temple, in a large room with a gap between both sides. Only a thin rope connected the two. Amana sagged against the wall, unable to maintain her upright position; too much strength had left her. How much time passed since she found herself in the building, she did not know. Her stomach growled in hunger and her mouth was dry. It felt like days passed since entering the temple; days since she drank or ate. The lack of food and water weakened her – sapped her strength with each second that passed.

One hand rested in her pouch, on the hilt of her dagger. She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to strike back – fight for her freedom. Until Amana felt better, stronger, she could do nothing of the sort.

Currently, the weapon served only to assure her of her ability to fight back, if the odd creatures chose to strike.

The dark creatures reduced her to their captive; a prisoner, locked away for reasons unknown to her. Perhaps they enjoyed watching humans die of starvation? Her lacking knowledge of the surface crushed her certainty; she knew next-to-nothing and that left her in the hands of luck and whatever path the goddess chose for her.

Amana's eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion tugging at the strings of her consciousness. Soft footsteps echoed on the ground. They helped her locate the pacing monsters, assisted her in pinpointing their positions. She knew when they were far from, or close to, her; a small detail that helped her feel more secure, if only a little.

In the back of her mind, her conscience urged her to escape – to take the risk when the red-skinned ones were far away. Amana suppressed that part of her mind; she could not cross the tightrope back to the entrance of the room in her current state and even if she did, the enemies on the other side of the pit would stop her.

Guards patrolled either side of the room. The red-skinned creatures showed a form of intelligence she hadn't expected when Erla first told her of them.

The air grew heavy and her breath hitched. Pressure fell over the room, a dark aura Amana could not place. It materialized without warning, easily overpowering the auras of the weaker creatures around her. The dark aura was suffocating – nothing like anything she ever sensed before.

"This is the girl you claim is the spirit maiden?" A voice, soft-spoken and smooth, broke the silence in the large chamber.

Pacing stopped. Silence stretched and none of the creatures reacted to the sudden voice.

"What an unfortunate setback." The male voice gained a hint of an annoyed edge. "It seems the storm I stirred up claimed the wrong human."

Speech. Speech she could understand.

Amana forced her eyes open and spotted the visitor to the temple – the man to the unfamiliar voice. While not quite human, his appearance strongly resembled one. His form was slim and a touch feminine, yet he exerted a force that made her not doubt his abilities. A white, diamond-patterned body suit covered his pale skin and matching gloves covered up to his elbows. White hair hung to his chin and fell over his left eye. As he turned towards her, Amana spotted a yellow band he wore around his waist, a diamond-shaped ruby connected to it on his right hip.

His lips twisted into the slightest smirk and he strode towards her. His burgundy cape, adorned with yellow diamonds, shifted as he walked.

Trying to sit up straighter, Amana watched him warily. His words repeated in her mind. Spirit maiden. Storm. The storm that plummeted Zelda to the surface in her dream, the event that she prevented; he caused it. Fear settled in the pit of Amana's stomach, twisting her insides into a nauseating knot. To create such a storm, he possessed magic. Strong magic. Something she could not go up against.

He lowered himself to one knee in front of her, well within her personal space. "The spirit maiden is part of your family, is she not? A sister, perhaps?"

Amana said nothing as thoughts filled her mind. His mentioning the spirit maiden and her dreaming about Zelda's fall to the surface world; it was too much of a coincidence. Gut instinct told her the two were connected. Two events that coincided with one another. He created the storm with the intent of forcing her sister to the surface, but why?

The stranger tsked and shook his head. "Look at me, rattling on. I haven't even introduced myself! My name is Ghirahim. I am the Demon Lord of these lands."

Demon Lord. His odd appearance now explained, Amana forced her raging nerves to calm. Despite her fear and anxiety, obtaining his name and occupation calmed her just slightly; it let her know what she was up against. Since his arrival, he had not yet made any move to harm her in any way.

Besides plunging her down to the surface.

"…Amana."

"Lovely."

His expression maintained that dangerous edge – a look Amana could not quite place. The calm exterior hid the truth. In the depths of Ghirahim's brown eyes, Amana spotted a raging fire controlled only by willpower. Anger.

Reaching out, Ghirahim gripped Amana's chin and tilted her head to the right. Pressure slid along the cut on her left cheek as he gently touched the wound with his other hand. She flinched and tried to pull away, held in place by the wall she sat against. Annoyed and in pain, Amana bit the inside of her lip to draw her attention away from her injuries.

