A quiet period passed, the two of us together yet alone, our thoughts our own. At some point, I lay down and went to sleep, though I have no conscious memory of deliberately doing so. Nevertheless, at some point I stirred to wakefulness thanks to the sound of gentle tapping at my cell. I bolted upright and saw Saria beside the bars, carrying a parcel of my belongings. She held it awkwardly with both arms, being so small.

"This is everything they took from you," she said, and with a bit of maneuvering we were able to squeeze it through one of the gaps between the bars. The Hylian Shield was the biggest problem; even when turned on its thinner edge it could barely pass through. As I looked over my possessions to see that everything was in order, Saria continued: "Some of Caelb's men will be coming soon to escort you to the forest, but I've bribed them to look the other way at all of your recovered gear. That's all I can do for you."

I saw that the Fairy Bow and its quiver of arrows were present and undamaged. "These are hers," I said, passing them back through the bars towards Saria.

Saria took them with a puzzled expression on her face. "What should I do with them? She can't keep them in her cell. She's supposed to be a meek and helpless hostage. They'll accept you being armed, but not her."

"I...I don't know," I admitted. "Hold them for her, please. If she escapes or is set free..."

"I'll do what I can," said Saria.

Having finished examining what Saria had brought me, I found one omission—so small as to make it remarkable that I noticed it at all.

"Saria, did you find the ocarina?" She looked blank, not from a lack of recognition but with a certain hesitancy. "The one you gave to me."

"Yes," she said heavily, "That one. The one I gave to you to remember me. Now, you know me, and you know what your actions have done to me and the rest of the Kokiri. You don't need a memento of me anymore." Her hand traced a slow path along one of the cold straight metal rods of my cell.

"But—"

"It feels like fate for that thing to end up back in my hands, that it's come full circle...it's like we're back on that day on the bridge when you stormed off out of my life." She looked at me squarely. "But we're not children anymore. It's my gift to give, Link, but I can't give it to you again. Not this time."

My face fell away from her. "All right. I understand."

"I'm not sure you do," she said brusquely. "But there is one thing that I need you to understand." She looked over at Zelda, curled up on her cot, tranquil and motionless. "She is what matters here. You have to do the right thing. Pretty soon—no matter what you do—you won't be there to protect her."

That was all Saria had to say. With that she glided away in swift silence. A few moments later came the distant clanking of the door to our cell block being shut behind her. Its reverberations died off and silence returned, but only for a moment.

"What did Saria mean by that?"

Zelda's voice startled me. "You were awake?"

"I wouldn't have survived seven years as a fugitive from Ganondorf's tyranny if noise like that didn't wake me," she said, sitting up. "What does Saria want you to do with me?"

"But why didn't you let on..."

"Just tell me."

I let pass a small moody pause. What point was there in concealing anything from her? I blinked heavily. "Saria says she can rescue you from this place, once I leave. She thinks I should use this test to escape as well, and then from there we...we…"

I did not need to finish my thought, for Zelda's insight was as keen as it ever was. "Go our separate ways."

"That's her recommendation," I said flatly.

"So she agrees with me," Zelda said, "though we arrived at that conclusion separately."

I looked across the hall at her, a vacant stare. "This is your decision, not mine," I said in leaden tones. "My fate is prearranged right now, inescapable...as it so often seems to be. But with Saria's help, you will be free. What you do with that rare freedom is for you to choose."

"I was royalty," she remarked, "and then I was a fugitive. Then I was royalty once more, and now once more I am a fugitive. I am well aware of what a lack of freedom feels like. It was a desire for freedom—the freedom to do what I knew was right—that led me out of the castle and off with you on that day seven years ago."

"I know you'll do what's right this time too," I said. "I trust your wisdom. But I want to tell you that I don't have the wisdom that you possess. I have courage, and that makes me foolish, stubborn. And being the stubborn fool that I am...I will try and find you. Because I believe, more than I believe in anything else, that I am meant to be by your side. To share your hardships. To serve you and protect you forever."

Zelda looked at me and a slow small smile crept into her lips. I found this odd and my facial expression must have betrayed my feeling. Zelda made a short spurt of laughter.

