Copyright disclaimer: It's been awhile, so maybe you need a refresher. The song went like this: "I don't fucking own the Legend of Zeldaaaaaaa. Oooooohhhh, baby baby baby. Jåšøñ Dërūłò."

CHAPTER 25: Divine Darkness

Words are not simply empty husks of letters strung together without meaning. Words are massive ships, each carrying hundreds of passengers of meanings. The ships sail, sink, and are rebuilt: such is the way of human communication. Language itself is something left open to interpretation.

But this wasn't.

I couldn't speak. Those three words, those three horrible words were warships, and they were winning against me, barraging me with relentless canon fire. The rounds ripped holes in me.

Five was saying something. He wanted to offer his condolences. If there was anything he could do—

I sprang out of my seat, flipping the wooden table onto its face. Five stepped back.

"Don't you dare fuck with me," I seethed. There were so many heavy emotions in my voice that the sound almost couldn't hold it; it shook with the weight.

"We aren't, Mr. Link," Five said calmly.

"Why should I believe you?" I hissed.

"Call your secretary." someone handed my phone to me, and Fi was already calling. I put it to my ear, looking straight at Five.

"Link—" she began.

"Horwell," was all I could say. I sounded harsh.

"He went into surgery earlier this week," she said. "He wasn't getting better." Her voice was quieting down, and, in a whisper, she said, "He passed away today... There were complications during surgery."

No. No.

"Link? Where are you?" My vision was clouding.

"I have to go," I said, and let the phone slide from my hand. It clattered to the ground, and I stared at it.

"Mr. Link, we would like to give you an offer."

I said nothing. I was still staring at my phone on the ground.

"...if you collect some information on Two, we will kill him for you."

"No," I replied, sliding my eyes up to him with a fierce look on my face. "I'm going to kill him."

"Oh? Really?" Six said. "And when you're arrested?"

"I'll say it was self defense," I growled.

Six said nothing, and the crescent shaped eyes of his mask stared into me. Then, quietly, he said, so that only I would hear, "You won't do it." He walked away, whispered something into Five's ear.

"Mr. Link," Five called. "If you wish to kill him, do as you please. However, the information that we are looking for might be beneficial to you as well."

"Five!" shouted Six and Seven.

"Fools, think twice about questioning my authority."

"He isn't going to..." Six said, trailing off. "Whatever. Never mind." He brushed past Five and disappeared, Seven following close behind.

"Fuck, they never listen," Five sighed. He recollected himself. "Perhaps you should ask Ghirahim why he doesn't exist. Why our top hackers can't even find a tidbit of information on him."

I was handed my coat and my cell phone.

"Why does it matter?" I grumbled.

"That," Five said, folding his hands in front of his stomach, "is not something you need to know." I opened my mouth to say something, but he cut me off. "Fare thee well, skydweller," he said, holding up one hand in a wave as something hard and dense slammed into my head, knocking me out cold.

There my mind went right then was dark. Darker than every shadow nestled in every crack and corner and soul. It was darker than any darkness that the earth had ever met. It took my entire body, possessed me, and hid my humanity.

I awoke, slumped against the front window of my apartment complex. My coat was thrown against me haphazardly and my phone was half buried in the snow. It was snowing. Flakes fell to the ground slowly, aimlessly. It hurt to move, I was cold enough that I had to have been there for at least an hour. My bones creaked as I stood and wiped the pile of accumulating snow out of my hair.

I made it to my apartment. It was dark and cold, and I did not turn on the lights, nor did I turn on the heater. I unlocked my bottom desk drawer in the dark and pulled out my pistol. It was one o'clock in the morning, but I'd wait for him. I'd wait hours, days, even, for him to open the door like I knew he would.

And I'd be ready.

The door creaked open at seven. My eyes were wide open, and they had adjusted to the dark whereas he came in cloaked in the light of the hallway. The door closed, and he stood there. I watched him turn his head, perhaps glancing around the room until the vague outline of shapes appeared. He took one step forward.

"Stop," I said. My voice was raspy from disuse.

