Solemnly they made their way through the old Hyrule, to the outskirts of its Field, and finally into the woods of the new Hyrule, their own. With the crossing of the threshold of the Temple of Time, they'd left their own time behind. Time for them as they knew it began to slip away as quickly as the sands of the Spirit Temple. They knew the end would come, so there was no need to prolong its coming. No need to rush it either; they slowed at times, enjoying the quiet serenity of a wood ignorant of the evils pressing in so closely on its borders it could be choked at any time. Yet, as the birds continued to sing, the squirrels to chatter, and the foxes to frolic, it only made them wish for that sort of ignorance. Such truly seemed like bliss, to not know the evil until it actually met you face to face, until it was too late, so late that the end would be swift and hardly noticeable. Such an end would meet the wood and much of Hyrule if they failed. It was this knowledge which drove them on, and that voluntary driving towards the evil made impossible to don such a desired cloak of ignorance.

In such solemn silence they floated through the fields of Old Hyrule, drifting last across the wasteland of the desert whose stormy winds had entirely ceased. In the distance rose a mound of sand, shattered glass mockingly gleaming like bits of buried treasure. They dared not stray too close to such a place which felt haunted. Link shuddered, all the while driven on by the knowing he did not wish his Hyrule to ever become that way, especially not because of something he did or did not do.

The outskirts of the desert met the outskirts of the Kokiri Forest of his Hyrule, and they soon emerged into the field where Hyrule Castle Town rose like a hopeful beacon yet loomed like an encroaching storm at once. The skies surrounding it were bluer than a Zorita's eyes, yet hovering directly over the castle, a ring of dark clouds. Evil dripped from the sky, shadowing the castle, evil so strong it made Link shiver from where he was. Perhaps some link between him and Ganondorf existed because of the Triforce which made him feel his enemy's evil more poignantly. Link could not know, only trudge forward with purpose.

No life met them within the town walls, as if the death of Old Hyrule had already extended its grappling reach and extinguished the remaining life within. Once, they caught sight of a man scurrying towards his shop. With a half-glance up at them, he flung himself in and slammed the door shut. Link jumped at the sound, so startling in that darkness, but he understood. He had viewed only one thing in the man's eyes. Perhaps Ganondorf's power did not yet consume all Hyrule, but the fear of his power did.

Silently they sound through the town, heading straight for the castle. Even as it loomed before them, not a single guard stood in sight. The only sentinels were the amassing clouds circling overhead, and certainly they would tell no tales, save perhaps to announce their expected presence.

At some point, Link realized how perfectly aimed their path was. They seemed just to scroll along. Even now, they glided towards the gates, standing ajar, a perfect target for their entrance. He grabbed Midna's hand, heart pounding, glancing at her with suspicion and concern. Without looking at him, she said quietly, "I know this place from a dream."

Then, they continued. His heart hardly settled but at least felt a little calmer. Better Midna lead them towards doom than the doom itself lead them by an unseen force.

Curling through the many passages of the castle, they at last scaled a long stair and then traversed a long hall. At the end waited massive double doors, the Hyrule royal crest of the winged Triforce painted upon them. Link knew enough to know they approached the throne room.

Passing through the doors, they wound up a final, wide stretch of stairs laden with a crimson cloth which, in times past, might have signified the glory of Hyrule, the passion and rejoicing of its people. Now, the death and destruction which Ganondorf waged in the past coupled with the new blood he thirsted for flowed through its ruby threads.

Approaching the end of the stair, a final doorway awaited them. However, this time, the doors were thrown open wide, as if in anticipation to their arrival. Voices echoed from within, though no coherent speech could yet be made out.

Finally, reaching the throne room, they stopped short in its arched doorway.

The room was long, the ceiling vast and supported by pillars. The only light was that of dismal grey gleams through tall arched windows mingling with the sickly glow of torchlight, which gave the appearance of stepping into a graveyard. Three figures stood at the end of the room closest to them.

Ganondorf, his back to them, holding the wrists of a frail figure in his large hands and shaking her violently—Aniya. Her feet dangled a couple feet off the floor like a puppet as he snarled at her. Half in the shadows, not far from where Ganondorf stood, Majora. Tall, long, thin as reeds, skin striped with every color imaginable to man, her wild hair a shimmering mass of violet and ebony curls, eyes blacker than cloudless midnight. Her eyes grinned gleefully, hands folded across her scantily clad lap like a patiently waiting child who rejoices in its sibling's being caught and punished, whether justly so or not.

"You," Ganondorf growled, scathing the word as if it was an entirely filthy piece of garbage ruining his tongue, "you betrayed me. You were my chief wife!"