"What?" I asked, hoping that my confusion would not be mistaken for anger.

"I know, Link," she said, and brushed aside a stray lock of hair. "Listen. I have a prophecy for you."

I started. "Really?"

"Yes. When I was sleeping, I dreamt of your challenge today. I saw you among the trees, lost, freezing. It was as though I was trying to catch up to you..."

"You were in the dream yourself?"

"Yes," she said. "It was through my own eyes. I was looking for you in the woods and I could only catch glimpses of you, but you were suffering. You were disappearing in a snowy haze, but right before I lost sight of you, I saw something set upon you. Something dark, sinister and unnatural...but it was only a glimpse."

"I see."

"And then..." Zelda looked despondent. "Everything was obscured by white, and I could sense time had passed, and the next thing I knew, I was holding you in my arms. You were limp, cold, soaked in something wet—maybe melted snow, maybe blood. You had died in my arms..."

"Zelda..."

"I couldn't save you."

"You won't have to. It won't come true."

"That's the thing about prophecy," she answered. "Fight it, and you'll end up fulfilling it."

At that very moment the heavy door sounded its opening at the far end of the hall, and many Kokiri footsteps. Immediately I knew this was a squad coming to escort me to my fate, and I braced myself for the commencement of my test. The gang of Kokiri approached and one unlocked my cell with an old iron key that looked disproportionately large in his small hand. As they ushered me out they looked over my possessions with suspicion and perhaps a slight degree of awe, but true to the terms of Saria's bribe, they made no objections. In fact they made no statements at all, silently closing around me and leading me away down the hall. I cast a sidelong look. Her eyes betrayed her fear and uncertainty, but beneath these feelings I could sense hope—faint but indomitable. Then she disappeared from my field of view.

Passing out of the prison area, I quickly lost all sense of direction as we wound through the Temple grounds. The Kokiri escorting me were tough, scarred, silent and heavily armed. They were so unlike the playful race I had grown up with, and so terribly alike to the soldiers, rebels and vagabonds I had been among ever since Zelda and I had awoken in Death Mountain at the start of our journey. It was a change I did not relish, save for a small amount of respect I held at the swiftness with which the peaceful forest children had become feared spies and killers.

Before long the general chill of the place grew sharper and I was thrust forth into the tree-filled snowy abyss that was the Lost Woods. The Kokiri escorts stood between me and the archway back in, the ancient, cryptic vastness of the Forest Temple looming behind them.

"Go," said one of them harshly. "Do your duty and return, if you can. You know what is at stake." With that they filed back into safety, leaving me alone. There was no gate or door barring me from re-entering, but I was shut out all the same. Heavily I turned on my feet and trudged into the shapeless avenues of trees, Master Sword in hand.

Thoughts of oblivion filled my mind to match the bleakness of my environs. I knew what Saria and Zelda wanted, I knew that the test was designed to kill me, I knew that with Saria's help both Zelda and I could plausibly escape. But what good would it do? What fate would await me? I kept going. There was no other option. I knew that the chances of me finding the spring, and having the wits and magical fortitude to invoke Din's Fire there, were slim to none, but I didn't care anymore. I would walk into the forest and walk until I found peace. Perhaps the forest would forgive me and my actions, and show me the way. Perhaps it wouldn't, and I would get lost and die alone and undiscovered, unmourned by my only childhood friend. Either way, I would know.

To this end I focused on the task of finding the frozen spring. I concentrated to recall the image of the little pool, the old Zora archway at the bottom of it, the grove in which it was situated. Long ago, Mido had accosted me there, unaware of my identity, when I had returned to Kokiri as an adult. I played Saria's Song for him to show him my connection to the Kokiri people, to show my friendship with Saria. Now, Mido was dead, and the bond of friendship between Saria and I was frayed, perhaps destroyed. It didn't matter. As long as I had a goal, a quest, no matter how unlikely, no matter how pointless, no matter how dangerous, I could cling to life and to purpose. I marched.