"Link? Why are you sitting in the dark?"

"Why don't you turn the light on?" I watched as he turned and reached for the light switch on the wall, standing from the desk chair and pointing the gun right at his back. The light burst through the room, burning my eyes. He didn't have to turn around to know that I was pointing a gun at him.

"And what is this for, detective?"

I turned off the safety.

"You know exactly why, you demon," I replied, trying my hardest to sound calm. I was not calm.

"Enlighten me," he said, swinging around and knocking the gun from my hand, taking a hold of my wrist and positioning his hand in such a way that he could break it is he wanted to.

"Let go of me," I hissed. "I'll kill you."

"What for?" Ghirahim pressed, grasping my wrist tighter.

"You... you killed him," I muttered.

"Killed who?" he asked, leaning closer to me. "Link, what's happened to you?" He ran a finger over my tender eye, stroked my bloody, bruised lip.

"Horwell!" I screamed, shoving him off of me. I was shaking uncontrollably, and all the strength that I'd had finally left my body. I stumbled to the ground, choking over the air that wasn't making its way to my lungs.

"No, I didn't," Ghirahim said, bending down and putting his hand on my shoulder. "Who did this to you, Link?"

"Get away from me," I groaned, curling into myself. "Go."

"I didn't kill him, Link. You told me not to."

I gave a bitter laugh. "Since when do you listen to what I tell you to do? Give me a fucking break. You lying piece of shit, you hated him, I know you did, why else would you have fucked him up so bad? Damn you. Go to hell. I hate you. Get out of here. You aren't even worth killing, just get out of here."

He pulled me up by my shirt and backhanded me.

"Fuck you. I told you I didn't do it."

"Why the hell should I believe you?" I screeched. "Get out of here!" I was hysterical. He shoved me on the ground.

"Believe what you'd like, trash," he said, exiting the apartment.

I stayed on my back, staring at the ceiling until noon. When noon came, I closed the blinds and finally removed my coat and boots, then disinfected the few cuts I got from my fistfight at the Imprisoned's hideout. I felt heavy. Not sick, not tired, not sad, or angry, nothing. Just heavy. I couldn't think about anything. Movement seemed pointless. I might have forgotten how to breathe a few times, curled into myself and hyperventilated into my knees. I didn't eat, I wasn't hungry. I wasn't thirsty, either. I wasn't anything. Only heavy.

The first thing I felt was cold, so I finally got up and turned on the heater. I took a scalding hot shower, and stood under the water until my skin was pruny.

When I made it to my bed, that was it. I didn't get up for three days, I put the covers over my head and stared into the dark creases of the blankets. My phone rang more times than I cared to count. When it rang enough to make my head hurt, I crawled from under my blankets and threw it against the wall. It clattered to the floor. I stared at it, started muttering, grasping my head.

He's dead.

He's dead. He's DEAD.

heisdeadheisgoneheisdeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeadDEADDEADEADDEADDEAD—

It hit me just then that Horwell was really gone. I wouldn't ever see him again. I needed to be out of the confines of my apartment. Suffocating. I was suffocating.

Shoving my feet into my snow boots, I dashed out the door. A second later and I would have gone insane.

I didn't make it anywhere far. It was a freezing early evening and I wasn't dressed for such weather. The sun was setting slowly, and it looked like the sky had been burned by a cold, bitter old friend.

Tired out quickly, I trudged my way to the park. I don't know what evil guided me there, but when I came upon his bench and saw a young couple smoking there, I fell to my knees, and I sobbed. I rained hurricanes and tsunamis into the snow, painted pink by the sunset. I almost heard him ask, What's a pretty young girl like you doing outside in the cold?

Almost.

The sun set and I had gone numb, my fingers had turned purple, and my boots had froze. I stood, walking. I didn't know where I was going. I stood under a streetlight, staring across the road at the one parallel to me. From there, I watched myself appear and stand, and I suddenly existed in dual realities. I watched myself take my phone out of my pocket and read a message. I turned on my heel and ran down the street. I watched as I ran, and followed.