He shook her, the muscles of his arms bulging and pulsing like a wound. Link flinched, knowing the deep wounds he must inflict upon her delicate arms. She showed no sign of pain or even fear though, glaring back with all the malice and challenge in the world.

"'Chief wife'. You mean your chief whore!" she literally spat back at him.

With an animalistic snarl, he threw her back. She crashed hard against the wall before toppling into a pitiful heap, breathing hard and struggling to sit up, but she reeled, eyes blinking slowly as if momentarily blinded.

"Forget her, my darling," Majora crooned, slinking up behind him and winding her long, lithe, snake-like arms and legs about him. Her spider's fingers stroked his cheeks and tousled the thick red waves of his hair, and his body began to relax. "I am your true wife. The good wife. I will never abandon you as this filthy wench. I give you everything you need, my handsome prince..."

She nibbled his ear, flicking the tip of her tongue. He shuddered, and she began to massage his shoulders, kneading deep into his neck, a wickedly satisfied yet desiring grin curling across her lips—

Link swung the sword as hard as he could. Swirls of light and dark energy somersaulted down its edges, rolling off the tip and surging in a sphere of shadow which crashed into the wall mere inches from Majora and Ganondorf, exploding with a noise like shattering glass, only magnified ten-fold. At the same time, Midna snarled, "Enough, Majora," Majora's head snapped in their direction but she did not move, clinging to Ganondorf with her cat's claws and glaring and hissing wickedly, while Ganondorf turned to behold them with the same malice—

And pleasure.

"Welcome!" He threw his arms open wide in a falsely welcoming gesture; Majora slid off his back but trailed close on his heels, one hand pressed firmly on his shoulder. "Welcome at last! Hero of Time, reincarnated and in the flesh before me, and—my, my. Dearest Midna. You really have grown since I last saw you. In both height and beauty, I might add. You were a rather hideous little squirt when last we met, not to mention irritating. But Zaruman says you have grown in maturity, if not in wisdom, isn't that so, son?"

Even as Ganondorf's eyes strayed, Midna's darted in their direction, while Link's followed.

Though in the throne room, they hadn't even noticed the throne perched at the long corridor flanked with pillars and tall arched windows. Half concealed in shadow, half illuminated by the deathly pallor streaming through the windows and the sickly orange glow of the torches' flame, the young prince perched upon Zelda's throne. He was the perfect image of his father—flaming red curls, deeply tanned skin, muscular though more leanly so. Only his eyes were his mother's, their shape and color and, perhaps in a different time, their temperament. Now, however, they gleamed with the same, steadfast iciness as their father's.

"Zaru!" Aniya gasped, crawling towards him then stopping as her limbs shook unsteadily. "Zaru, my Zaru...look at me, my Zaru!"

His eyes stared straight ahead, as if peering right at her. Yet they seemed to behold nothing, nor his ears to hear her cries, their pleading quiet but clear in the echoing emptiness of the chamber. Even the passion which flickered so vehemently in those eyes the first time Link saw them seemed to have vanished.

Link glanced at Midna, but her terror of Zaruman's presence seemed to have waned, as if a new courage took control. Instead, a sort of pity glimmered in her eyes for the dark prince, and a greater pity for Aniya.

"Zaruman, please look at me—you don't have to do this—please, Zaru, please—"

The more frantic her cries accelerated, the less he seemed to look. His eyes stared straight at her yet viewed nothing. As if blinded to her trembling body and deafened against her pleas—pleas which fractured Link's own heart as though she was his own mother—he just stared, unblinking, unchanging, unreadable, as if hewn of stone.

"Zaruman, please!" she shrieked. Then, as if that final cry diminished her remaining hope and strength, she whispered pitifully, as if uttering her last breath, "Look at me..."

This time, he looked. He looked so intensely that, more than seeing her eyes which so visibly reflected the agonized longing of her heart, Link swore he must be able to survey her very soul itself. Yet in being intense, the look was intensely cold. Empty. Like stone, but a different sort of stone than he'd looked only moments ago. Then, the stone of his heart shining in his eyes was yet unformed. Now though, his mind was made up, having crafted the final product. His decided yet remained hard, hard as the stone of the Goron's caves, and harder still in seeming to be completely unbreakable, not even crackable in the slightest. Unblinking, unchanging, he stared, granting his reply: He did have to do this, and he would.

Even as Ganondorf's wide strides echoed dully, like bodies falling limp and lifeless, Zaruman rose, gliding silently down the dais and along the same, blood-red carpet. As father and son passed, their shoulders lightly brushed as if in some secret agreement or promise. Then, as Ganondorf lighted upon the throne, sitting back comfortably, and as Zaruman reached Majora who laughed a high, maniacal cackle, he drew his blade, Majora's smile vanished as she presented a whip from thin air and swung it in a high arc, like a cloud swirling over a volcano preparing to blow—

And the next moment, it did blow as all hell on earth broke loose within the throne room of Hyrule.