I was past doubt, past fear, past even depression. My mind had grown as cold and numb as my limbs in the face of my challenge. The Forest Temple disappeared almost immediately and as I looked backwards, not a single feature differentiated the view from what I could see ahead of me, or to the left or the right. But as I concentrated on my memories of the spring, I could feel the faint stirring, the impulse, that led me onwards in what I could only assume was the correct direction. The song of the forest was maddeningly quiet, but I heard it thrumming softly in my bones.

Soon I saw (or thought I saw) a convocation of the forest's silent, ruthless sentinels. The red, hungry eyes preceded fleeting glimpses of lithe, threatening bodies, near invisible against the whiteness of the landscape. The White Wolfos followed me, trotted at my pace like escorts, always flitting about at the edge of my vision. Why did they not strike me down? Did they remember those that Zelda and I had slain, and were afraid? That seemed unlikely. It was as though they knew of my doomed mission, and simply wished to observe my travails, to watch me sink into icy nothingness. They would be there to feast upon me the moment I fell. That seemed their wish, but I would not oblige them until I had exhausted every ounce of my strength.

It didn't take long after Link had been taken away for Saria to appear before Zelda in her cell. Once the guards were well clear, she came and was straight to business.

"In a few hours, a guard with a key to your cell will come to bring you food. Act natural. When he leaves, I'll be there to lift the key from him and unlock your cell. We'll exit the Temple and I'll lead us out of the forest—the wolves won't trouble us. It should be less than a week's hiking overland to make it to Hyrule Castle; obviously such a journey is no problem for you. I will keep you safe."

Zelda blinked. "You're taking me straight to the Castle?"

"Of course."

"I'm not sure I'm ready to go back there right now."

Saria caught Zelda's eyes with icy seriousness. "I'm not giving you a choice."

"What?!"

Saria smirked. "How does it feel to be on the receiving end of an ultimatum, Princess? Not something a noble would know much about."

Zelda glowered. "You presume much."

"That's my prerogative," Saria retorted, but she then softened her tone. "Listen, I know you want to do what's best for everyone. I don't know what role you're supposed to play in Link's quest—whatever it is—but a woman of your intelligence and wherewithal must certainly understand how important you are to the functioning of the Hyrulian monarchy."

"Obviously, but…"

"The King of Hyrule is old and has no other heirs. His state is riven by war from without, and court factions threaten to tear apart the government from within. Vultures circle his dying regime, fear and uncertainty rule. The army of Hyrule pays little heed to its liege as they execute the war with the Gerudo, and a military coup is distinctly possible." Saria put her hands on the bars of the cell. "There is turmoil everywhere. Will you really shirk the duties of your birthright?!"

Zelda looked at Saria with abject solemnity. "My birthright is to bear the Triforce of Wisdom, to use its power to defeat evil and restore harmony to the land. It is you who would have me deny it."

Saria's brow tightened. "If you're that serious about fulfilling your quest, why not take advantage of the privilege you were born into? Work to solve things from on high, attack the problem from a different angle."

Zelda sighed. "Perhaps you're right."

"You'll have plenty of time to think about it on our journey," Saria said, turning to leave. She looked back as she left, and said, "Don't do anything fancy. There's a lot at stake here."

Then Zelda was alone again, left to her thoughts. She tried strenuously to think of things from Saria's point of view, to accept the sense in what she had said. But without fail, her thoughts were pulled back to the image of Link's body, limp and cold in her arms. Was it an echo of when she had held him, soaked in his blood, when an arrow had robbed him of an eye? Or was it what she feared—a pronouncement of a dark future? She had asked him to envision this scenario, in reverse: for her to die in his arms while he was helpless to stop it. She had asked him if he could carry on. Now the question loomed large for her as well.

Her nightmare could not come true if she was not there to witness him fall. Would her absence avert his death, or merely allow him to die alone? If she returned to the perfumed marble accolades of Hyrule Castle, and learned of his death through the note of a courier, would it assuage or magnify her guilt to know that she had avoided fulfilling the prophecy of her dream?

What was her role in Link's quest? In its first instantiation, she had waited and watched, her identity veiled, her assistance indirect. In this timeline, she had fought beside him, bled beside him. Was she fated to die beside him? Could fate be changed?