I followed myself, and when I finally caught up, I merged back into reality. My consciousness returned dull and darkened. The message had been from Ghirahim, and it'd said Meet me at the bar on Celestia Street. I'll tell you everything; you have my word.

The words were misspelled and bled together, but I went anyway. I needed to know.

I made it to the bar and walked in. The warmth began to thaw me out, and my fingertips burned. I looked around for Ghirahim, and only found him after he'd found me.

"You look absolutely frozen," he slurred, looking at me through a glass of a light brown liquid. He sat at the side of the bar opposite the door, and had watched me walk in.

"Why am I here?" I said flatly.

"You need a drink," he said. "I think vodka would do you good." I was too tired for making rational choices, which was why I was there in the first place. Ghirahim nodded at the bartender and he poured me a shot. Without a second thought, I threw it back. It burned as it went down—a heat that warmed me from the inside, from my toes to my skull.

"Another," I said. The bartender mixed it with something and pouted it into another shot glass, and this time it was a pinkish white color.

"Grapefruit crush," he said. I gulped it down again, the sweet warmth of it making me grin.

"Can I have another?" I meant to say, but it came out as "Another, have I can?"

Ghirahim told me I was a lightweight and I punched him in the face, hard. He didn't move, and just laughed heartily.

After five or six more shots, I commanded that Ghirahim took me somewhere private to tell me everything. In another second, I was in the back of a cab, singing an outdated pop song from the radio at the top of my lungs as I sat on Ghirahim's lap.

When I got out of the car, I tried to put one foot in front of the other, but it didn't work all that well, and Ghirahim ended picking me up and holding me like a baby as we walked into his apartment building. It was dark out and I didn't know what day it was, or what year, or what planet. When he sat me down on his stiff couch, I stared at him as he walked to the kitchen and brought me a glass of water.

"Link," he said, sounding entirely sober. "I swear on everything that I did not kill Horwell."

"Wait," I sputtered, surprised at his complete change in demeanor. "Aren't you drunk?"

"Not really."

"So you... pretended to be drunk to get me to drink?" I paused, trying to remember what I was talking about. "I bet you think you're clever," I said.

"Will you listen to me, please?" he asked, with pain in his eyes.

"Yessir," I responded, saluting him.

"I didn't kill him. The Imprisoned did—nothing they tell you is trustworthy."

"But you knew they were planning it, didn't you?" I asked, anger flaring up. "You know, you never own up to your own faults. It's always someone else's."

"Link, listen to me. I do not have any idea what they're doing. They are acting against me now. After you told me not to kill Horwell the first time, I resolved not to. I knew he was an important part of your life, and he kept you... happy." His eye twitched as he said it.

I looked at him. I looked at him for a long time, and I knew that he was telling the truth. And as that realization came, once again came the tears. Perhaps my emotions were magnified by the alcohol, or perhaps there was a subconscious relief that it wasn't him.

He came to me and sat me on his lap, leaning my head on his shoulder. He stroked my back and ran his fingers through my hair, rocking me back in forth. He whispered to me in ancient Hylian, a quiet story about a place in the clouds where people rode birds and kissed the sun. I hadn't felt an embrace like this as far as I could remember, and the heat of his body spread through me until I dozed off.

When I fell asleep, he continued to speak; I heard his soft Hylian in my dream. I sat on the lush floor of the forest, the komorebi covering me in light and shadows. I laid on my back, watching the sunlight filter through the canopy of leaves. He stood over me, obscuring my view.

I have traveled through every heaven and every hell, he began, every fold of every valley of every mountain of every epoch to find you. And now I have.

"Wake up," a familiar voice hissed. "How long were you planning to cling to me like this?" I opened my eyes groggily, seeing that my hands had clutched Ghirahim's shirt in the night. "This shirt costs more than half a year of your salary," he asserted angrily.

"Sorry," I muttered, yawning. I assumed he'd carried me to the bed at some point. "Is this what a hangover feels like?" I asked, immediately backhanded with nausea and dehydration.