Majora's whip swung wide about the room. Midna and Link leapt over its thick leather streamers just in time, though Link barely blocked the sword strike Zaruman wielded against him at the same time.

"I'll keep Majora preoccupied; you focus on Zaruman!"

With that command, Midna drew her own blade, leaping across the room as if hoping to protect Link from the extensive reach of Majora's whip.

Link and Zaruman's swords sang, weaving and dancing with an almost grace and beauty as silver scintillated and clashed melodiously. The fierce gleam of Zaruman's eyes promised this was no mere symphonic target practice though, and Link stayed fast on his feet, blocking blow after blow, managing to nick Zaruman's shoulder at one point. Though he cried out, not once did he falter; he was nearly as skilled as his father in agility, though he might not possess all of his strength.

At some point, Majora's cackle rang high, chilling Link, and then he and Zaruman were both forced to jump out of the way, Zaruman cursing as the whip literally exploded into the pillars, sending several toppling to the floor along with bits of the ceiling; the noise echoed with the terror of a brilliant thunderstorm, and the dark clouds loomed close between the bits of ruined ceiling.

For a few moments, Link was blinded by clouds of dirt and dust swirling wildly on all sides with the collision. Coughing, he struggled to see as the darkness slowly dissipated.

Then, Zaruman leapt over the debris with renewed force, challenging Link as they scaled higher and higher up the pillar fallen diagonal, then as they leapt off, chasing each other like a wolf after a solitary hare and back again. Once, Link glanced at the Triforce upon his hand and realized how fiercely it glowed. Eye glancing upon Zaruman's, he saw his too illuminated, though not quite as vibrantly, whether because he held only a small shard of the Triforce compared to Link or whether because the Triforce granted him less power or began to wan, Link could not know. He hoped for the latter—

"Zaru!"

At first, Aniya's cry broke through the madness like a small, pitiful zephyr struggling to survive amidst a great tornado. Link glanced down at the woman, eyes shining like hauntingly luminous candles amidst her dirt-smudged face. She reached a hand up, fingers brushing the hem of Zaruman's cloak as he and Link waltzed past, swords still entwining.

"Zaru!"

Zaruman froze. Aniya's plea this time held no anger; no bitterness lined her voice, only a pure love for her son which shone vividly in her eyes, consuming them like an unquenchable fire. Link too paused, sword raised high. For just a moment, he contemplated taking the chance, but as Zaruman's eyes locked with Aniya's, it didn't feel right to interrupt that sacred moment...

At last, Zaruman saw her. Beyond the deep wells of vacancy, just a little bit of feeling emerged. It was slight, so very subtle Link surprised himself in catching it. But there it glimmered. His hands lowered just the tiniest fraction, as if he considered withdrawing. Then, his eyes fell as though he himself tumbled from the highest cliff top into the deepest, most inescapable ravine, and there, the shadows cloaked his eyes. Shadows of resolve, apology, and renewed coldness. Aniya glanced then at Link, and he at her, and she nodded. After another brief pause, that final moment of hope was shattered, the poignant decision made, as Zaruman turned and swung his blade in a wild arc, leaving Link to jump back and block the blow barely in time—

Only to spin and disarm the prince, sending him tumbling to the ground, hard, and skidding across the marble floor, yelling out as he left behind him a streak of blood. Link stared at the tip of his sword, realizing he must have done more than disarm his foe. Then sweeping up to the prince, he raised the sword high, its blade towering triumphantly above him...

Even then, he hesitated. It didn't feel right. The prince deserved his chance. But the prince's eyes, again beyond the darkness, gleamed with his own, silent plea. All his chances were spent. One of them must die, and he longed for it to be himself.

With a cry, Link brought the blade down fast, looking away as it speared the young prince's heart. He glanced down only to withdraw the blade, catching a glimpse of the face lying motionless, grossly, grotesquely, but, Link hoped, peacefully so.

He turned just in time to block a blow from Majora who had aimed her whip perfectly at Midna and prepared to launch it. The whip's long, leather strands coiled about Link's sword and she whirled, staring stunned then spiteful. She struggled to yank her whip back, but instead, whip soared through the air along with Master Blade, and half a lightning's step later, Midna leapt up from behind and plunged her own sword close to the sorceress' heart.