Saria's solution was the logical path. Safety, security, stability...she had to live to obtain the Triforce of Wisdom if Verletz was to be defeated. Where better to hide than amid the royal guards of her father's palace? But Saria had spoken of instability there, of treachery, of uncertainty. If she were to return home and her homecoming heralded far and wide, would it draw her enemies to the very seat of Hyrule's power? Could Verletz send his agents into the heart of the court, to kidnap or kill her? Were they there already? Could it come to pass that certain nobles, already discontent from the tribulations of war, would betray the crown and deliver her to Verletz as they defected? Or indeed, could danger arise not from Gerudo machinations but from the simple greed and jealousy of those petty nobles, who are now enjoying the weakness of the monarchy and who covet the crown that rightfully belongs on her head? Perhaps the wilderness, anonymity, nowhere, was the safest place for her.

And then, when all avenues of logical reasoning had been pursued, there was what she felt: a deep, aching longing to go with Link, to travel with him, to fight with him, to love him. She had followed this longing since the very beginning, when she chose to follow him from the castle and forward into the pages of history. That choice could not simply be reversed, no matter what Saria believed. She heard in her head her own words to the Kokiri council: "I came because I couldn't not act. We are here because to fight and to struggle is our purpose...Resistance is life, inaction is death." Saria had not been there to hear those words.

The turmoil within her was brought to an abrupt halt when Zelda heard the distant clang of the door to the cell block being opened. This meant the arrival of a Kokiri jailer bearing her cell key—and, minutes later, that Saria would be taking her away. The allotted time had passed startlingly quickly. The clangor of the door brought Zelda's crisis into sharp, electric focus, her thoughts and emotions crystallizing in the swift span of the sound's issuance. The choice was made. If she were to be freed, it would have to be freedom on her own terms—true and unconditional freedom. The gilded cage of her father's court was not an option. If her safety was the price she would have to pay to operate freely in pursuit of her quest—to do whatever it takes to save Hyrule from Verletz and the specter of Ganondorf's evil—then she would pay that price. Link had shown not a moment's hesitation to pay that price and more besides, and to him she owed a similar show of selfless solidarity.

The jailer's shadow fell on the small area of hallway that Zelda could see from within her cell. Zelda hurriedly formed a plan, though she knew that sooner rather than later it would fall apart and she would be forced to improvise. She huddled on the cot in the cell, drawing her blanket tight around herself.

A stocky, sullen-eyed Kokiri approached the cell bars, holding a wood cup, a chunk of bread and a few vegetables. On an iron hoop attached to his belt was a large iron key. "Take your food," he enjoined in low tones. Zelda did not move but shivered and shrank from him, averting her gaze.

"What's the matter with you? Take it." The Kokiri stuck his arms through the cell bars to try and hand the ration to Zelda.

Zelda hesitated; the jailer continued to hold the food at arm's length before her, growing more irritated. He clearly was not going to be so foolish as to enter the cell to give it to her, and in a moment Zelda surmised that he would simply drop the food into her cell in his impatience and march off. She gingerly extended a hand towards the bread in the Kokiri's grip, feigning great fear and resignation.

Just as her fingers neared the bread, she sprang into vigorous action. Casting off the blanket she lunged towards the Kokiri's outstretched arms, grasping one of his wrists. Taken off guard, the Kokiri registered only a startled grunt. Zelda then pulled on his arm, hard.

The Kokiri—half Zelda's size and weight—was pulled sharply against the bars. His head whipped forward and struck the metal violently before recoiling, the sound unpleasant. Zelda allowed him to rebound from the impact, grabbing his other arm in the process, and then yanked again, even harder. Once more the Kokiri was pulled face-first into the cell bars, bashing his nose from which issued a stream of blood. Zelda held the tension this time, keeping the jailer pinned against the bars. She released one of the dazed Kokiri's arms, and jabbed dagger-like with her fingers into his throat. An awful wheeze burst from his lips, and he slumped against the door to the cell.

Letting him fall, Zelda undid his belt and removed the keyring from it. She tried the solitary key in the lock to the door. Try as she might, she could not get it to unlock, no matter how she twisted, prodded and jiggled it. It was not even close to fitting correctly—plainly it was the wrong key. Something had gone wrong with Saria's plan, or else it was doomed to begin with.