"I'd be concerned if you didn't have one. You took twenty shots last night," he said.

"Twenty!?" I gasped. "No, I had seven at most."

Ghirahim took out his phone and I groaned. That was never a good sign.

"Here's a picture of you with your twentieth shot," he said, gesturing to the 19 shot glasses in the foreground of the photo.

"And here you are trying to climb on top of a telephone booth."

"Okay, I get your point," I sighed. I looked at him and pinched his cheek lightly. I was still drowsy, and my fingers were tingling. I wasn't positive if I was awake or not.

He pinched my cheek lightly as well, and left the room, soon returning with a glass of water, a bowl of of hot milk, and a packet of instant oatmeal.

This was, possibly, the longest we'd went without trying to kill each other.

"What's your favorite color?" I asked as I mixed the instant oatmeal into the bowl with a the gilded spoon he'd given me. He looked surprised.

"I like red, and purple, and black." He thought for a minute. "Gold, too. And you?"

"I don't know, I think I like green."

"What kind of music do you listen to?"

"I never have time, but when I do, it's always classical. You play piano, don't you?"

"I do. And you play harp?"

"I do." We continued on like this, learning tiny, sentient details about each other, for an hour or two.

I got sick to my stomach after eating the oatmeal, and Ghirahim told me to take a shower while he went to buy ginger ale.

He left, and as the door clicked shut, I realized I was locked in his house. It wasn't much of an issue at the time, because Ghirahim had been kind and generous the entire time I was there. But five minutes after my shower, the doorbell rang. The screen next to the door displayed a camera image of Four, Five, Six, and Seven.

"Hello, Two," Five said. "We know you aren't home, but we just wanted to leave you a quick message. We know that your little toy came running to you and that you told him that you didn't kill his daddy. Thanks for ruining the fun. Anyway, while we've got him captive here, we are going to give him a minute to call you—go on, Mr. Link, call him. We'll wait."

I ran to Ghirahim's bedroom and threw the sheets around, searching for my phone. I found it in my snow boot and saw that I only had 2% battery left. I called him as quick as I could, rushing back to the door.

He answered on the first ring. "What is it?"

"The Imprisoned are outside of your door, I don't know what they want, but don't come home," I whispered.

Five continued. "Mr. Link, I'll assume you've called him by now. Please tell him that we will ruin everything he's worked for if he doesn't come."

"Ghirahim—" I began.

"Don't speak," he whispered.

"Mr. Link, please also disclose that we have planted a bomb set to go off in fifteen minutes, and only Two's voice can de-activate it. So your pretty blonde head will be blown to bits if he doesn't come here soon.

"Link," Ghirahim said, "listen to what I say very carefully. Go into the bathroom through my bedroom, and under the sink, there is a black backpack. Make sure you are dressed and grab it. It's got a chest strap, so put it on tight, okay? Get your coat and your boots all laced up." I did as he told quickly and quietly.

"Have you finished?" he asked. "Go back to the front door." I returned, and heard the end of Five's last sentence.

"...and so we've brought Three as well, who you are quite close with, Mr. Link. Perhaps he will be able convince you to surrender." I looked at the screen; curiosity got the best of me. His mask was split down the middle, black on one side and white on the other.

"Link, if you listen to me, I might be able to save you," he said. I knew that voice.

"Pipit!?" I shouted incredulously.

A/N: It's been a year, more or less, and all I can do is apologize. There's so much to explain that I don't even find it worth explaining.

I'd like to thank everyone for sending me messages of love and encouragement over the last year. I am so happy to be part of such a loving, caring community. I love you all, and your kind PMs got me through some tough times.

I don't really know what the plan is for Aphelion over the next year, or the direction that I want to take it. If anyone would like to share some ideas, I will gladly accept (just PM me!).

Once again, I'm sorry that I updated last year, promising a chapter and then disappearing for the twelve millionth time.
I changed my username to saccharine soul btw.

In other news, PIPIT IS A DOUBLE AGENT? WHAT?