Majora's eyes widened, and a sharp gasp escaped her as Midna pulled the sword back out. As she stumbled, Link stepped aside, swallowing the small bit of bile wanting to worm its way up his throat. He'd seen so much blood before, but not human blood. Even if the one was a prince corrupted hopelessly by his entirely evil father and the other an anciently wicked spirit posing as a lady—even then, it sickened him. As did the silence accompanying so much blood, the silence screaming the horrors of the graveyard which the throne room so quickly became.

Majora staggered drunkenly towards the dais, eyes never wavering from the false king she so entirely adored. She, a greater and far more ancient, powerful spirit, yet consumed with a passion for his passion. Upon reaching the first step, she tripped and collapsed, no longer able to carry herself. Link winced at the thick trail of glittering blood she'd left in her wake. Ganondorf watched on, unreadable.

"I'm sorry, my sweet lord," she whispered, her voice fading even as her feet began to dissolve into an iridescent dust, then her legs, her waist, the nothingness steadily devouring her entire body. Even then, her eyes beheld only him, captivated by his unmoving stare at her rapidly withering form. She reached up, "I'm sorry, my lord. I tried...and I died...for you. May we meet in the realm beyond..."

A single nod, barely noticeable, his last gift to her. Yet her eyes shone with the grateful tears of a prisoner granted his last and most precious meal before they too dissipated with the rest of her. The wind swirled the dust and carried it through the window. Then, Majora was no more.

Link tore his eyes from that spot, but his gaze fell only upon the young prince drowned in an expanding ocean of blood. He wanted to look away from him too, but then there was only Aniya to behold, or Midna—who winced herself before painfully looking away from Zaruman. Or Ganondorf himself, who beheld the Triforce crest on his hand, two new shards of the triangle of Power filled in, with disgusting satisfaction.

Though vast, the throne room suddenly felt very small, stiflingly so. His entire world rested in that small space, and it could not contain everything he felt coursing through him like a million knives—fear, pain, vengeance, grief, remorse, tainted victory—

"You filth."

The accusation brought Link back to that reality and someone else besides himself who inhabited it. Aniya, crawling towards her son, cradling his limp head in her hands.

"He was your son," Aniya half hissed, half shrieked, trembling violently as if on the verge of literally falling apart like the sands of the Spirit Temple. Her eyes hissed raging fire barely contained. "He was your son—you killed your own son—!"

"He knew the risk!" Ganondorf thundered. Then, more quietly, "As did Majora. Such is the price to pay. The weaker must give way for the stronger to rise. Zaruman would have done anything to win the title and glory as Hyrule's next Prince of Shadow—"

"You mean the 'Prince of Evil.' Can nothing but evil filth spew from your mouth?" Midna challenged, crimson eyes lighting ablaze.

Ganondorf glared at her. Then, his look softened, taking on the same, cold hardness as his son's, save one difference. Zaruman's stare was completely empty, unfeeling, detached. But Ganondorf felt something—pride, passion, desire, and an already-victory gleamed in his eyes. Zaruman did not allow himself to feel, but Ganondorf did, because nothing he felt would strip him of the desire of his quest for power.

"There is no evil," he said, voice quiet though teetering on the edge of an imminent choice. "There is no evil, and there is no good. Only power, and those strong enough to seek it..."

His gaze shifted so quickly to Link that Link jumped, not noticing the transition. All of a sudden, Ganondorf just was looking at him. Nothing could shift his focus, nothing save the sight of Link's body lying distorted, bloodied, dead before his eyes, and perhaps even then he would not turn away—

"Wait. This battle is not fairly fought without my presence. This is my castle, and he my Hero, after all."

Link glanced up. A tall, cloaked figure swept into the room, gliding silently as a shadow to rest beside Midna. Lowering the hood, Zelda raised her head with a slight sense of pride, though a calm humility shone ever in her eyes. As she granted a slight smile, he realized—the pride was towards him. She already granted him the victory in her mind.

"You are late, Zelda," Ganondorf snarled, "as ever."

"I am exactly on time as ever, I would say," she returned, folding her hands in front of her like a chamber maid waiting for instructions.

Her eyes fervently locked on Link, she gave a subtle but meaningful nod. Turning back to Ganondorf, Link saw his eyes still loathed him, locked firmly. Link knew they had not moved, not even upon Zelda's entrance. Link took a deep breath, steadying his nerves as he realized how truly embedded Ganondorf's hatred was, both in mind and heart.

Link waited. He waited for the venom boiling in the dark lord's eyes to froth to the point of exploding. When it did, and Ganondorf surged from his throne at him at last, Link was ready, swinging his sword high to block the blow—

He stumbled back. What a force hit him as metal sang against metal. As the power of an ancient man challenged the courage of a young boy.