With the Kokiri guard thoroughly unconscious, the next Kokiri to enter would find her guilt. Zelda's mind raced. Her plan had backfired and there was nothing that could be done to reverse it. But then she remembered a facet of her magical talent that she had not used since the Kakariko graveyard—not long ago in days but seemingly ages past.

First, standing, she tried a few swift kicks to the locking mechanism. It shook and rattled but did not visibly break. Then, taking a square stance, she concentrated hard on the lock and the sliding cell door, visualizing it being rent asunder, summoning all her magical endurance and aptitude. A lavender glow emanated from the lock and pulsed at the fringe of her vision. With a clunk, the cell door jerked suddenly in the opening direction. There was a strained sound from the lock. Zelda relaxed and then concentrated again, once more summoning her spiritual focus. This time the lock groaned, the bars shuddered and with a great snapping and rending sound the cell door ground open. The lock, twisted and sundered, fell to the ground.

With some degree of satisfaction Zelda observed her handiwork for a moment. She crouched and retrieved one of the vegetables the jailer had brought, and as she stepped out of the cell she took a few voracious bites out of it. She had not eaten since the previous day, and needed to replenish her strength. She did not linger, though, and dashed down the hallway to the large wooden door separating the cell block from the rest of the fortress. No other prisoners filled any of the cells she passed.

Reaching the door Zelda crouched and placed one of her long, delicate ears against it, but no loud sounds were apparent from the other side. Noticing a large keyhole below the doorknob, she gazed through it.

Only a small sliver of the other side was visible. She saw the swirling snow falling in an open courtyard, not familiar to her but not at all remarkable. No Kokiri were readily apparent on the other side, but she knew that Saria was somewhere close by, and that Saria was not one to be seen easily. Zelda strained her vision for any hint of a camouflaged presence. With a jolt she spotted Saria, nearly imperceptible in her white clothes against the white snow, crouched near a low wall. She probably would not have seen Saria if not for the fact that Saria was on the move, sneaking from her cover across the courtyard toward the door.

Being caught by any Kokiri, even Saria, was not an option to Zelda. Saria would have to be avoided just the same as any other denizen of the Forest Temple, and with only the one door leading out from the cell block, that would not be simple.

But Zelda could draw on seven misplaced years of life as a Sheikah warrior. She had learned from the best, from one of the last remaining Sheikah in existence, and had honed her skills through solitary hardship in an epic trial that lasted from the moment that she fled on horseback from Hyrule Castle, to the moment that she revealed herself to Link in the Temple of Time. Stealth instincts came to her with familiar ease, and she quickly decided on how to slip past Saria.

She took a running start toward the left wall by the door, took two steps up it, and then thrust her upper body towards the right wall, bracing herself with her hands. Shuffling her hands and feet and arching her spine she maneuvered herself near the ceiling, holding herself taut above the doorway. For all her grace and athleticism she knew she could not hold the position for long, but she would not have to.

The doorknob turned and Saria threw wide the door, the top passing just beneath Zelda's torso. Saria took a mere moment to notice the crumpled Kokiri form lying halfway down the hall. Rather than rushing towards the scene, Saria immediately shut the door again, looking in the space that the opened door had concealed. An obvious hiding spot, one that Zelda was glad she hadn't chosen. But it was not so implausible that Saria—a spymaster among spymasters—would check above the lintel. If Saria's gaze moved upward, Zelda reasoned, then only by sudden violence against her, the Sage of the Forest, could Zelda make her escape. An unattractive option, but it did not prove necessary as Saria rushed to inspect the fallen Kokiri.

She had left the door slightly ajar. Zelda quickly and silently slid down the walls and pulled the door open just enough to permit her passage. As she slipped out into the chilly courtyard she cast a backwards glance at Saria, who was rising from inspecting the body of the guard and was looking in puzzlement at the battered, opened cell door.

