Ganondorf rose, towering above them all.

He was older than the Prince of Darkness that Link remembered. From the dark future, the Hero recalled a brash young tyrant unable to contain Power even when he at last possessed it. This man before them displayed no such youthful faults. The grey hair on his head showed signs of having once been a vivid red. His skin was the color of charcoal, a complexion that his armor matched.

Glowing runes of the old Hylian language covered Ganondorf's armor, so much so that a golden aura resonated from him.

He did not step beyond the foot of his throne, instead gazing down upon them with an expression even Zelda could not read. When at last he opened his mouth—throwing his head back—it was to laugh. Slow and deep, laced with a calm arrogance and seasoned with the roar of a monster lying dormant deep inside Ganondorf's heart.

"I have longed for this day," he said, slipping back into coy neutrality. "The cycle can never end."

The three companions stood in defiance, but it was Link who stepped forward to lead. Memories of a destructive battle with a bestial King of Darkness flickered across his thoughts, filling him with a surge of energy that made him forget that it was no longer his own body that he inhabited.

Ganondorf tilted his head, perturbed. Eyes of solid white turned to gaze upon the Hero of Time.

"But you—"The blade with the blue hilt shifted in Ganondorf's hands, nothing more than a twig beneath his fingers. "—you are not the one I wait for. The ghost—the shade—you are the same. Your time is passed!"

Ganondorf slammed the tip of the blade against the ground. The resulting echo reverberated through the hall.

He threw back his head and screamed to the heavens.

"I want the Hero!

"I WANT THE HERO!"

He slammed the tip of the blade against the ground.

"GIVE HIM TO ME!"

At once, Ganondorf's left hand began to tremble. A tumultuous golden light appeared from the back his palm, bright enough that it seemed for a moment the sun had entered the keep with them.

The light faded, as did Ganondorf's rage. He was again neutral, standing before them with the blade with the blue hilt held against the ground with his right hand. "You are affront to this game; an onlooker who thinks himself a player. I know of you, Hero of Time—and I know that your days are long past. You have no power in my domain."

At last, his gaze turned to Zelda—and with it, Ganondorf grew ambivalent, allowing indecision to slip about his features.

"Father," Zelda said without emotion.

Ganondorf said nothing. The white of his eyes stared into her—one who appeared to be so very close to his daughter. He considered her for a moment. "You are clever," he said when he had finished appraising her.

He slammed the hilt of the sword against the stone of the floor.

"But no magic can hide you from the Gods."

In only the slightest, most unnoticeable of ways, Zelda's conviction wavered. The middle finger of her left hand began to twitch uncontrollably, a weakness she did not mask.

"My daughter is dead. No matter how bonded you are to her person, Princess Zelda perished." Ganondorf lifted his chin. "And there was only one close enough to perform the deed."

The topic died at that, for Ganondorf's gaze moved to Saria.

"You are of no importance," he said.

The twitching of Zelda's left hand ceased.

Ganondorf wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the blue sword, twisting his mouth into an animalistic smile as he drew the blade from its scabbard. At a glance, it was ordinary. All that marked it as different were the three symmetrical triangles engraved near the blade's pommel.

"It burns through darkness, Hero," Ganondorf said, his hand trembling as the hilt's power chewed through armor and flesh. "What is your current form, if not the very manifestation of that darkness?"

He cast the sword down, where it clattered to a standstill before the companions.

The blade hummed even as it lay still.

"Take it," said Ganondorf, crossing armored arms across his chest. "You came for the blade of evil's bane. I give it to you! Strike me down!"

Link hesitated before bending down to wrap his fingers around the blade's hilt. A burning pain spread throughout his body, forcing him to release the sword. Yet, upon inspection, his hand remained free of injury.

Ganondorf took a single lumbering step toward them.

"The blade of evil's bane," he said.

A second.

"In the hands of the Hero, a thorn in my side."

A third.

"But you are no more than a shadow."

A fourth.

"In the hands of a shadow, it is an impressive looking blade."

A final step.

"Nothing more."

He towered over them, no more than an arm's length away. His shadow consumed all. The world around the companions seemed to slip into darkness.

Link saw it out of the corner of his eye, far too much of his attention drawn to Ganondorf's face—a slender sword of silver light, held at Ganondorf's side. The King of Darkness swung the blade in a horizontal arc. The Hero fell backwards to avoid it.

Zelda's reaction was much the same, pulling Saria to the floor before pulling her to the sidelines.

Ganondorf rested the sword at his side again and grinned.

Link scrambled to his feet, pushing to the back of his mind the unnatural sensation of not needing to breathe. In another time, it would have been different. The battle would have begun differently—with a clash, or a confrontation on equal footing.

He was granted no such reprieve this day.

Link's eyes lingered on the Master Sword. Ganondorf made no move to retrieve it, so it lay where it had fallen at the titan's feet.

He saw Zelda draw something from her coat—a pair of weapons similar in design to the one she'd threatened Shad with.

Ganondorf's attention fell upon the Hero's companions.