Ghirahim released her chin and his gaze flicked briefly to the nearby monsters. "My apologies for your wounds. The bokoblins are… rather uncivil." He scanned her weakened form and she felt distinctly uncomfortable under his gaze. "How long have you been without food?"

The question caught her off guard. Amana stared at him, unable to hide the skepticism in her eyes. Her vision swam as the world suddenly spun around her. Clenching her eyes shut, she young woman buried her face in her hands, the pain from the pressure on her wound hardly registering.

"A- A few days," she admitted reluctantly. Her voice sounded distance and dull – no longer her usual self.

"We should get you somewhere you can rest."

For a moment, Amana swore she heard sincerity in his tone. Assuming her fatigue caused hallucinations, she disregarded his tone. Eager to escape the temple, despite the danger he may lead her into, Amana pushed against the wall and began to rise.

Before she rose, Ghirahim snaked his arms beneath her knees and shoulders and lifted her off the ground.

Amana's eyes shot open in shock at the unexpected move and she bit back a gasp. "What are you –"

"You are injured," he reminded her. "This way traveling will be much easier. I only need to do this." He shifted his grip slightly and snapped his fingers.

Magic swarmed around them. The unfamiliar sensation swirled around Amana's body. Foreign magic. Ghirahim's magic. The temple walls and the so-called bokoblins vanished from sight. For a moment, Amana thought they were caught in the middle of nowhere – somewhere split between light and dark. Another realm, unfamiliar to her.

As soon as they disappeared, they reappeared in a place she did not recognize.

Teleporting. Ghirahim could teleport.

He stepped forward and lowered her. The soft material of a cot touched her back and her muscles relaxed immediately on contact with it. Ghirahim propped the pillows up and helped her into a semi-sitting position.

Dizziness continued its assault on her senses. Through the haze, Amana saw the Demon Lord exit the room. A quick glance around the room gave limited information: A bedroom with the bare basics – a cot and, to her surprise, a bookcase filled with scrolls and books. The sight of those reminded her of her father's collection of ancient tales.

Her father. Zelda. Would she ever see them again? Everything that fell beneath the clouds vanished for eternity. Was there a way for things to return?

Time would tell.

Ghirahim returned, his steps more silent than the bokoblins, and sat next to her on the bed. "Drink this water; it will help you regain some strength, until you are rested enough to do more."

Deep in the recesses of her mind, she wanted to disobey; she did not trust him. She did not know if he had slipped poison into the drink, or an herb that would harm her. Would he have brought her to another place to kill her?

Perhaps. She did not know how this Demon thought.

Fatigue and desperate thirst won the battle, and shattered her resolve. When he pressed the opening of a small pouch to her lips, Amana drank the water. The liquid soothed her aching throat on its way down and the refreshing sensation spread throughout her body.

Saved. Ghirahim saved her life. Without water, death would have claimed her – eventually.

A hint of gratitude filled her. Though slight, it sparked into existence, hidden deep within the recesses of her distrust.

Amana's fatigue began to set in and she learned back into the softness of the pillows. Her body felt at ease and relaxed, despite the internal struggle that waged within. Her heart thumped in a slow, rhythmic pattern. He helped her, but his intentions were unclear. Ghirahim told her of his intent to bring the spirit maiden to the surface. Amana could think of only Zelda when he said that; no other person came to mind.

"Rest. Once you awaken, you will have food and more water. After all, we would not want something bad to happen, now would we?" Ghirahim rose off the bed and gestured towards the door with his hand. "Seek me out if you need anything." He exited the room without another word.

The notion heightened her confusion and her insecurity. Someone who seemed to control the red-skinned bokoblins – evil, aggressive creatures – took care of her. For his own goals, or to spare her life? To use her for something sinister, or out of the goodness of her heart?

Judging from his aura and his calling himself the Demon Lord, Amana found the latter difficult to believe. Biting back a sigh, she shut her eyes and willed the struggle in her mind away. Sleep traveled over her, spreading and fogging out most of her thoughts.

Somehow, she needed to figure out his plan.

Enter Ghirahim! Now we're really getting into the meat of the story, but really, the cliffhangers and questions just get worse from here on out!
Please review; I'd love to hear what you think!