The courtyard in which Zelda found herself was utterly nondescript, similar in appearance and function to a dozen others in the Temple. It would be of no navigational help, and with her extremely vague knowledge of the Temple's layout, Zelda knew that to strike off in a random direction would be counterproductive. She scurried over to the wall Saria had been hiding behind, and took a position behind it, listening for the sound of the door opening once more while staying concealed from view. She would wait for Saria to re-emerge, and then stalk her through the Temple in the hopes that Saria would lead her either to her sanctuary, or an exit to the forest.

It would be a dangerous game.

The cold quickly tore into me as I trekked through the featureless woods, guided only by instinct. I could feel it eating away at my vitality, grinding me down like a tempestuous ocean against a crumbling cliff. Knowing time was short, I didn't try to conserve my energy, but ran as fast as my vague sense of direction could permit. The icy air in my lungs hurt like fire, but I knew it could not kill me, so I paid it no heed. My companions the wolves I registered as scarcely more of a threat, as they danced at the limits of my vision. Their mocking phantom presence became so inconsequential that it jolted me from my complacency not when I saw them, but when, suddenly, they were nowhere to be found.

I staggered to a halt to see that I was in a large clearing, dusted with white except for an expanse of shimmering blueish ice. I could scarcely believe my senses, but as I approached it became obvious that it was the frozen surface of the spring. Though the opacity of the ice prevented me from seeing the Zora archway at the bottom, I felt sure I was in the right place. The air was still, the soft patter of snowfall a smothering drone, oppressing all. With numb, clumsy fingers I reached into my pack to withdraw Din's Fire, fumbling over the eight-sided gem.

I held it in both hands tight to my chest and prayed, struggled to summon what magical energy I had. I could feel a feeble warmth, tiny and desperate, well up, but it was not even enough to banish the chill from my body, much less conjure forth a blast of fire. I redoubled my efforts but the result was even yet feebler. I could not call forth the flame—whether from a lack of skill, the addled state of my wits in the freezing cold, or from the unearthly chill of the forest dampening all expressions of heat, I knew not. I only knew that it was not to be, as I slumped to my knees in front of the frozen pool. A mad, deranged hopelessness welled up in me, almost comical. It is a terrible irony, but when suddenly a great danger presented itself, it may have been what snapped me back to cognizance and saved me from madness and despair.

It was a voice, fell and terrible. It pierced the silence of the woods as though it were an arrow in flight, aimed only at me, heard by no other, making no sound save within my ears. It said only this: "You have failed."

At once I rose and turned on my heels, sword springing from its sheath with the effortlessness of a thousand draws. Behind me amid the sea of trees I thought I saw a black, sinister shape dart through a gap between two of the twisted, barren trunks. But then it was gone. For a long moment I held my gaze, snowflakes alighting on the naked steel of the Master Sword. Then the voice rang out once more, somehow already behind me again: "You are weak."

Again I turned, frantic, and saw the black shadow moving like whispered rumor through the trees, swiftly, silently...but also unnaturally, juddering from gap to gap in ways that no normal thing could move, spanning distances in an eyeblink, never still.

"Show yourself!" I cried, not expecting anything but mostly for my own benefit. "Face me!"

"What need have I to strike you down?" the unseen voice intoned. "Your feeble flesh cannot survive this place."

"You fear the holy blade in my hand. Come forth and fight, or flee your doom a coward!"

"Very well. I will oblige you." From between the trees there emerged a huge, demonic black stallion, wild eyes ablaze with sinister red light, nostrils flaring and fogging the frigid air. And atop his nightmare steed was the author of all my suffering, of Hyrule's suffering, the architect of its ruin: Ganondorf.

"YOU!"

"You will never defeat me." With that he broke into a terrible haunting laugh, growing and growing as a contemptuous sneer split his face. As his laughter rang ear-splitting in my mind his face erupted with black, eerie flames, magic-born and casting shadow rather than light, that grew and grew until his visage was engulfed in evil energy and crumbled away. All that remained was a leering, grinning skull, wreathed in eldritch flames. His horse reared, flailing its sharp hooves, and the with a crackle of energy the phantom Ganon conjured forth a wicked spear, holding it high in threatening mockery. Then both wraith and steed were borne aloft, gliding soundlessly through the chill air, bearing down on me relentlessly.