Zelda fired the both pistols one after the other. Both found marks in Ganondorf's skull.

Both did nothing to stop him.

She tossed the weapons aside and retreated down one of the keep's connecting hallways, all the time holding Saria by the hand.

Link made a dash for the Master Sword. Though it burned his flesh to hold it, he did so anyway. He clenched his jaw shut and strode toward Ganondorf, unable to completely steady his shaking arms as he fought against a defense set in place by the Sages of old.

He felt like himself again.

Ganondorf, a walking fortress of metal and runes, once again turned his attention to the Hero of Time. The tip of his silvery sword dragged on the floor behind him, whining as it cut a thin line through across the surface of the glistening floor.

The King of Evil charged, swinging his blade in a vertical arc.

Link brought the Master Sword up to block.

The impact shook his body to its core. Even as a shadow, he felt every bone in his body crack and every muscle heave ragged breaths. But held his own, never allowing himself to lose focus.

Link lashed out, even as his body protested.

The blade bounced harmlessly from Ganondorf's armor.

The King of Evil's smile—a horrible thing that turned Link cold—grew.

An armored fist crashed against Link's face. Again, every nonexistent bone cracked, every muscle cried out. The Master Sword fell from his hands as he was sent across the room, landing neck first against the stone.

The world dimmed.

He tried to gather the strength to stand.

An armored boot came down upon his chest.

"As I said, Hero of Time," came Ganondorf's voice, "you are nothing more than a shadow."

The weight of the foot disappeared.

Link awaited death.

Titanic steps away—echoes from somewhere further away. Ganondorf's presence disappeared. Link remained alive, bedraggled and deadened. Somewhere deep within himself, he found the strength to move. He turned over, holding himself up by his left arm.

Ganondorf was gone from the room.

Link pushed himself to his feet, stumbling only once before his body developed the strength to support himself.

Saria.

He repeated the name as he righted himself.

Saria.

He retrieved the sword, no longer weakened by its burn.

Saria.

He did not imagine the face of Zelda's companion, but rather the face of his friend. His vision of one overrode the other. It hurried him. The strength of one man became the strength of ten. With the Master Sword in hand, he pursued Ganondorf. Through a small archway, then a tunnel not unlike the one that led from the Tower of Lore.

He found the King of Evil's hulking form faced away from him, traveling with slow, heavy steps.

Through the small areas that Ganondorf did not dominate, Link saw Zelda. In her hands were those weapons—pistols, he recalled—their ends trained on Ganondorf.

He saw Saria.

Mustering his strength, Link charged forward, bringing the Master Sword up only at the last moment. He steered it toward a joint in Ganondorf's armor—the only weakness he could conceive.

Metal met metal.

And then Link heard it: a horrible, horrible crack.

The blade of the Master Sword snapped, sent flying to Link's left, where it clattered against the wall and fell against the stone floor.

Ganondorf's armor was unmarred.

The King of Evil turned to face him—or perhaps he had been doing so the entire time. Link's mind could not focus enough to decide. The Hero's gaze fell downward, finding the silvery sword impaled through his chest.

Unable to muster even a word of surprise, the Hero collapsed.

Ganondorf did not watch the Hero as he fell. As soon as his blade was dislodged, he spun about and faced the others. Two more shots found their way to Ganondorf's forehead. Two more shots were consumed and replaced with clean flesh a moment later.

In spite of it all, Zelda's head remained level.

It might have been the adrenaline coursing through her blood, pushing her to greater levels of insanity. It might have been the girl behind her, green haired and far too young to die.

But no matter the cause, she held her ground.

Ganondorf's steps were deliberate—paced. With no escape in sight, he turned each step into a slow, ominous march. At his side, the silver sword as long as Zelda was tall dragged, leaving a clean cut trail in its wake. On the King of Evil's face was a malicious grin, a twisted concoction of insanity and glee.

Zelda tossed the guns away and sprinted in the opposite direction, pulling Saria along at such speed that the girl struggled to keep up.

"Mistress!" Saria said at some point.

Ganondorf cackled behind them.

"Mistress!" the girl said again.

They continued to run. Through disused passages and towering hallways, they ran, all the time followed by the evil of Ganondorf's laugh and the grinding of his sword against stone.

They stopped, sliding up against the edge of the present hallway to allow for a moment's rest. Saria was frantic, her eyes searching for something to save them. Zelda was collected, her gaze ever analytical. Across from them hung a portrait of the King of Evil, painted in the same manner as all other rulers and politicians—inaccurately flattering.

"The Hero—" said Saria in between breaths.

"I know." Zelda peeled back the sleeve that had fallen over the back of her left hand.

Blank.

She grimaced and let the clothing fall back into place.

Saria's body shook uncontrollably. "But he's—"

"Incapacitated. The shadow survived millennia of violence and starvation. It will live to fight another day."

"But—"

"Saria!" She placed a hand on girl's head to hold her still. "We. Will. Live. I did not come all this way to throw a corpse at my father's feet! Now calm yourself!"