Shield raised and sword ready I braced for his attack. With terrible swiftness the phantom struck and flew by, and although my shield deflected the blow the force was such that a ringing pain shot up my cold-numbed arm. I swung the Master Sword in retaliation but was far too slow, dulled by the frost. The horse and rider glided through the air with such speed and grace that no sooner had I aimed my blow than they were out of my range. After strafing me so the phantom dashed through the air to the treeline, darting out of view again. I looked desperately back and forth, but could see nothing—then I was struck from behind with staggering force, hurling me to the ground. A crackle of dark magic coursed across my body, compounding my agony, and as I tumbled into the snow I saw the dark rider cruise past, circling me as I hauled myself to my feet again.

"Strike me down, and I shall return. Imprison me, and I shall break free. My reign will not end. I will not be denied."

Though its fleshless face was a mass of shadow and flame, still the voice issued forth. It was like a terribly vivid memory, except the words were none that Ganondorf had ever spoken to me. They were drawn from my own tortured mind, my own doubt and fear given voice by my great nemesis.

"I defeated you once and I will do so again! You will not avail against the power of the Sages and the Master Sword!" Furiously I swung at it. The phantom jerked and darted through the air, never still, moving like an unnatural puppet on invisible strings. It deflected my attacks with its spear, or simply dodged away like mist. Rage overtook my despair, and I struggled to stay focused and effective, to not lose myself in fury.

It struck back, spear flashing in the gloom, first from one direction and then another. A parried strike would be followed by a swift retreat into the trees, and disappearance. Then it would emerge from a new vector, riding me down, following not the rules of sane and ordered reality but coming from beyond, from a dark and insubstantial world beyond our own where space and matter were of no consequence.

I was growing exhausted, but it gave me no quarter. I managed to land a few blows upon it or on its spectral steed, but no clear sign of injury appeared. Could it be slain? Did it even exist? I had no answers but I had no choice but to fight. To fight was my purpose, no matter what.

It brought down its edged spear towards me, and I caught the shaft with the Master Sword, bracing myself and binding it above me. Then the ghostly horse lashed out with its front hooves, battering my torso. My arm slipped, the phantom pushed and the blade of the spear was brought crashing down into my shoulder. It struck deep, cutting skin and muscle, stopped only by the bone. I grit my teeth through the pain and grasped the haft of the spear with my shield-hand, as blood poured from the blade down my chest. I looked up, glowering at the faceless specter, its deathly grin mantled with black flame.

"Behold the ruination of your quest! The death of your dream! Cast down by those you call friends, your foolish ambitions dashed, your insolent attempt to rewrite history—come to naught!"

"NO!" I cried. "Our dreams yet live...as do I!"

I swung with all the strength I could muster. The Master Sword seemed to hum in my hand, filling me with might, as though it sensed the great evil before me. With a single transcendent stroke I cut upward through the neck of the phantom's black horse. There was great resistance as the blade struck the neck, like striking a solid wall, but as I pushed past it, all resistance vanished and the Master Sword slid effortlessly through as though the spectral flesh like it were mist.

For a moment the diabolical horse's head hung in the air, slowly separating from its body, but then it wavered and dissipated like black smoke, the whole creature turning hazy and seeming to blow away in a non-existent breeze.

Undaunted by the dissipation of his steed, the phantom rider remained in the air, cape billowing as he whirled his spear about. The phantom thrust his spear skyward and the tip was wreathed in eldritch light, and when he brought it down once more he fired a bolt of energy at me. Instinctively I hurled myself clumsily out of the way. The glowing projectile sizzled the snow where I had been standing.

The phantom circled me as I tried to rise. For a moment I felt a deadly weakness steal into my limbs, so that I slipped and stumbled. Focusing all my will I rose to my feet once again, as the phantom lunged in to stab me. The point of the spear came hurtling towards my heart, and I twisted to the side. The tip slid past my chest and past my shield. Thinking I had an opening I swung my sword, but quick as lightning the phantom twirled the spear and struck me with the far end in the side of my head. With my missing eye limiting my vision despite all my training and efforts to compensate, I could not avoid it. My head swam from the ringing blow. Then the phantom planted its boot on my chest—feeling heavy and solid in spite of its insubstantial appearance—and kicked me backwards. I skidded on the snow and fell yet again. I braced myself against the Master Sword and hobbled to my feet. I could not feel my limbs, and even the gaping gash in my shoulder was only a dull throb. The blood on my shirt was already freezing to my flesh; my head ached and my lungs burned. And still the phantom's mocking skeletal smile showed no sign of fatigue or hesitation as it raised its spear once more.