After many heavy breaths, Saria did. The trembling ceased and the rate at which Saria drew in breath slowed. She steadied herself against the wall before finally nodding to Zelda.

"Good." Zelda withdrew her hand. "We need the Master Sword back."

"But Ganondorf destroyed it!"

Zelda smiled. "Magic can never be destroyed, only altered. If any part of the sword still exists, then it still contains the power to repel evil."

"But without the Hero—"

"Think of it as a challenge."

Zelda's smile faded.

"But I now need you to go."

"M—"

"No debates! Ganondorf will target you if you remain with me." Something slipped from Zelda's sleeve into her hand—a small, red diamond with marking of an unfamiliar language inscribed on each side. She pressed the diamond into Saria's hand; a hand that Zelda continued to hold even after the transfer was completed.

"You will take this and run as fast as you can. Go to the Tower of Lore and stay there. The protective enchantments should still be active." She tightened her hold on Saria's hand. "If my father finds you, use the spell. Throw it against the ground—and keep running. It will slow him down, but it won't stop him."

Saria hesitated, her expression conflicted.

"Mistress…"

Zelda did not interrupt, allowing the objection to fall away on its own. At last, Saria ran, disappearing into the endless maze of halls and rooms. For the first time in a great long while, Zelda was along again.

Her thumped inside her chest—a thump Saria's departure finally allowed her to hear.

Ganondorf's thunderous footsteps echoed down teach hall, shaking the castle to its foundations.

With slow, deliberate steps, she sought him out. She wound down endless hallways of art and stone, hallways where lanterns hung and darkness ebbed. She passed many rooms—many empty memories. Her thoughts drifted again to the emptiness, to all the people who did not seem to exist.

And then Ganondorf.

She found him waiting farther along the wing, beneath a silver chandelier hoisted from an elevated ceiling, the tip of his sword resting before his feet and the handle stretching up to meet his chest. Armored hands wrapped around the pommel, blackened armor reflecting light in Zelda's eyes.

"Father," she said as she stopped in the doorway.

Ganondorf smirked, drawing the silvery blade back to his side. "You are exceptional. My daughter was wise to keep you on."

He slammed the tip of his blade into the floor to his left where it imbedded itself in the stone, freeing his hands and allowing them to fall back to his sides.

"But I know of the power you use to mask yourself—primitive shadow magic." Ganondorf lifted his left arm, revealing to Zelda the back of his palm. Three golden equilateral triangles glowed, one more so than the others. "Not Sheikah—I saw to their extermination."

He paused.

"Twili—but your mirror was shattered. Return to the world of Light should have been impossible." Ganondorf smiled with genuine affection, an expression that made his visage all the more terrifying. "But you—are so much like my daughter. You found a way back."

Zelda was silent.

"I might have enjoyed you in court. You would have made an excellent advisor." Ganondorf's hands curled into fists. "But you took my daughter from me—and for that, you will suffer."

He keeled over, letting the silvery sword clatter to the floor beside him. Bearing himself up on all fours, he lifted his head and leered at Zelda, his features devoid of humanity. Shadow engulfed his body, molding and twisting until it resembled something bestial—and then it began to grow. A massive upper torso faceted with trunk-like muscular arms replaced Ganondorf's upper body. Smaller hind legs sprouted from his rear, propping him up fully from the floor.

Zelda did not wait to see what came next. She sprinted past, making for the hall directly behind Ganondorf before his metamorphosis could complete.

The stone floor beneath her feet trembled; from behind, thunderous footfalls rapid enough to outpace her.

She did not look back.

Zelda retraced her steps. She passed portraits—rulers, landscapes, self-indulgences. Bedrooms, servants' quarters. The rugs she treaded upon all bore matching tints of red and patterns of curled white flowers.

Rooms.

Portraits.

An endless repetition of memories.

Ganondorf's steps roared from somewhere not far behind.

Zelda found the fallen Hero, unmoving on the floor of a hallway that was unremarkable, save for his presence. The shadow of his form flickered between the colored body of a Hylian and the dark sinew of shadow. The flesh bore a tunic of darkened green, while the shadow a parallel silhouette of black.

The sword remained in the shadow's hand, the uppermost part of the blade snapped crudely in half. The upper half leaned against the stone wall at an angle.

Both halves of the sword continued to glow.

Zelda knelt beside the Hero and took his end of the blade by its pommel.

The Hero's grip around it tightened.

Zelda pulled the remains of the sword from his hand. She stood upright and twisted around, spreading her legs and centering the broken blade before her. The blade brought with it a sense of great power, even in its incomplete state.

Something in the air changed.

Ganondorf's footfalls no longer echoed throughout the castle. Zelda could not hear him, even in passing.

Zelda's heart stopped. Her mind sought the only possible conclusion.

She broke into a run, returning from whence she came. Her steps no longer entertained any form of calm. Her sprint contained panic, an emotion she'd experienced only once before. For if Ganon no longer pursued her, then his attentions could be turned to only one other target.