The phantom Ganon called forth more dark spellcraft and hurled a crackling bolt of doom in my direction. Through the haze of pain and cold and exhaustion, through the anger and despair that shrouded me, I felt the Master Sword thrum with ageless power at the approach of evil. I pulled back the blade and swung with all my might as the malignant ball of darkness approached me. The sword blazed like a cold blue sun and repelled the darkness, and with that single stroke the bolt was turned and fired back at its progenitor, faster than ever and flying sure and true.

The phantom was too slow, even with all its unnatural agility. The magic bolt struck it squarely, sending it reeling in the air, arms slack and head lolling. Seeing my chance I charged forth, sprinting to cover the distance, and once I drew near I leapt into the air, holding the Master Sword above my head with both hands and bringing it crashing into the phantom with all the strength I could muster. The phantom was brought low, its levitation dispelled, and it tumbled backwards to the ground with an unholy screech born from no throat or lips.

I pursued and struck again at the phantom's ghostly body, which held the appearance of Ganondorf's intricately-patterned desert armor but was limned with quavering shadows and did not feel like leather or steel or flesh or aught of this world beneath the blows of my sword. The phantom howled in pain and fury, and after a few blows it raised up its heavy spear and stayed my blade with it. But I was driven to frenzy, and hacked again and again, battering aside the spear haft that the creature tried to defend itself with. Finally it raised the shaft perpendicular to its body in both hands as my blade came crushingly down, and blocked the sword above its leering skeletal face.

"There will be no victory for you!" screamed the creature's smoldering voice in my mind.

I drew the Master Sword back, off the spear shaft, and at the same moment I brought my knee up into it from below, so that the spear jerked upward in the phantom's hands. A yawning gap was made and I thrust the Master Sword into the phantom's chest, pushing past its spectral flesh that yielded to my force and drew in the sword to the hilt. Then, my battered muscles straining, I ripped the sword through the creature's torso up and outward, carving through its shoulder.

The flames engulfing the monster's skull burned fiercer than ever. Black mystic flame erupted from the wound I had dealt it, and spread, until all of the creature's body was engulfed in otherworldly fire. Its form began to disintegrate, but even as it tore itself asunder it shrieked into my consciousness, searing me with the vile malice of its ghastly voice.

"No victory! No respite! You shall know no peace! Beyond death, beyond time, my works will vex you to the end of your days. For as long as my rage burns unrequited, you cannot escape my curse...the consummation of my vengeance!"

Then, as suddenly as the creature had appeared, it was gone, burned away to nothing, with nothing to mark that it had been there. My wounds were real enough, and but for their presence I would have thought I had gone mad, the whole battle the frantic conjuring of my fevered brain.

But no, my wounds and exhaustion were all too real, and now that the danger had been thwarted I felt them crashing in on me greater than ever, as though by fighting through the pain I had strengthened it tenfold once it returned. I dragged myself to the base of a large tree near what was once the shore of the small pond, and against it I slumped down and sat.

I had done all I could, my strength was spent and my destiny now in the hands of the forest itself. I wanted to give in and close my eyes, to fall willingly into the embrace of death, but no matter the devastation visited upon me—oppressed by snow and cold, beaten down by weariness and grief, battered and bloodied and stabbed and sliced and bludgeoned—my soul was still ablaze with purpose, my one and only purpose. To fight against any odds, against any foe, against death itself that stalked nearer and nearer in this icy woodland tomb.

So as my blood froze in my limbs and my body refused to respond to the smallest of my desires, I fought to keep my eyes open, to look upon even a world as bleak as this for as long as I could. If the forest could produce a wrathful, terrifying phantom to torment me, then perhaps it could yet produce a vision of comfort and beauty—a fair-seeming savior to rescue me from death, or to lead me gracefully to it.